#Reclamation

[lesbian-samurai]

Just realized that Hobie Brown can't reclaim faggot. Not as in he's not allowed to, as in. He can't. He's a damn Englishman. It just means cigarette to him.

I need this punk to say "I'm a faggot" with conviction and you know he would otherwise. Absolutely livid.

[tenelkadjowrites]

Reclamation - Cassian x Reader (NSFW)

👰‍♀️Summary: After spending ages carefully constructing a plan to flee from your arranged wedding, it threatens to shatter at your feet. But a mysterious stranger named Cassian may offer a way out...and a deeper personal connection.

👰‍♀️Word count: 6.5k

👰‍♀️Genre & warnings: one shot. smut. strangers to lovers. descriptions of an abusive relationship. mentions of alcohol. reader is in a wedding dress. unprotected sex. some dirty talk. oral sex, reader receiving. use of a knife to cut clothes during sex. creampie.

               The contact isn’t coming.

               You figured as much over ten minutes ago yet still waited. Your hand is curled around your drink which has formed condensation along the rim, lazily rolling down the glass, colliding with your skin. You’re trying to keep your breathing steady but the nerves are buzzing in your head. The fear is growing, bubbling in your chest.

               You need to leave now. If you manage to get off world tonight, you’ll be safe.

               Yet you remain rooted to your stool at the cantina counter, staring ahead at the collection of bottles that line the wall. Some of them glimmer in the dim lighting, others give off a bioluminescence that is entrancing and not for human consumption. All of them offer the alluring promise of drinking enough and forgetting your problems.

               But you need a clear head tonight, especially if your escape plan is turning to ash right in front of you.

               It doesn’t help that the cantina, so quiet every other time you staked it out, is busier than usual tonight. That meant a lot of curious stares at the woman in ornate wedding garb.

               You take a small sip of your drink, trying to figure out your next move. But your brain is stuck on the fact that your months of planning, all the sneaking around, the negotiations, finding a pilot willing to piss off one of the most powerful people on the planet, has gone to waste.

               The guests will be entering the venue for the wedding now. How much time until they realize you fled? How long until your image is blasted on every port? An hour, two at the most.

               The cantina is doused in a blue glow. A band is in the corner, playing softly. Unlike the loud and raucous cantinas that are in the hub of the entertainment district, this one offered a place for private conversation and the easy ability to abscond to the hotel above it. At the time of your planning, it made sense to use this cantina along with the hotel to escape. But now, you wish that there was a cacophony of noise and lights to get lost in.

               “Would you like another?” The droid bartender slides over, tilting its head with a small click.

               “No,” You mumble and it slides away without another word, going to the next patron.

               There is a sense of movement next to your right side as someone sits in the stool. You glance in his direction only to find the man leering at you openly. Your grip tightens on your drink. Impossible they could find me already, you think, wondering how fast the glass could be smashed in his face if he made a move.

               His mouth twists up cruelly when he opens it to speak. “Nice dress,” He drawls.

               You don’t reply. The droid bartender returns to take his order. Something moves on the other side of you. A quick glance out of the corner of your eye shows a weary looking man, a loose fitting jacket hanging off him, a slightly scruffy beard and mussed up brown hair. He sticks out, just like you do.

               He shows no interest in you, lost in thought. You discard the concern about him, instead focusing back on the man who is still gawking at your dress. You removed all the jewels that were laid upon a separate netting that was then placed over the dress, stashed as many as you could in a secret pocket you sewed in the inside of the skirt, and left the rest behind for some lucky person to find.

               “Why you all dressed up and alone?” The man asks – he already reeks of alcohol and there is an energy to him that you mislike.

               Luckily for you, he doesn’t seem to realize your dress is traditional wedding garb of this area. With the intricately woven long sleeves that puff out a little around your wrists, down to the beading along the bodice depicting two waves coming together which was done painstakingly by hand, ending in plenty of billowing soft blue ruffles that swirled gently when you walked, the dress was beautiful – even more so when the net of jewels was slipped on over your head and laid against the entire length of fabric. There was a large headpiece that came with the dress as well; it was heavy and made your neck ache, dangling with sapphires. That had been ditched back in your quarters.

Since the planet was a seafaring one, the bride’s dress typically illustrated waves crashing together but not done in beading. Nor was the headpiece usually filled with sapphires. That was because you came from a family with a lot of credits – but not as much as your fiancé.

               But this man is not only a distraction but possibly will attract more attention than you want. You needed to end the conversation and get out of here quickly.

               “She’s not alone,” came a low voice, “She’s with me.”

               Both the inebriated man and yourself look over in the direction the voice came from. It’s from the gruff looking man next to you, the one who showed no interest in anything but getting a drink. At some point, the droid bartender had given him a glass of something clear.

               You may be sheltered but you aren’t naïve enough to think this gruff man is your savior. He could easily be hopping in just to rob you later. But between your narrow options, you’ll take your chances with him.

               “That’s right,” You reply stiffly.

               “Bullshit,” The drunk man growls, leaning forward so that a cloud of heavy booze wafts over, “She didn’t spare you a glance when you sat down.”

               But if the gruff man is perturbed by the intensity the conversation is taken, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he tilts his face in your direction, looking up from his drink. You are struck by the depth in his brown eyes, so deep that one could get lost in it.

               “Not that it’s any of your business but we’re in the middle of an argument,” You say swiftly, tearing your gaze away from him to shoot daggers at the drunken man.

               “Which I didn’t start,” The man with the beautiful eyes replies curtly, “But you immediately jumped in with the ‘Cassian, how many times do I need to tell you that my mother is just like that’.”

               You pick up quickly on the fact he’s told you his name in a manner that won’t attract attention, easier to pretend familiarity to get this drunk idiot out of here.

               “I wish you wouldn’t be so dramatic.”

               “Me, dramatic? You’re the one that took off for the closest cantina after lecturing me about being late. Now, we’re both going to be late. I hope you’re pleased.”

               You purse your lips together in a motion of displeasure. “Maybe my mother was right about you. She warned me, the first moment we met, that you were trouble. And my life has been nothing but hell since you came into it.”

               You can hear the drunken man shuffling off with an irritated sigh. Even so, you continue the fake argument with Cassian until he finally drops the act, his shoulders slumping forward as he resumes his earlier position.

               “He’s gone,” He remarks.

               You look over your shoulder, relief swooping through your body. You are silent for a minute or so while making sure the man truly left before looking back at Cassian.

               “Thanks for your help.”

               There is a quick glance from the corner of his eye before offering up a curt nod. The droid bartender circles back around. Cassian motions to send it off but you speak quickly.

               “Let me buy you a drink as a thanks, at least.”

               “It’s okay.”

               “I insist.”

               Cassian relents, taking a long swig of his drink to finish it off. He places the glass on the counter with a soft clink and orders. The droid bartender beeps and spins off to go make it. Cassian turns in the stool, his full attention now on you.

               He’s handsome, you think out of the blue and then push the thought aside – talk about the worst time to notice such things. You’re supposed to be getting on a ship off planet right now and somehow you’re buying an attractive man a drink – damn it, you just did it again.

