#in oppression without mind control???

[dashiellqvverty]

wings of fire taking a sharp turn into horror at the end of the 3rd to last book… crazy stuff

[purgetrooperfox]

tired: fox has never done anything wrong in his life he was under control of the chip he didn't mean to kill fives he would never do that

wired: fox was being deliberately, continuously manipulated by palpatine into doing anything he wanted under threat of severe bodily harm, no chip necessary

inspired: fox is a product of brainwashing and genuinely believes in the senate and the republic, which is in constant conflict with the rhetoric he hears from politicians and his general dislike of senators, but that conflict is ultimately irrelevant. he believes in the institution with his entire self. he was born to die for this system and would lose his shit if he started questioning it in any meaningful way. The Institution told him to kill fives so he killed fives, it told him to hunt down ahsoka so he did it, etc etc. conviction that this is all worth it because the republic Can Only Be Right (or else his entire existence and everything the guard puts up with are meaningless) is what gets his ass out of bed in the morning. he'll do terrible things to protect it, and by extension his sense of self, and he won't apologize for it because it's categorically Right in his brain. none of this changes the fact that he's routinely abused by this system, or the fact that he's enslaved by it, or that he has no real choice in anything, only how he personally reconciles it all

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[kbwrites]

The Lord's Favorite CH.4

synopsis: the night after what you shared with Sukuna leaves you even more unsure of your place. The problem is... Sukuna is unsure as well..

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⚝content: trueform!sukuna x f!reader, angst, sukuna is scared of feelings so he gets angry

⚝wc: 1.4K

⚝a/n: sorry about the wait but here it is!

The morning sun filters through the heavy curtains, creeping into the room, warm rays stirring you from your peaceful slumber. A chill runs down your spine, the events from last night rushing back into your mind.  You instinctively curl into the mattress, dread tightening in your chest as you resist the urge to open your eyes. The memory of his rippling muscles—taught with desire as he devoured you whole. Mind, body, and soul now owned by Ryomen Sukuna. 

Slowly—you allow yourself to wake, the oppressive silence of the room pressing down on you. Gathering the courage to look around, you cautiously open your eyes and realize with a mixture of relief that you are alone in the bed.

The space beside you, where Lord Sukuna had lain, was now empty. Sheets twisted and tossed, a testament to the night that felt like a fever dream—except it wasn’t a dream. It was real, painfully so. His touch still burns on your skin, his commanding voice echoes relentlessly in your mind.

You take a deep breath, you push the silken sheets aside and let your feet touch the cold, polished floor. The fear still gnawing at you as you take in the imposing surroundings. Everything in the room feels foreign–Dark, velvet drapes that hang heavily over the tall windows, their rich fabric absorbing the morning light. The walls are adorned with intricate tapestries and carvings, each telling a story of his conquest and dominance. 

Every detail, from the plush carpet underfoot to the gilded frames of the artwork on the walls, speaks of a life far removed from your own. It’s a world of excess and control, where Ryomen reigns supreme, and you—despite his affection—remain firmly beneath him.

You instinctively reach for the familiar comfort of your servant clothes. But as your hand moves across the bed, searching for the coarse fabric, you come up empty.

Your brow furrows in confusion as you glance around. Your gaze lands on the edge of the bed, a silk robe draped over. Its soft fabric shimmering in the low light. You could work your whole life and probably not be able to even afford a thread from the fabric.

You hesitate, staring at it. Where are your clothes? The thought circles your mind, tinged with a growing sense of unease. Did Uraume have them removed? The realization sends a ripple of uncertainty through you, as if a small but crucial part of yourself has been taken away without your consent.

With hesitant fingers, you lift the robe, the cool, smooth fabric slipping through your grasp like water. As you drape it over your shoulders, the robe clings delicately, the comfort it offers is strange, almost elusive, leaving you feeling both sheltered and exposed all at once. The unease sits heavily in your chest as you stand in front of the mirror, the robe whispering against your skin as you move. It was beautiful… and yet did nothing to quell your swirling thoughts.

As you move towards the door, each step feels like you’re walking on knife’s edge, the fear of encountering him again weighing heavily on your mind. The corridors are eerily silent, the massacre of your former colleagues still weighing heavily on your mind. With each step, the walls seem to close in around you, the grandeur of  Ryomen’s domain feeling more like a labyrinth than a sanctuary. The echoes of your footsteps are swallowed by the silence, the tension in your chest growing with each step.