               Handsome but tired, you amend. There are dark circles under his pretty brown eyes, and a heaviness that clings to his shoulders as if being weighed down by something invisible. His jacket is well worn, fraying at the edges of the sleeves. His hands are dotted with tiny scars, nails bitten to the quick.

               Even though Cassian looks exhausted, there is a level of alertness in his eyes that shows that nothing is getting by him. He is aware of every movement, every person stepping into the cantina. This piques your curiosity. You wonder if he has a ship.

               “Is Cassian your real name?” You ask, pushing your glass that is now mostly ice water away from you.

               “It is. And yours?”

               You give your name as the droid bartender returns with his drink. Cassian looks at your glass. “Surely, you’re going to have another. Not leaving me to drink alone?”

                You hesitate, knowing time is short. But you are unsure where to go and there is a chance this stranger might have a ship to take you off world.

               He picks up on your hesitation. “Somewhere to be?”

               “I thought so. But it seems my transport fell through. So, I suppose I can have another drink.”

               “Going off world?”

               “Trying to.”

               “Funny, I didn’t think it was tradition to hold the weddings off world.” His words make you freeze. Cassian motions to the droid, saying, “She’ll have another.”

               At first you think that maybe your feeling had been right – Cassian does work for your fiancé and is toying with you before lugging you back to that monster. But he is still at ease, seemingly in no hurry. He catches your expression and waves his hand.

               “I’m not here to make trouble. It was merely an observation. It isn’t any business of mine if you’re running out on your fiancé.”

               “If that was true, then why step in and help me with that man?”

               “Now that had nothing to do with your wedding dress. I was just helping a pretty lady out.”

               The droid slides the new drink in front of you before buzzing off. You stare at Cassian incredulously. “Are you hitting on a woman on her wedding day?”

               He gives a small shrug, bringing the glass to his lips. “I don’t see the fiancé around,” He remarks before taking a sip.

               Your thighs clench, forcing your gaze away from this handsome stranger who knows you’re supposed to be at a wedding but instead sitting here. Logically, if he can tell you’re in wedding garb, so could others. Suspicions could be raised especially with a high profile wedding like yours. And meanwhile what are you concerned with? How attractive he is, how nice his brown eyes are, how strangely comforting of an aura he has.

               Since your fiancé had been shoved into your life and the arranged marriage contract signed, every waking moment was about how to escape the chains that were threatening to bind you. The plotting and planning to escape left no room for dalliances. It wasn’t even something that was on your mind.

               Yet here you are now, right at the most important moment of escape, and you’re getting sidetracked by Cassian.

               You swirl the liquid in the glass slowly, thinking about how to word your next sentence. “You don’t look like you’re from here. How do you know what traditional wedding gowns look like?”

               “And what makes you say I am not from here?”            

               “Your clothes, your posture, the way you’re hunched over your drink so no one will talk to you. We’re close to the port on top of that so a lot of travelers come in. But most of all, your voice. The accent…it isn’t native to here.”

               Cassian studies you for a moment. There is a note of approval in his gaze. After a beat of silence, he replies, “I’m just passing through.”

               “When are you leaving?” You can’t help but ask.

               He leans forward, closer to you than ever. You can see the stubble that grazes his jawline, the depths of his dark eyes and how his hair curls slightly at the back of his neck. You swallow hard, wishing that this stranger hadn’t burst into your life tonight of all nights. Maybe if things were different, you would have been able to take him as a lover, a distraction, for a little bit. But not now…

               In a whisper, Cassian goes, “Where are you looking to go?”

               There is a hint of desperation in your reply. “Anywhere. But I need to go tonight.”

               It is difficult to express vulnerability to a stranger in a cantina. There is always that risk, no matter how small, that he could turn you over to your powerful fiancé. There would be credits in it, after all, to return the bride to the clutches of the groom.

               But the fact of the matter is your original plan might have fallen through due to your fiancé’s machinations, leaving you on less time than previously thought. On top of that, Cassian has not given you any mental alarm bells going off. This might be your only shot.

               “They’ll be looking for you,” He murmurs, his pleasant expression not matching his words. This man is used to lying, you think. “Checking the ports tonight.”

               “They’ll be checking them tomorrow too,” You counter.

               “It’ll be worse tonight. They’ll be waiting for you to go off world.”

               “How do you know?” You fire back, impatience creeping into your voice.

               Cassian brings his drink to his lips, taking a small sip before replying. “I know you’re not getting married to a local farmer.”

               There is a thud in your chest at the realization he knows who you are – this man passing through, this mysterious stranger who is good at play acting and has a ship – and if he is aware of who you are, there is no way other people in the cantina don’t.

               Your voice is so quiet that you aren’t even sure if Cassian can hear the words. “Are you seriously suggesting I stay here tonight and leave tomorrow?”

               “That’s right.”

               Your fingers nervously run across the fabric of your dress. You did have a hotel room booked tonight only because originally it was going to be where the pilot was going to hand over a bag with your disguise and new ID card. But I won’t be getting that either.

               A thought strikes you. “It can’t be here. If the pilot was compromised, he would turn over the room key.”

               Cassian gives a small shake of his head. “No, not here. I have a room.”

               Your hands flutter uselessly at your sides. Your nerves and panic are starting to impact your thinking. “How can I trust you?”

               “You were going to trust the pilot and that wasn’t a sure bet either.”

               “We’d been planning this. I don’t even know you.”

               “Then stay here. But I have a room for tonight. We leave first thing in the morning. I can get you off world. I can’t tell you what planet we’re going to. All I can tell you is that it’ll be a lot safer than here.”

               The entire conversation was in hurried whispers, bodies leaning together as if two asteroids are about to collide. You realize that Cassian did this intentionally. To anyone staring at the two of you, it looks like lovers making up from the earlier fight. It would be easy to lean into him, pretend you’re leaving the cantina to become intimate. He’s set up the story. It’s up to you if it is to be followed through.

               Cassian continues quietly, “They’ll know you’re trying to leave tonight. Every port, every ship, will be searched. Come tomorrow morning, they’ll believe you stayed on world. They’ll tighten security here, start looking in hotels. That’s when we leave.”

               “How can you be so sure?”

               “I’m not sure of anything. But we can say this wouldn’t be my first time smuggling something or someone off world.”

               What are your other options? To wait to be discovered, hauled back to your fiancé, forced into a marriage you don’t want with a man who would only torment you? That meant risking it and going with the handsome stranger with the beautiful yet sorrowful eyes is your only option – your only shot at getting out of here.

               You tentatively rest your hand on his knee. Cassian’s gaze flicks down to the sight before raising to meet your gaze. “Alright,” You murmur, “Let’s go.”

               He takes a swig of his drink, finishing it and pushing the glass away from him. He then slides a few credits onto the bar top, slinking off the stool. He looks down at you and in that moment, you know that you’re risking your future to this stranger – while battling an intense attraction to him as well.

               “Follow me,” Cassian says simply.

*

               The sky has streaks of purple through it by the time you reach the hotel with Cassian. It is on the outskirts of the red light district which ended up working in your favour. No one questioned the way you leaned into the faded leather of Cassian’s jacket, the manner in which you’d tilt your head and giggle at something he said (which actually were just quiet directions on where to turn) or how his arm slinked around your waist and his hand rested lightly on your hip.