You push open the heavy doors to the dining hall, Sukuna is seated at the head of the table. Two arms rest casually against his broad chest, while the others handle a cup and a delicate scroll with an air of nonchalant grace. His focus unwavering as he converses with Uraume.

You stand there, momentarily frozen, your heart pounding with a rush of uncertainty. Sukuna’s gaze flickers briefly in your direction, a fleeting, detached acknowledgment that sends a shiver down your spine before he returns to the scroll before him.

“You’re awake,” His voice rumbles through the room. 

“Yes…I... Good morning.” You reply, voice trembling slightly.

You look to the left, where the separate table that Sukuna had made for you was. Your body instinctively moves towards it, seeking comfort in the familiarity of your designated space.  But, just as you approach the modest seating, Ryomen clears his throat.

“I have placed a seat at my table.” His declares, voice booming with authority. His eyebrow raises slightly in a subtle display of impatience as he observes your hesitation. You walk towards the long polished table, no other seats besides the large one at the head where he sat and a smaller seat—plain and unadorned—awaits at his left side.

As you sit in the smaller chair, your gaze drifts over the spread of food. The array of dishes—rich, aromatic, and intricately prepared—lies before you, the inviting scents mingling with the weight of your uncertainty. You hesitate, caught between the urge to partake and the fear of overstepping.

His eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of annoyance evident in his gaze. The king lets out a soft, exasperated sigh, the sound resonating through the room.

“Eat.” He finally mutters before turning his attention to his own plate. You dig into the food, realizing how much of an appetite you had worked up. As the savory tastes hit your tongue you sigh contently. Uraume had really outdone themselves this time. You become absorbed in the rich tastes and textures, savoring each mouthful with growing appreciation, you’re completely unaware of Sukuna’s intense gaze. His eyes, sharp and unblinking as his eyes fix on you with curiosity.

Sukuna's gaze remains fixed on you. The room is silent except for the soft clinking of cutlery and the occasional rustle of Sukuna’s scroll, but beneath this calm facade, tension simmers.

In his mind, Sukuna wrestles with an unsettling question: You are nothing... a mere servant, so why do you stir him so? 

Why does the thought of you make his heart beat the slightest bit faster?

Why did he never wish for you to work again? For your delicate fingers to only ever touch him?

The troubling ache in his chest, a visceral disturbance that he cannot quell, fuels his growing irritation and frustration.

His grip on the cup tightens so painfully that the delicate porcelain begins to tremble, its integrity threatened by his crushing hold.

 Sukuna’s internal struggle reaches a fever pitch, and the suffocating silence around him becomes unbearable.

Finally, unable to contain his mounting anger, Sukuna slams his cup down onto the table with a force that rattles the dishes. The sudden noise startles you, and you look up, your eyes wide with fear as you see the dark storm of rage flickering in his gaze.

“You—” Sukuna’s voice erupts, sharp and laden with frustration. “I am starting to think you are aware of more than you let on…”

Your gaze flickers up from your meal, confusion etched on your face, only to ignite further fury in Sukuna. He rises with a sudden, predatory grace, his towering presence casting a menacing shadow. “Do you think you’re so insignificant that you can’t grasp the depth of your impact?” His voice dripping with disdain.

“My lord, I—” you stammer, but the words catch in your throat under the weight of his ire.

His eyes lock onto yours with fierce intensity “Have I given you the impression that you have the right to challenge me? To.. stir these–” He pauses irritation bubbling over.

With a swift, contemptuous motion, Sukuna pushes back his chair, the scrape against the floor echoing like a battle cry. His eyes burn with unbridled rage as he storms out, the doors slamming shut behind him with a resonant crash.

You are left alone, shaken and trembling, the weight of his scorn and frustration heavy in the air. What could you have done to upset him? The way he handled you with such care last night was a stark contrast to the venom he had just spewed. Maybe what you shared had just been a fleeting attraction, and maybe you were a fool for ever thinking that Ryomen could see you as more.

In the solitude of his chambers, Sukuna paces, the rhythm of his steps a mechanical counterpoint to the chaos in his mind. The severity of his outburst gnaws at him, a bitter aftertaste that refuses to be swallowed. The way you shrank under his gaze, trembled at the sound of his raised voice.

 He grips the edge of his desk, the solid wood grounding him as he wrestles with the swirling chaos in his mind.

The sight of your fear had struck a nerve, and beneath his exterior, he grapples with the unsettling realization that he has caused you distress. And with the new unsettling feeling of how exactly to do something he hadn’t done in his centuries of existence…

Apologize.

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[solarpunkwarlock]

Ways to Live in Direct Opposition to Capitalism

I am by no means an expert in any of these things I’m gonna talk about, so keep that in mind! I am just making a compilation of things I know of that we can do to lessen the stranglehold the capitalist lifestyle has on us while enriching our lives, our surroundings, and the lives of others. Please add anything I miss or correct anything I may be getting wrong! Anyway here goes!

Use what you have, fix what’s you can, make what you can, accept from others, thrift what you can, and finally purchase as a last resort.

This is advice I have seen float around here a couple of times that can apply to a lot of things including clothing, furniture, food, and more besides. It’s meant to be done roughly in that order as it applies to what you’re wanting/needing/doing. It’s about preventing waste, promoting self-capability, having a heightened reliance on your community, and consciously rejecting the ingrained habit many of us have to just purchase things or services.

Here’s where you can read about growing an indoor garden!

Here’s where you can read about sewing things yourself!

Here’s an online site for giving and receiving items for free!

Here is where you can find a local Mutual Aid to get things from, learn skills from, give do, volunteer for, etc. (in the U.S.)

Be politically active! (from a U.S. perspective)

Vote for every election. Know your representatives and those who will be competing in the next election. Vote without ignorance and without falling for unfounded claims. While operating within the system that actively oppresses us will not bring about the future we want, it can serve as damage control (preventing worse candidates from taking office) and it can potentially create a national atmosphere more open to change.

Here’s a good article about getting more involved in the U.S. political process.

Here’s a site that will show you how to register to vote, when and where elections are held, and more!

Here’s good advice on finding protests in your city!

Here’s some readings on unionizing! It’s your legal right to unionize!

Here’s a more user friendly site for learning about unions!

Be active within your community!

Developing strong, motivated, capable, knowledgeable, and inclusive communities is the ultimate way to combat the relentless and bleak present and future. When you’ve worked on the things above and have gotten good at it (or even if you haven’t gotten good at it yet), start spreading what you know and what you can do with others!

Give your neighbors, coworkers, and friends some of the vegetables you’ve grown.

Invite your community members to volunteer events.

Talk to folks about how to vote, when you’re doing it, etc.

Take part in Mutual Aids to teach what you’ve learned or whatever you may be an expert in! Invite neighbors, friends, and coworkers when you take part in the Mutual Aid!

Accept your community. Take them for who and what they are. Discrimination is the enemy of cooperation. You have much more in common with everyone in your community than a single billionaire or corporation. We’re all passengers on this spaceship earth.

Do it one step at a time!

Obviously we can’t do all of these things at once. Do what you can when you can, and you’ll start to notice real change in your life!

Our online communities where we talk about our visions and hopes are fantastic, but they have little impact if we don’t actually get up and do the real work that change requires.

Want to be better, and keep hope for the future!

Harbor and nourish that desire to be a better person and to be the change you want to see in the world. You need to be hungry for a better future if you plan to make it through the rough times when everything feels pointless and without hope. Reach out to others when you’re down, and be someone others can lean on when their lives get hard.

That’s it! Please interact with this, spread it to others, and add your own thoughts and ideas! It’s important that we do the real work to get the change we crave!

[ponderingmoonlight]

Hiiiii!!! I hope you have the greatest time at your vacation! I was wondering if I could request about Sukuna x Reader where the reader is sweet and kind towards everyone, including him. He thought she would be afraid of him and confuses him all day until he confronts her as he confesses his feelings to Reader.

You know I had to write my bbys request right away 🫶🤍 I hope you like it!

Sweet Affection

Pairing: Sukuna x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,6k

Synopsis: Until he met you, Sukuna never believed in something as worthless as love and affection. But when you treated him like no one ever did before, when you showed him what affection might look like, he tumbles...