               Admittedly, even given the tense situation that your brain was well aware of sitting in, you are still noticing the stubble along his jaw, his bitten fingernails, the way his hair curls slightly against the back of his neck – all things that aren’t important given the situation. But all the mental lecturing in the world doesn’t stop you from taking note of these things.

               Finally, you arrive at the hotel. It is small and nondescript, crammed in between yet another cantina and a droid repair shop that is shuttered. It’s only three floors and looks like the sort of place that people would meet up to have an affair in. In other words, it’s perfect. Your fiancé believed you to be a fool which you took advantage of while plotting and planning your escape. Even now, he is probably confident of finding you at a luxury resort or stumbling into the space port. He wouldn’t believe that you would be someplace like this, simply because he would never go here himself.

               The lobby is run down and empty. You wonder if the wedding party has realized you’ve given them the slip. By now, they must know, are probably searching the estate grounds for you, beginning to question the staff. Your fiancé is going to start searching the spaceports, if he hasn’t already, because he would assume you’re going off world. The original plan had it that you would be in hyperspace by the time they realized you weren’t at the wedding. To still be here, in the city, made your nerves jumpy.

               Cassian takes you up to the third floor, walking down the hallway together. One light is burnt out, another flickers ominously. You can hear someone having sex in a room when you walk past and duck your face away from Cassian’s, feeling strangely embarrassed. Does he feel your attraction to him? He must find it absurd, given the situation.

               He stops at the last room on the right, scans the key card and enters. The doors shut behind you and your eyes get adjusted to the low lights. The room is small, one bed in the centre, one window overlooking a shabby building. The walls are painted blue although the paint is chipping in spots. Blue, blue, everything is blue no matter where I go, you think while pressing one hand against the wave design on your gown.

               You realize your arm is still entwined with Cassian’s. With warm cheeks, you separate, dropping the act of being his lover coming to the hotel. Cassian is already going to work, crossing the room and pulling a bag from underneath the bed, rummaging through it.

               “We’ll leave tomorrow at the first sign of light. My ship has a smuggling compartment which you’ll use just in case we get boarded. But I have a fake ID and falsified ship logs. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

               “What else are you smuggling?”

               Cassian looks up, brushing some of his hair away from his eyes. He’s sizing you up, trying to figure out what to tell you, this strange woman in a wedding gown trying to escape her fiancé.

               Finally, he settles on, “Some records.”

               You slowly walk through the small space, heading towards the window, peering out of it. From here, you can just see the night sky, barely making out the stars. It is dotted with ships leaving and your heart swoops with longing to be safe among hyperspace.

               “This is the right choice,” Cassian says gently from his spot near the bed, “I know it doesn’t feel like it. But this has the highest odds of success.”

               “I was supposed to be off world by now,” You mumble wistfully.

               “Well, you’re not,” He says bluntly, “But you’re alive and you’re not at the wedding. So, you haven’t lost yet.”

               You look over your shoulder. Cassian is slipping a blaster from his holster onto the bedside table. His back is to you. His posture is different; he is no longer acting, no longer in a character. Who is this man? You wonder. He’s a good liar, clever, at ease with a blaster and quick to come up with a plan. He isn’t smuggling weapons or drugs but merely records. But you bite off any questions before speaking them. It’s better to know little. To learn more about him meant getting involved and if complications arose, that would be bad for you. Better to focus on yourself and only yourself.

               When you turn back to look out the window, you realize the sky is emptying. The last few ships blink out like soft stars exhaling a final breath and nothing else remains.

               “They’re shutting down the ports,” You say as your heart jolts, “They know I’m gone.”

               Cassian’s voice is closer when he speaks next, eyes to the sky. “Grounding ships…” He glances at you out of the corner of his eyes. “Your fiancé is a powerful man.”

               Perhaps a tiny bit more powerful than originally thought. You didn’t think air travel would be cut off. Suddenly, you know that Cassian made the right call.

               He senses your train of thought because he leans closer while saying, “This isn’t my first time doing this.”

               You tilt your face in his direction. The heat from his body seeps into yours. You wish he wasn’t so attractive. Or maybe you wish to have met him in different circumstances so you could have taken this mysterious stranger as a lover and twiddled away the time sneaking from your fiancé with him.

               “Swooping in to save someone from an arranged marriage?” You try to joke but the words come out a bit more fragile than intended. “Because her plan fell apart after so much scheming?”

               Cassian’s eyes soften. “It happens to the best of plans. To dwell on what went wrong in the moment…does you no good.”

               You like the way he looks at you. Is it because you’ve been looked at with distaste or indifference for so long or because he looks at you so gently? It’s difficult to know – the time with your fiancé and all the struggles you’ve gone through way heavily on you. There has been no time to be in the present moment. Every second is plotting, withstanding, scheming.

               But there isn’t anything to do now besides wait for morning…and Cassian looks so inviting.

               “Just feels like I never have any time to even dwell on things,” You reply, “I’m running from one plan to the next or one interaction to another, just trying to get through it with as much of myself intact as possible.”

               It is the most vulnerable you’ve been with someone in a long time and it’s with a stranger. Maybe that’s why it’s easy. Cassian’s eyes grow distant. You wonder what he is thinking about, what memory is floating to the surface.

               Your bodies are close now. Close enough that you could touch him. It’s alluring, the idea of tumbling into bed with him, because he’s here and he’s present and he has those pretty eyes that seem to be holding a similar pain to yours.

               “Maybe dwelling in those precious few quiet moments isn’t what we should be focusing on,” Cassian finally says, “Taking those moments and making them our own is what matters.”

               Maybe he’s right. Or perhaps you’re both lonely and looking for an excuse. Regardless, you’re not going to overthink or brood on it. Instead, your lips find his, pushing all thoughts of the wedding and escaping out of your mind. Cassian’s hands are on your waist immediately, angling your body towards his. You can feel the urgency in his kiss, the desire to blot out the past and the future – you can feel it because it’s in your lips as well.

               The force of the kissing has you up against the wall a few moments later. Your hands are gripping his hair while his tongue is in your mouth. He tastes like the booze from the cantina and you cannot get enough of it. All the time and energy spent in fear and on schemes is wiped clean by the sensation of this stranger’s lips on yours and hands resting on your hips.

               You’re tugging off Cassian’s jacket. It falls to the floor, already forgotten. He is fiddling with aspects of your dress but the urgency is growing by the second and the entire thing is too cumbersome to remove. You make an impatient noise in the back of your throat.

               “Just forget it,” You say urgently, “Just keep it on.”

               Cassian hoists you up onto the small table in the corner, pushing the chair out of the way. It clatters to the floor next to the jacket. His hands are running up along the gown, bunching the fabric in between his fingers as the two of you work together to bring it up around your waist. You’re wearing stockings with pearls running down the sides – more expensive pageantry to show off at the wedding, to deflect from the terror that resided in the bride’s heart.

               The two of you are grappling for one another, swept up in the present moment and the relative safety of this run down hotel on the outskirts of town. Cassian’s hands glide up along your stockings, looking for the top so he can yank them down. But the band is buried underneath the layers of the dress.