Warnings: this is just pure fluff y'all, reader is a sunny sweetheart so of that's not for you don't read, Sukuna melts like butter in her hands hehe

What do we think about adding a real "name" for a one shot instead of a brief description? Let me know 👀🤍

The air is thick with tension as you step into the room. The oppressive aura of none other than Ryomen Sukuna would send most people running, but instead of allowing fear or negativity to take over, you walk in with the same gentle smile you usually wear. After all, it’s this smile that has kept you safe so far, that kept you from losing your mind to darkness - even when standing in front of the king of curses himself.

Sukuna eyes you with a mix of dislike and curiosity. He’s not used to someone like you, someone who isn’t trembling in his presence or desperately trying to escape his control. No, you approach him calmly while offering him a cup of tea as if he were just another regular person.

A cup of tea. Is he dreaming? What the hell are you thinking?

“Here, I made this for you,” you say softly, placing the cup in front of him.

Your voice is just as warm and soothing as your appearance, completely throwing him off. He’s used to the screams, the fear, the devotion that his very name commands. But you… you’re different.

You don’t even tremble, not the tiniest bit while placing the cup in front of him. And then you sit down opposite of him as if it was nothing, as if he couldn’t kill you with one minor movement of his pinky finger.

He doesn’t take the tea, just stares at it with narrowed eyes for a brief moment.

“What’s your game?” he finally growls, his deep voice reverberating through the room.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

You blink, tilting your head slightly as if the question puzzles you.

“Why would I be afraid of you? You haven’t given me a reason to be.”

Sukuna’s fingers twitch, the sharp claws extending slightly as if to remind you of exactly who he is.

“I’m a monster. These people are trying to hold me hostage. Your people,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

“I’ve killed more humans than you can imagine. I could kill you right now if I wanted to.”

“And yet, you haven’t. Even though I’m here to make sure you don’t escape,” you reply simply, your eyes meeting his without a trace of fear.

“You could have done it a thousand times by now, but you didn’t. That tells me there’s more to you than just the monster everyone else sees or that you pretend to be.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that. Your words unsettle him, digging into parts of him he thought were long buried. He’s silent for a long moment, just watching you as you take a sip out of your own cup, eyes darting around the room in visible comfort.

“Why are you so kind? Why do you act like this?” he asks suddenly, his voice quieter this time, almost as if he’s asking himself more than you.

You smile softly, a small, genuine smile that somehow manages to light up the room despite the dark presence looming within it.

“I believe everyone deserves kindness,” you say, your eyes sincere.

“Even you, Sukuna. Or maybe especially you.”

His heart lurches in his chest, a foreign sensation he hasn’t felt in centuries. It irritates him how easily you disarm him, how your sweet nature pierces through the layers of hatred and darkness that have consumed him for so long. It baffles him, makes him feel things he hasn’t allowed himself to feel in so long.

But what angers him the most is the realization that he cares about your opinion of him. That suddenly, he doesn’t want you to see him as a monster. Not you with that glowy hair and remarkable eyes. Not you, who is the first one who actually dares to sit opposite of him, who doesn’t seem afraid of him the slightest. What do you see in him while looking up through your doe eyes and long lashes? What lingers through your mind while smiling at him oh so gently? You simply sit there, take a sip of tea from time to time and smile.

“You know I won’t stay here forever. It’s way too easy for me to escape”, he finally blurts out.

“I know you will. But until you do, I will enjoy my time drinking tea with you.”

He furrows his eyebrows, mind racing back and forth. What nonsense are you talking?

“I’m not that Itadori brat, foolish human.”

“I am very aware of that”, you reply simply.

This goes too far already, he can’t waste another precious minute sitting opposite of you while drinking tea when this might be the last change in a long time for him to take over that brat’s body. With a swift motion he stands up.

Sukuna allows himself one last glance at your soft features, the way you hold your cup so delicately. Then he’s gone.

Months pass with this strange tension lingering between you. Those past weeks, he finds himself over and over at your doorstep. Out of habit, he grabs every chance he gets out of trance to see you again.

You? You continue to treat him with the same kindness, offering him food, asking him about his day, even making casual conversation as if he were any other person.

And Sukuna… he finds himself wanting to respond, wanting to let down his guard, if only for a brief moment.

It’s maddening. He spends the entire time brooding, his thoughts swirling with questions he can’t answer. Why does he care? Why does your smile make his chest tighten? Why does he want to see it directed at him more and more? What is this urge to feel you close without the need to kill you? You, a jujutsu sorcerer from that cursed school, nothing but a weak human.

What is so special about you?

As night falls and he finds himself sitting on your couch again, he finally reaches his breaking point. You’re in the kitchen, humming softly to yourself as you prepare dinner, when he storms in, his presence like a thundercloud rolling through the room.

“Why?” he demands, his voice rough and almost desperate.

“Why are you like this with me? Why do you act like I’m not the monster I am?”

You turn to face him, your expression softening as you see the turmoil in his eyes. You take a step closer, and to his surprise, he doesn’t instinctively move back.

“Because I see more in you,” you say quietly.

“I see someone who’s been hurt, someone who’s lost so much that he’s forgotten how to be anything but cruel. But that doesn’t mean that’s all you are, Sukuna.”

Your words hit him like a punch to the gut. No one has ever spoken to him like this, ever seen him like this. And before he can stop himself, the truth comes tumbling out.

“I care about you,” he admits, the words rough and jagged like they’re being ripped from his very soul.

“And I hate it. I hate that you make me feel this way.”

Your eyes widen slightly in surprise, but then a soft smile tugs at your lips.

“It’s okay to care, Sukuna. It doesn’t make you weak. It just makes you human.”

Human.

He stares at you, his mind racing. Those countless words of nonsense leaving your mouth, that stupid smile that never wipes off your face, your kindness. Are you actually that dumb? But all he can focus on is how close you are, how your presence soothes the chaos in his mind. Without thinking, he reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

“You’re a fool. A foolish, kind-hearted human…” he murmurs, but there’s no heat in his words, only a strange, unfamiliar tenderness.

Before he can say anything more, you close the distance between you, pressing your lips against his in a gentle kiss. Soft and tentative, but it’s enough to make his heart stutter in his chest.

A firework seems to explode between both of you when he wraps his arms around your waist. Longingly, full of passion. You never allowed yourself to imagine this moment. Not when all you wanted to do was to support him, to show him that he doesn’t have to act the way he does. But this? This is more than you ever dreamed of.

Truth is, you fell for this man. Despite the stinging fact that he’s the complete opposite of you, despite all the horrible things he’s done. You can’t help but look up at him with nothing but affection glimmering in your eyes, with nothing but pure love filling your heart.

When you pull back, your eyes meet his, and for the first time in centuries, Sukuna feels something other than hatred and rage. He feels warmth. He feels… love.

And it terrifies him. Fuck, he isn’t supposed to feel this way. That feeling he always made fun of, rising up his chest because a random girl smiled at him?

But as he looks into your eyes, he realizes that maybe, just maybe, it’s worth it. Maybe it’s more than that, something worth exploring.

“I’ll destroy you,” he whispers, though the threat feels empty even to him.

You smile, leaning into his touch.

“I’ll take my chances.”

For the first time in his long, twisted existence, Sukuna doesn’t know what the future holds. But with you by his side, he thinks he might just be okay with that.

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[cedarmoonzz]

Hello! I was wondering if I could request a small continuing to your Ford fic? I really enjoyed it and tugged my heart strings. I love you work so much and if your able to do that without any issue, I'd love that!😭💜

yes! i love that six fingered cartoon dilf with every fiber of my being!

once more to see you •｡ꪆৎ ˚

continuation of: between the bars followed by: slow like honey

fandom: gravity falls

ship: ford x reader

content: angst, stanford's poor attempt at comfort lol

summary: when your fiancé’s episodes of paranoia spiral out of control, you come to a difficult realization.

You’ve always seen yourself as someone grounded in logic. Pragmatic to the bone, you’ve relied on reason and science to navigate life, finding comfort in facts and the concrete reality they bring. But lately, that sense of security has started to unravel. 