               “Just rip it,” You plead and he doesn’t hesitate, grabbing the stockings and tearing them. The seam splits and the pearls go flying, rolling across the floor and making a mess of things. You don’t even make a mental note to collect them later to sell for money; you’re simply too swept up in Cassian. The remains of the stockings fall off your legs as Cassian is unzipping his pants.

               The wedding dress gets smushed in between your bodies as Cassian presses the tip of his cock against your entrance. Your legs wrap around his waist, pushing his length inside you. It’s been so long since you’ve been fucked but judging by Cassian’s impatience, it has been a while for him as well.

               He grunts as his cock is engulfed by your warm walls. Your hands grip the edge of the table as he begins to rock his hips while you inhale sharply through gritted teeth at how good it feels to have his cock. After a minute or so of getting used to being inside your pussy, Cassian picks up the speed ever so slightly.

               His hands are lost in the many layers of your gown. The delicate beading and pretty imagery isn’t made to be fucked in and you’re running the risk of ruining it. But you don’t care – there is something exciting about being fucked by a stranger in your wedding dress, an act of rebellion you didn’t know was possible.

               Each thrust of Cassian’s hips rattles the table against the wall. You’d feel sorry for the neighbors if this wasn’t a hotel that basically existed to be fucked in. You urge Cassian to keep going, your legs bouncing every time he slams his cock in you.

               “Is this what you thought your wedding day would be?” His voice is shattered, aching, lacing each word with lust, “Being fucked by a stranger in your pretty dress?”

               “You can ruin the thing,” You say with a bitter note, “Just keep fucking me.”

               “Gladly,” Cassian grunts.

               He pulls out of you then which is the exact opposite of what you want. His cock is slick with your wetness as he helps you off the table and towards the bed. The dress is a bit cumbersome to move on, even more difficult to lay down in. Cassian removes his pants and boxers hastily before climbing onto the bed.

               “W-wait,” You remember something with a jolt and Cassian stops immediately while you fumble along the side of the dress. Your fingers slip into the secret pocket and pull out a small switchblade, not wanting it to somehow accidentally hurt either of you.

               “Turning your weapons over?” He asks in a slightly teasing voice.

               You retrieve the gems from the pocket too, showing them in the palm of your hand before closing it. “Didn’t want to lose these either.” You slip the gems back into the secret pocket.

               Cassian makes a noise although you can tell he isn’t interested in the gems nor the switchblade because he is too busy lowering himself in between your thighs. He’s lost among the billowing pieces that make up the bottom of the gown but you can feel his tongue along your skin, moving closer and closer to your pussy.

               His tongue probes your slick folds before slowly tasting your hole. There is something dirty about having this man you barely know licking your pussy with the beautiful skirt of your wedding dress splayed out around him. You’re clutching the blanket of the bed while gasping as Cassian’s nose bumps softly against your clit. This lovely dress is not meant for obscene acts in this run down hotel. Your fiancé is tearing the space ports apart searching for you in a wicked frenzy to claim what he thinks he is and meanwhile your head is blissfully blank while Cassian brings the tip of his tongue flat against your swollen nub.

               Cassian’s hands are on your thighs, spreading you open wide for him. All you can hear outside of your moans is the dress rustling and the obscene sound of him sucking and licking your clit. He slips a finger inside your wet hole, pumping it hard and fast while flicking his tongue over your clit. Your thighs shake from how good it is and then you’re cumming, losing yourself to the pleasure as Cassian gives one last hard suck on your sensitive clit before untangling himself from the dress.

               His hair is a mess and he seems annoyed with his shirt which he pulls over the top of his head, exposing his fit chest and broad shoulders. Cassian doesn’t seem to care he is entirely naked while you’re in a wedding dress – in fact, you’re starting to suspect he’s getting off on it.

               Your face is hot and you’re out of breath from the intense orgasm. He attempts to enter you but the dress is getting in the way and he makes an impatient noise. An idea strikes you, one of passion and throwing caution to the wind. You push the handle of the switchblade in his hand.

               “Just cut through it,” You tell him, “I don’t care.”

               Cassian looks at you with a glint in his eye. He grins quickly and the blade catches the blue light of the hotel room, blinking briefly like a star, before he takes it to the dress. The fabric is delicate and can’t withstand the force of the blade. In only a few seconds, layers of the gown are gone, laying across the bed and falling onto the floor.

               There is something liberating about ruining the wedding dress. It is a signal to the universe that things are going to happen due to your own choices, not to survival. Allowing Cassian to cut the dress just to make it easier to fuck is something you decided because you wanted it.

               It reignites your passion and you reach for Cassian as he puts the blade away and tosses it aside before propping himself up over your body. Your legs, now freed without the constraining fabric, wraps around his waist and pushes his cock inside you.

               The beading of your dress is coming undone, spilling over the bodice and onto the bed. But neither of you care as Cassian slams his cock into you before lowering to press his body against yours. His lips are on your neck, up along your jaw until he finds your lips. His tongue is in your mouth, moans muffled between the two of you. Your hips lift to meet each thrust, taking his cock all the way to the hilt each time.

               Gone are the worries of all the plots and plans. Gone is the concern of getting out of here and fear about the wedding. All that exists in the moment is the way Cassian is inside your pussy and the warmth that rolls across your skin.

               Cassian’s fingers are on the top of the dress, tugging it down hard enough that a tearing noise fills the room. He exposes your breasts, bringing his mouth to one of your nipples and gently biting down on it. Moans are falling from your lips, urging him to keep going. He switches to the other nipple, swirling his tongue around it before straightening up. He grips your legs, resting your feet on his shoulders as he begins to fuck you in earnest.

               You love how it feels to be fucked by him in your ruined dress and judging by the way his eyes roam across your body, he’s enjoying it just as much. Cassian leans forward a little, adjusting the angle of his cock before ramming it hard and fast in your wet hole. His hair has fallen in front of his face and he’s panting as both of your orgasms draw closer and closer.

               Just to hear him talk in that sexy voice of his you like so much, you prompt, “You still like my dress after it’s been ruined?”

               Cassian hisses sharply and his cock goes all the way to the hilt for a second or two before he pulls out. “I think I like it even more now. Better like this than walking down the aisle.”

               You couldn’t agree more although your reply is lost by the next jerk of his hips which hits the sweet spot. Your fingers dig into the bed to hold onto something as Cassian’s thrusts grow erratic and messy.

               “Cum around my cock,” He urges quietly, “Let me feel you tighten around me.”

               Cassian fucks your cunt so hard and fast that each pump of his hips makes your body jolt. Your tits bounce, squeezed out by the bodice of the ruined wedding dress. This was not how you thought the night would go and definitely not how you thought the dress would end up.

         ��     “Come on, pretty girl,” Cassian continues, “Cum for me in your nice dress.”

               Your eyes practically roll into the back of your head as your orgasm starts. It’s more intense than the first one and your walls clench around Cassian’s cock. He groans, giving one last thrust before unloading inside your pussy. Spilling out in your hole while you squeeze every drop from him, he moans again, going still. Together, you and this stranger finish.

               After a few moments, Cassian gently rolls off you, trying to collect himself. You gingerly stretch out your legs, basking in the afterglow of fucking like that. You tilt your face in his direction. His eyes are closed, hair a mess, toned chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath.