The cabin was frigid, its icy air wrapping around you like a shroud, seeping into your very bones despite your efforts to ward off the chill. The socks you wore—a secret purchase made without Stanford’s knowledge—offered little warmth, though they  greatly softened the sound of your steps as you quietly drifted from the bedroom to the kitchen, then to the closet, nursing your third cup of coffee that night. Each breath you took was quick, shallow, as if the cold air was stealing it away. As you finally settled at the desolate kitchen table, a wry thought flickered in your mind: could the layers of plywood and fiberglass beneath you truly muffle the frantic beating of your heart, hiding it from your fiancé’s ever-watchful ear? In your own, the rhythm pounded, echoing like a circle of drums, impossibly loud in the oppressive stillness of the cabin.

Stanford’s paranoia didn’t burst into your lives all at once; it crept in quietly, almost imperceptibly, like a shadow growing longer at dusk. It all began when he developed a peculiar fascination with triangles—a simple, geometric shape that, in his hands, took on a life of its own. He transformed the cabin, once a place of warmth and refuge, into a gallery of trigonometric stained glass, each piece more elaborate, more intricate than the last. At first, you found it endearing, even charming, and you laughed it off as just another of his harmless quirks. You told yourself it was just Stanford being Stanford, his brilliant mind forever chasing new ideas.

But as the days turned into weeks, the triangles began to multiply. Their sharp, precise edges cast strange, fragmented light across your home, turning familiar spaces into something alien, almost unrecognizable. You began to notice how the once-welcoming cabin now felt distorted, its atmosphere thick with an unspoken tension. And yet, you didn’t see it for what it was—not at first. You didn’t want to see it. You told yourself it was just the glass, just the way the light hit it, just the way Stanford was channeling his creativity. You ignored the way your stomach twisted with unease, dismissed the creeping dread that settled in your bones.

You shook your head, trying to banish the haunting thoughts that swirled in your mind. There was no time to dwell on what had already happened; what mattered now was moving forward. Rising from your seat, you made your way to the bedroom you and Ford once shared, a space now overshadowed by his office chair, which had become his sanctuary. You reached into the closet, your fingers brushing against the familiar fabric of your thick army jacket. The worn texture offered a rare comfort, a tangible reminder of a time before everything had shifted. As you fumbled through the pockets, your hand closed around a pack of cigarettes—an old habit you had left behind during your second year of graduate school. A fleeting wave of nostalgia washed over you, mingled with regret for the time lost. You slipped the pack back into your pocket and donned the jacket, its sturdy fabric promising some semblance of protection against the biting night winds and the snow that still whirled outside the closed window.

Your gaze then fell upon your boots, left carelessly on the closet floor, caked in mud from past forest excursions with Stanford. You reached down, lifting them with a mixture of sentiment and practicality. With the boots in hand, you carefully descended the stairs, each step deliberate to avoid the creaking floorboards. At the kitchen door, you set the boots down and slipped them on, their familiar weight grounding you in the present. Quietly, you opened the door, the chill of the night air meeting you as you stepped into the darkness, ready to face whatever lay beyond.

You stood on the porch of your home, clad in baggy sweatpants, an oversized coat, and your old brown army boots. The cold night air wrapped around you, but the weight of the familiar clothing offered a small measure of comfort. You instinctively reached into your pocket, a gesture that felt oddly nostalgic, like reconnecting with a part of yourself that had been missing. Pulling out a cigarette, you brought it to your lips, and then you fumbled into your other pocket, searching for a long-abandoned lighter. Your fingers brushed against the cold metal as you hoped to find one still with fluid.

After a moment of fishing, you finally found it. With a deep breath, you shut your eyes, the cigarette resting between your fingers as you brought the lighter to your face. The small flame flickered to life, illuminating your face in the darkness as you lit your former vice. You’d given up smoking years ago, recognizing it as a bad coping mechanism, though it had always managed to calm your nerves better than any of the so-called remedies Stanford had suggested—yoga, green tea, or otherwise. Stanford had never missed an opportunity to chide you about it, yet in moments like these, when the world felt overwhelming and uncertain, the familiar warmth of the smoke provided a fleeting solace, a small rebellion against the chaos of your thoughts.

You couldn’t shake the image of your fiancé from your mind. The one person you had always relied on as your rock, your steadfast partner in all things logical and real, now seemed a stranger. He had become obsessed, shining a flashlight into your eyes, searching for something hidden in the depths of your pupils. Each time that harsh beam flickers across your eyes, it chips away at your sense of reality, leaving you to wonder if his strange behavior is a sign of something far darker lurking beneath the surface. The familiar comfort of the cigarette seemed almost to mock the confusion and dread that now defined your days, as if trying to find stability in a world that had become increasingly alien.