               Your eyes fall to the window, seeing a sliver of sky.

               A small dot is going across it, tracing a steady arc towards the stars, signaling they are no longer keeping ships grounded.

               You smile.

*

               Your breathing is unsteady, your legs cramping from being bunched up in the smuggling compartment on Cassian’s ship. Even though ships are being allowed to depart off world, there is extra security and scanning being done. It had been tricky enough to get to the ship without drawing attention, wearing Cassian’s extra clothes that didn’t fit properly and a cloak tossed around your shoulders. Better not to risk it further.

               You can hear the low hum of the engine idling but nothing else. It is difficult not knowing how it’s going. Your nerves are swimming in your stomach. You’re picturing getting caught, dragged back to your fiancé. You’re picturing something terrible happening to Cassian because he’s helping you. You rub the palms of your hands against the baggy pants but it doesn’t seem to help.

               And then, when time seems to stretch into an eternity, bending and threatening to burst with your impatience, the engine grows louder, a roaring that you can feel across your body. Still, you remain crouched, knowing Cassian made it very clear not to leave the compartment until he came to get you.

               Even though you hardly knew Cassian, it hadn’t entered your mind since sleeping together that he would turn you in. He gained nothing from it because he didn’t seem interested in any money. He carried a past within him, just like you did.

               The rumbling of the engine changes; it shifts into the familiar sensation of hyperspace. A few seconds later, the door to the compartment opens and Cassian is peering down at you.

               He grins.

               “Just entered hyperspace.”

               Relief bubbles up in your chest and you laugh. He reaches down for you, helping you out of the compartment. You could almost cry due to the intensity of emotions you’re experiencing.

               Cassian, with his gentle brown eyes and tender expression on his face, asks, “What now?”

               The question is a powerful one. Limitless with the universe at your fingertips. You aren’t sure how to show your appreciation to this man who helped you escape your wedding when the plan seemed to be in shambles.

               “I don’t know,” You reply, unable to stop from laughing, “I guess…I guess whatever the hell I want.”

               And Cassian laughs too, reveling in your personal freedom that he helped bring to fruition.

the end.

[hopepunk-humanity]

Sometimes, people introduce you to things you end up loving. Maybe a band, a tv show, a hobby. But those same people may hurt you down the road. I know the common reaction is to feel like those things are now tainted, and that to move on you have to bury them and turn your back. And if you’re like that, I don’t think you’re wrong. I can understand your perspective, and I believe it’s a valid one.

But for me, personally, I never really did that. I always looked at these things I now love, and decided they were a reclamation. The person who introduced me to them was a dumpster fire to me, but this thing itself is like a jewel that survived in the ashes. It’s mine now, consolation for what I endured. What it means to me is more than the person that hurt me

[wangxianficrecs]

Reclamation by CordialCoroner (CordialCrow)

Reclamation

by CordialCoroner (CordialCrow) (@cordialcrowe)

M, 6k, Wen Qing

Summary: After her death at the hands of the Jin, Wen Qing's spirit lingers. Kay's comments: As you can tell, I'm currently hungering for Wen Qing deserves a little revenge, as a treat. Wen Qing should have been allowed to go a little apeshit. In this story she gets to do so and I absolutely loved it. After her death, she lingers as a ghost in Lanling and learns of Wen Ning still being alive (and being experimented on) and the upcoming Siege on the Burial Mounds. She tries his best to stop it, but unfortunately, she's just a small little spirit. It's only when the Burial Mounds get involved that she gets the power-up she needs to take revenge. Excerpt: But it is not enough. Wen Qing can see it in their faces as they call for more blood. No one speaks on her brother’s behalf, but Wen Qing does not expect them to. Not even Jiang Wanyin, who’d had Wei Wuxian at his side for years, utters a single word in his defense. Instead, he is one of the ones most adamant about bringing about his downfall. “Yunmeng-Jiang is more than happy to lead the siege against the Burial Mounds,” Jiang Wanyin declares. Wen Qing swarms around him unnoticed, wishing she had hands so that she could wring his neck. Ingrate! Have you forgotten your debts? Of your visit to the Burial Mounds? You know there is no army, only the elderly and a toddler. Wen Qing surges around him, filled with anger yet unable to interact with its source in the slightest. And to think, my brother was willing to lay down his life for you, to give up his core. Jiang Wanyin is undeserving of such a gift. Wen Qing regretted that she allowed herself to be convinced into giving it to him. I should rip that core right out of your chest and make you mundane once more. Wen Qing thinks bitterly. Leave your lower dantian empty and hollow, just like your heart.

pov wen qing, canon divergence, revenge, ghost wen qing, angst, hurt no comfort, post-sunshot campaign, post-first siege of the burial mounds, burial mounds ensemble as a family, anger, grief/mourning, not jiang cheng friendly, first siege of the burial mounds

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[onboardsorasora]

What if wreck me/reclamation max sends Daniel away (or when they broke up originally) and just moments later there’s knocking on the door and it’s de aged Daniel

oh this one is brilliant!

Max paces the room like a caged animal, livid and feral. He's so pissed, so fucking upset. How could Daniel do that to him? There was a knock on the door, faint but clearly there. Max thought about ignoring it. But then it came again.

"What?" He snarled, yanking the door open. Only to freeze when a small body collided with his legs.

"Oof!" The little boy squeaked, stumbling and falling to his knees. His helmet wobbled on his head.

"How did you get-- are you lost?" Max asked, a little softer. Sure he was angry but there was no reason to take it out on a kid. How the hell did he even get here anyway? The elevator was private and encoded. Daniel had only just left so its not like it could have shot back up so quickly.

"I'm showy! I- Maxy!" Max locked eyed with the kid through the visor of his too big helmet. his brown eyes were large, and familiar.

"I'm sorry?" Max was confused.

"Maxy! I did the thing again! I was at home and the bwwaaaaaah and now I'm here. Where are Jimmy and Shasshy?" The little kid stumbled to his feet and started trying to look around Max's knees and into his home.

"Do you know your mother's name and phone number. I can take you downstairs to the concierge and have them call her." Max offered.

"Mummy! My mummy is Grace Ricciardo, My daddy is Joe Ricciardo. We live at 3..."

Max's eyes widened and it felt like the rest of the little boy's statement filtered under water.

"...Daniel??"

[misanthropicgit-blog]

My favorite form of therapy is watching nature reclaim and erase things the humans created

[disabledunitypunk]

I wanna talk about a real problem in marginalized communities, but especially the disabled community.

The conflation of "privilege" with "oppression".

Here's two examples that I'm directly pulling from experience.

I am not intellectually disabled. I have fluctuating cognitive disabilities, but I have privilege over people with intellectual disabilities.

I also have significantly disabling chronic illness to the point where at times I have not been able to engage with hobbies due to being too sick. Disabled people who are less sick and more able to pursue activities they enjoy have privilege over me.

It's something that's not neat and simple, either. An intellectually disabled person who is able to engage with hobbies vs me? We would essentially both have privilege over each other on different axes. You can't then determine that one of us is ultimately generally more privileged than the other, because that's not how it works. Like if you have privilege x and they have privilege y, it isn't x-y=positive or negative privilege. You can't "solve" that equation because x and y aren't variables that can be substituted for number values.

So, first taking the example of hobbies - a recent controversial post we made that invited harassment. People were quick to tell us what our own experience was and that we weren't experiencing ableism - because they had had the privilege of never experiencing it. That was lateral ableism, and not okay.

Note: There may be people who DIDN'T have that privilege who were also saying the same - though everyone I saw talking about this specifically mentioned their ability to do hobbies, and that was who the main part of my response was directed at. However, I even specifically responded briefly to any people who were doing that - much more gently - to basically say that if they were being assimilationist out of fear that they didn't have to be, and to remind them that they aren't bad if they can't have hobbies.

On the other hand, way back when I first started this blog, I talked about reclaiming the r slur as someone who had significant trauma from being called it as a kid. I talked about how the reason I was called it was specifically because of my social issues due to my developmental disorders while being a gifted kid.

To make it clear - I was called the r slur for not understanding social cues and rules as a "smart" kid, because that's one of the things it meant to them. They weren't insulting my intellectual intelligence, but rather my social ability - at most, you could argue they were insulting my social intelligence - which having a low amount of WAS actually a feature of my disabilities.

I also spoke about how I wasn't reclaiming it to continue treating it as a bad thing, to insult even just myself, but rather to say "so what if I am? that's not bad". Y'know, the whole point of reclaiming.

I was told what my own experience was and that I was experiencing misdirected ableism because they were actually insulting traits I didn't have and therefore they were actually hurting intellectually disabled people but not me. Not because they had the privilege not to experience what I did - but because me having privilege was treated as the right to tell me I had never experienced the ableism they had.

They were treated not just as the experts on ableism against intellectual disabilities - which they are, of course - but also the experts on ableism against people who specifically DON'T have intellectual disabilities when it takes the same or similar forms as ableism against intellectual disabilities.

We all know that bigots don't wait to find out your correct identity before attacking you. We all know that there are identities commonly mistaken for others, that can set you up for repeated abuse over an identity you don't have. But what we refuse to acknowledge is that there are types of bigotry that can manifest identically in some ways for two different identities - and that anyone who experiences that bigotry is an expert on it and deserves to have a place in the conversation about it.

Someone with intellectual disabilities fundamentally cannot know that people without intellectual disabilities DON'T face the same kind of ableism on the basis of other disabilities that person DOES have because they have not ever lived that experience, just as, say, I couldn't say that an intellectually disabled person never faces specific kinds of ableism I face due to being a wheelchair user, because I am not intellectually disabled.

What I can say: "I face these types of ableism because of these disabilities and this is how they manifest."

What I can't say, because it is erasure and lateral ableism no matter my relative privilege: "You don't face this type of ableism for [disability I don't have] because it's exclusive to [disability I have] and any ableism that manifests that way is actually an attack on me."

Fundamentally, you cannot say that someone with a different disability DOESN'T face a specific type of ableism because you are not an authority on the experience of that disability. You are an expert on the experience of your disability. You cannot claim exclusive experiences because to do so, you would have to experience the disabilities you don't have while also not experiencing the ones you do. You would have to verify experiences that you simply don't have - in multiple places and contexts and presentations and as multiple people.

Oh wait, there's a simpler way to do that.

Listen to people about their experiences of their own disabilities and the ableism they face for it.

(Plaintext: Listen to people about their experiences of their own disabilities and the ableism they face for it.)

It's not ableist to say "no, you aren't the only disability that faces this ableism" or "no, it isn't targeted at you when it's aimed at me" or "actually, bigots also use [slur] to mean [definition specifically attacking my disability]". It is however ableist to tell people that because they have an axis of privilege over you, they can't talk about their own oppression on an entirely different axis because you've decided that experiencing similar oppression means you're the only person who experiences said oppression.

Or to put it more simply: Experiencing a type of ableism does NOT give you the right to speak over others when they say they experience it too for different reasons. Having something bad happen to you as a group does not give you proof that you're the ONLY group it happens to.

"X is caused by y, therefore x is ONLY caused by y" is quite literally a logical fallacy. It's called fallacy of the single cause (at least it's a nice obvious name, honestly).

This is the same discourse as cripplepunk. In fact, it's the primary motivator behind most slur discourse, and the reason why I'd honestly rather have blanket permission issued within oppressed groups I'm in* for everyone to reclaim in good faith** any slur that affects that group.

**What does "reclaim in good faith" mean? It means reclaiming only for self-usage, and only for self-usage specifically in a positive way - so no "ugh, I'm such a useless cripple", for example. True reclamation does require use of it against you/your disability in the first place, however, part of not being a cop about it is assuming that anyone who uses it in a positive sense for self-labeling has in fact experienced that. In short, it involves believing people about the oppression they explicitly say or imply through their reclamation that they've experienced.

*Note: I am specifically NOT a person of color or a member of an oppressed ethnoreligion/ethnicity, and recognize that dynamics of racial and ethnic oppression may be unique in some ways. However in disabled, queer, plural, alterhuman, and other marginalized spaces I do occupy, these are my feelings.

It is lateral ableism to tell another disabled person that they haven't experienced a type of ableism or didn't experience it due to their ACTUAL disability and therefore have no right to reclaim what was used to hurt them.

It is ableism to say "the bullet meant to shoot you, that hit you, was designed in part to hurt me, and therefore any time someone is shot with it, it was actually an attack on me. Hand over the bullet and never keep it or use it as you please again or you're basically shooting me with a different bullet." (For those that struggle with metaphors, the bullets are ableism.)

It's ducks saying that deer have no right to reclaim shotgun shells. Yes, slugs are more common than buckshot, but there's literally a type of the same exact kind of ammo designed for use on the deer too. In just the same way, some slurs and other forms of ableism are more typically used against one group but even have a (sometimes identical) variant specifically designed for use against other groups. "Mental cripple" and "retard" for sociodevelopmental disabilities are prime examples of this.

This is a wider problem in marginalized communities. "If you have any privilege at all, ever, you need to sit down and shut up about your own experiences. Only our least privileged members are the experts on any of our experiences. They make the rules about which of your own experiences you're allowed to talk about and what you're allowed to say about them." What's important to note, is that this is coming as much from the members with said privilege as the ones without.

And yes, this is an EXTREMELY insular community issue, but it's not mutually exclusive to the fact that large portions of the community DON'T listen to the less privileged ones about their own experiences! Just like the hobbies example (which, I know people may dismiss or cry 'false equivalence', but I want to again note that it primarily affects bedbound people who are too sick to do things they enjoy, and therefore less privileged by any metric).

I specifically referenced that example because it's exactly more privileged members speaking over less privileged members about the less privileged members' OWN experiences.

In fact, I'd say it's in fact a RESPONSE to that kind of being spoken over. It's an extreme pendulum swing in the other direction - "you need to shut up and LISTEN to us about our experiences". Which, if it stopped there, would be perfect! It's the part that follows it - "therefore, if we experience something, we're the ONLY people who are allowed to talk about it and the only people who even experience it".

I've seen time and time again, too, that even if you conclusively prove you experience something, the goalposts just get moved.

"Well, you experience it but not systemically."

"Okay, but you experienced it less."

"It didn't hurt you as much because it was meant to hurt me instead."

"Well, you're probably reclaiming it as an insult." (despite no proof of such, or even proof to the contrary)

"Well, if you experienced it systemically and it did hurt you and you experienced it just as much, it's actually because of [other identity that we begrudgingly acknowledge is affected] and not [identity that you say actually caused you to experience it] and it therefore isn't even [same type of bigotry] but [completely different type] instead."

"Well, even if you experienced it systemically as much as I did, it still hurts me more because it's about my identity and not yours, even though you were the one literally being attacked with it."

And if all that fails it's "no, that's not why you experienced it" or "no, you didn't experience that".

All examples I touched on earlier in this post, but still important to talk about specifically.

The person being hurt by a type of ableism, including slurs, is the person who they are being used against, period. It doesn't matter if they have "the right" disability. It doesn't matter what group the slurs or ableism is primarily used against. The bigots are TRYING to hurt the person they are specifically using the bigotry against, and that person is the one who ends up hurt by it. Full stop, no argument.

And if someone is hurt by a word, especially repeatedly, they have a right to reclaim it. Period.

At the end of the day, does this matter all that much? It's just community microaggressions, right?

Here's my feelings on it: I'm never going to let petty infighting get in the way of fighting for total disabled liberation. Just because some individuals are guilty of lateral ableism doesn't mean I won't fight for a world in which they face no ableism. It would be ableist of me to leave them behind over something like this. Not to mention, there's no need for anyone to be considered an authority on ableism in a world where there is none.

That being said, it is still a minor hurdle on the way to disabled liberation. If we police our own community and shut down discussions of ableism, how can we effectively fight for our right to not be policed or shut down by abled people? We're demonstrating that it's acceptable behavior.

You can argue all you want that abled people should recognize that it's different and they don't have a voice in the conversation - but what about those who are explicitly telling abled people that it's okay to shut down THESE disabled people talking about THEIR experiences because they're privileged invaders in the conversation and abled people should use their privilege over us to act as an even higher authority and stop us?

What about the conflicting messages of "abled people use your power over these disabled people to force them not to talk about the ableism they experience, but not these OTHER disabled people doing the same thing".

It's one thing to make a blanket statement to say "hey, if someone is actually attacking the validity of a disabled (or any marginalized) identity or talking over them about their own experiences, then shut that down". Saying a given marginalized identity doesn't exist or is inherently harmful is always bad. Talking over someone on their OWN experiences, when they are simply talking about things they've directly experienced, is always bad. I don't think it's the end of the world to say "use your privilege to shut down ableism" to abled people.

The problem is telling abled people that someone TALKING about their own legitimate experiences is bad and it's okay to shut it down. Abled people should not ever be given permission to do so - whether using their own judgment or just doing so on the word of disabled people.

Even besides that, though, it's still ableism, and lateral ableism is also a barrier in the way of total disabled liberation. It is an active threat to unity, to our ability to organize and demand change. We can fight to remove it from our communities while still focusing our energy primarily outward on fighting for liberation within the larger abled world.

Finally, it's an issue because it creates more hierarchies to solve existing ones. It says "instead of addressing the actual ableism, we're just going to flip it so you're the one experiencing it instead". It's like the so-called "feminists" that just want a matriarchy. It's not about creating a safer environment, it's about being the one to perpetrate the harm currently being done to you.

So, in cases where neither group has any real systemic power over each other, it doesn't even do that - it simply creates an environment where the original harm continues to be perpetuated while another new harm occurs. It devolves into a petty slap fight, distracting from actual liberation while also causing both parties to be hurt. That's not acceptable praxis. It's not praxis at all.

Even with the harm being small in scale, it's still not okay. Two injustices don't make a justice, just as two wrongs don't make a right.

This is very much something we need to address - in disabled spaces being my focus here - but also in queer, plural, alterhuman, and other marginalized spaces. And all of stems from the idea that "privilege" is the same as having the power to oppress someone. It's the idea that if you have an axis of privilege over another person with the same overall marginalized identity as you, that you are equivalent to being nonmarginalized compared to them and therefore disagreeing with them in any way about your OWN marginalized experiences is bigotry.

Functionally, it's that you're a bigoted privileged invader of marginalized spaces if you dare to have an opinion on a shared type of oppression. And speaking as a transfemmasc person, mayyyyyybe we should actually kill that rhetoric forever.

[irregularcircle]

Reclamation, Page 12

Okay, so maybe the No Moon's anima isn't the BEST light source, but it's certainly good enough to reveal those long-lost First Age books no one has seen in centuries...

Next Page

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[moonpool-system]

imo it's cripplepunk to challenge the concept of what abled ppl think as "crippled". If you fluctuate ability to do physical things you can still call yourself crippled. If you're an ambulatory mobility aid user you're still crippled. If you've never had it thrown at you as an insult, you've still been subject to the societal ableism that brought the insult about, and you can call yourself crippled. this community needs more solidarity

[hjltrails]

Origins of Healing Justice - Conjuring the Roots of Healing Justice

The legacies of settler colonial dispossession from land, slavery, and colonization led assimilation makes it difficult to follow our lineages and learn about our inherited cultural ceremonies, knowledge, and resistance practices. Healing justice is conjured into our world through reconnection with our individual lineages to inform how our individual practices can help us heal or transmute intergenerational trauma into fuel to keep our movements strong and resilient. Healing intergenerational trauma and the unique traumas of our intersections of oppression require cultural techniques to fulfill the soul memory of our traditions that were passed down for generations. A quote from Mya Hunter of SpiritHouse NC states, “The theory of change for us is around Culture, Practice, and Ritual, and we call it ‘CPR’. And so everything has to be based in your personal culture,” pg 130. Part of my healing and reconnection journey has been reading The Curanderx Toolkit: Reclaiming Ancestral Latinx Plant Medicine and Rituals for Healing by Atava Garcia Swiecicki and other books about Curanderismo to inform my individual practice. I have been combining the knowledge I was able to pick up from my great grandmother who was a Curandera before dementia took over and she passed away, and the things I’ve learned in alignment with my core through exploration of related books. The Curanderx Toolkit is a very queer-inclusive and gentle approach to our traditions that acknowledges the roots of our practices that came from Indigenous, African, and Catholic traditions. 

[bloghrexach]

Learning more every day!

By: LaillaB, from LinkedIn, Founder of ‘Reclaim the Narrative’ …

🍉 … “Recent reports have once again confirmed what we already know - Israel's colonial army remains uninterested in pursuing a ceasefire.

The United Nations’ warnings against escalating violence are falling on deaf ears, as Israel continues its unchecked colonial expansion despite clear violations of international law.

This ongoing settler colonial project, supported by successive Israeli governments, has led activists to dub the United Nations as the “United Nothing”

In the year that the declaration of human rights was introduced, the devastating nakba occurred. Each year that Israel commemorates its establishment, Palestinians reflect on the brutal ethnic cleansing that killed 13,000 and displaced 750,000, to make way for a European colony in MiddleEast!

The very origins of the Balfour Declaration have also exposed Israel as a state founded on illegitimacy…

The British mandate instrument provided no legal justification for the establishment of a solely Jewish state in Palestine or for the United Kingdom's neglect in fulfilling its solemn duty to uphold Palestinian self-determination.

The key clauses of the Balfour Declaration were thus legally null and void.

Furthermore the power dynamics in the occupied Palestinian territories are stark: coloniser versus colonised, oppressor versus oppressed, perpetrator versus victims;

🔻 COLONISED: “The violence of colonialism can only, and will naturally, be met by the violence of the colonised” Frantz Fanon

🔻 COLONISER: “Colonisation kills the soul of the coloniser” Aimé Césaire.

It will take a united front of global solidarity to hold Israel accountable for its long list of crimes;

🇮🇱LIST OF INTRNATIONAL LAW VIOLATIONS BY THE STATE OF ISREAL

🇮🇱ISRAEL OCCUPATION IS ILLEGAL

🇮🇱ILLEGAL ISRAELI SETTLEMENTS ON OCCUPIED LAND

🇮🇱ILLEGAL TO TAKE LAND BY FORCE & CLAIM SOVEREIGNTY

🇮🇱ILLEGAL ISRAELI PRACTICE OF ETHNIC CLEANSING

🇮🇱ISRAELI APARTHEID SYSTEM IS ILLEGAL:

🇮🇱MASSIVE VIOLATIONS OF HUMAN RIGHTS (HR)

🇮🇱COLLECTIVE PUNISHMENT IS ILLEGAL:

Laws Violated

🇮🇱ILLEGAL MASSIVE TRANSFORMATION OF LOCAL LAWS

🇮🇱SEPARATION BARRIER ILLEGAL

🇮🇱VIOLATIONS OF U.N. SECURITY COUNCIL RESOLUTIONS

Drawing inspiration from the successful strategies used against South Africa’s regime, we must go beyond mere diplomatic condemnations that have proven ineffective in curbing Israel’s actions.

World leaders must stop their complicity in the erasure of Palestine.

It falls on us to demand justice and accountability for Israel for its long history of human rights abuses and the growth of its apartheid state.

Only through sustained aggressive pressure from the international community can we hope to see an end to the Israel’s colonial occupation of Palestine.” … 🍉

#BDS BOYCOTT : https://lnkd.in/enhY9H2N

“Powerful people oppress through the silence of ordinary people”

#reclaimthenarrative 🍉🕊

[dykepuffs]

Because the antitrans activists have put this idea in my head, by constantly repeating their mantra of "Groomed drugged mutilated sterilised groomed drugged mutilated sterilised groomed drugged mutilated sterilised" (sidenote- I have never in any other circumstance seen "drugged" used for something that isn't psychoactive. You'd never say "He was drugged with ibuprofen."

But I want to reclaim it, like how we reclaimed PERVERT and CORRUPTER OF THE YOUTH a dozen other words which were absolutely as much of a "serious" allegation as GROOMER is. Yes, shockingly- When I meet a kid who is flailing around and thinking of themselves as a sufferer of gender identity disorder or of same-sex-attractions, I want to show them that they can be queer and trans and gay and bi instead. Frankly, just like how many cishets will take a child and encourage them to be cisgendered and gender-conforming and heterosexual and heteroromantic.

[breserker]

stumbled across this while looking for terraria screenshots, circa 2020? early 2020?

[baileyschnapps]

You don’t have to be nice

Or good. Or consistent

They don’t need to like you

You don’t have to be fake

‘Should’ is a curse word

Die to what they know of you

Your feelings can be spikes in a jagged line graph

You can turn 180 degrees

Right. Now

Things are allowed to change

Radically

Even for the worse

This is nature

Let go of everything you think you must be

You are entitled to be a queen for years

Then fall, fall, fall back into infancy

To be a fortress

And then turn to dust

To say No

And then plead Yes

To say Yes

And realise you didn’t mean it

You are allowed to not respond

Be petty, shrink in size

Wallow in the despair of sudden worthlessness

It’s not all about rising

It’s about permission

To whirl seamlessly in what is true

Cancel everything you have planned

And ask yourself what needs feeling

Risk everything for it

Lose it all in the process

Because every time that you do

You will arrive in the blessed unknown

With more of yourself

That you could not have lived without

[onboardsorasora]

Hii, if you don’t mind and if it isn’t too difficult, could you maybe create a list of all the different Max and Daniel’s in your au’s and give very brief descriptions of them and their relationship? And saying what fic they belong to? Sometimes I get a little confused 😭

Allo! This one is gonna be probably a long post. and I apologize from now for my potentially shitty descriptions😭 All can be found on my Maxiel Masterlist 1 and Masterlist 2. I do have a lot of stories, but I'll only talk about the ones that feature the most in my ask box currently.

Lets start with Enchanted AU - Daniel is a Disney Princess with magical powers. Max is Max. They meet in Monaco and Max is confused and in love. fluffy, funny, tooth rottingly cute

De-Aged Daniel AU- Daniel gets Exchanged with a younger version of himself (as of right now, he is 5yrs old). Max is Max. Max is taking care of Little Daniel, Older Daniel is at his Parents' house in the past. Currently a prompt fic, and i am woefully behind

Tennis AU - Daniel is a Tennis Pro, Max is Max. They meet at the Monaco GP. Very feral and horny for each other. Horny wag daniel before horny wag Daniel AU

Horny Wag Daniel - Max is Max, Daniel is a model/influencer/we never really fleshed that out. Only lives as tumblr ask prompts. Actually feral about each other. Turns marketing people's lives upside down (i hope that link works)

Sponsor Max AU - Max is a high powered/wealthy Vcarb sponsor. Daniel is Daniel. Max is obsessed about Daniel and uses his power, wealth and influence to get what he wants. fairly dubcon. currently (using this loosely) being written as an actual story but most lives in tumblr ask prompts

Harem Verse- ok so the problem with this one, we went through so many different prompts before it became a harem that theres no reasonable way to tag this properly (sorry). They're all drivers, except Josh. Daniel has like 5 boyfriends on the grid- Max, Lewis, Carlos, Charles, George. And then Josh. this started out as like a jealous Max over pregnant Daniel verse and spiralled into its own universe of beautiful chaos

Alpha Max vs Grid Kids - unfortunately I don't remember the actual tag for this one, but essentially its Alpha Max complaining that Omega Daniel is spending too much time taking care of his grid kids (Oscar, Liam, Jack, Logan and Zhou i think) and neglecting him and then eventually became the grid kids claiming Max as their grid dad

Adore You Verse - Mafia/Organized Crime AU. Daniel and Max are high ranking members of their organizations. Action fics, 95,523 words. Daniel deals with a lot of isolation and grief in parts

Reclamation AU - Angsty, slow burn, getting back together. Alt universe where no one is a driver. Max and Daniel had a really bad break up, and they eventually make up. 73,191 words

Mob Wife Daniel - Max is a bodyguard, Daniel is the wife of Chr*stian, a high ranking mob boss. Originally an poly pairing but for obvious reasons we strayed from that and actually kinda strayed from this au all together. Mobwife Daniel is very unhinged and dangerous and Max loves it

I hope that was all of them!