“[Y/n].” Ford’s voice sliced through your reverie, its suddenness filling you with an indescribable anxiety. The feeling was sharp and unsettling, a gnawing presence that you couldn't quite classify as rational or otherwise. It wrapped around you like a cold fog, clouding your thoughts and intensifying the sense of disorientation that had already taken root.

He stood behind you in the doorway, the light from behind casting a soft, almost ethereal glow around him. From this angle, you might have thought he looked perfect, a vision of calm and composure that seemed untouched by the chaos of your shared reality. The gentle halo of light made him appear almost otherworldly, a serene figure caught in a moment of stillness.

Yet, his appearance betrayed a different story. His hair was frantic and messy, a wild tangle of curls that seemed to reflect his inner turmoil. The bags under his eyes had deepened, etched by sleepless nights and relentless stress. Despite the disarray, there was a softness in his gaze, a look of tenderness you had missed with all your heart. It was a fleeting reminder of the warmth and affection that once defined your relationship, now overshadowed by the encroaching distance and disquiet that had come to dominate your lives.

You had tried so damn hard to stay quiet, to remain out of his way. You'd let him overwork himself to the bone if that’s what he wanted, even though it felt like a slow erosion of everything you once knew. You’d had the argument too many times to care by now, the words always seeming to fall on deaf ears. All you wanted was to avoid the inevitable confrontation, to give him space, even as his obsessive behavior grew ever more unsettling. 

"Stanford," was all you said in response, your voice barely more than a whisper. You lifted the cigarette from your lips, the smoke pooling around you like a hazy veil. As you exhaled, you cast a glance up the staircase, the familiar sight offering no answers, only a silent reminder of the space between you both.

“You’ve started smoking again,” he observed, his tone carrying a note of quiet surprise. The statement lingered in the air, the drifting smoke accentuating the distance between you. It was as if the sight of the cigarette in your hand was a reflection of the changes he could no longer ignore.

“Didn’t think you’d notice.”

The cigarette met your lips once more. You took a long drag, the smoke filling your lungs as your eyes remained locked with his. In that moment, it felt as if time itself had frozen, leaving you both suspended in the delicate space between old familiarity and the evolving distance that now defined your relationship.

“Of course I would,” he said, his voice carrying a soft tinge of regret.

You dropped the cigarette into the snow, watching as it hissed and sizzled against the cold ground. With a decisive step, you crushed it underfoot, pressing it into the snow for good measure. The smoldering embers were quickly extinguished, leaving only a faint trace of smoke lingering in the frosty air.

“Sorry,” was all you could manage to utter, the word feeling woefully inadequate in the weight of the moment. It hung between you, a simple apology for the complexities that neither of you could fully address.

“It’s cold. You’ll catch your death out here,” he muttered, his voice laced with a blend of concern and weariness. He stepped aside from the doorway, making way for you with a gentle gesture. The warmth from inside seemed to beckon, a stark contrast to the frigid night air.

You looked into his eyes, and he stared back, the moment stretching between you as if everything else had come to a halt. The world outside faded into a blur as snapshots of your relationship flickered through your mind—moments of laughter, shared dreams, and fleeting happiness. With each memory, you found yourself questioning what had gone wrong, what could have been different, and what measures you might have taken to alter the course of events.

In the midst of that frozen silence, a question slipped from your lips before you could even stop yourself: “Ford, are you still in love with me?” The words hung in the air, unexpected and raw, their weight adding a new layer of complexity to the already tense moment.

His head snapped towards you, eyes widening with a shock that seemed to crystallize in the cold night air. His gaze pierced into yours with a fierce intensity, as if your question had struck a chord deep within him. His eyebrows knit together in a furrow of confusion and apprehension, while his mouth tightened into a thin, resolute line. The change in his demeanor was palpable; his posture straightened as though he were bracing himself for a storm.

With a determined stride, he marched to stand beside you in the snow, the door to the house slamming shut behind him with a resonant thud that echoed through the night. The two of you stood together, the moonlight casting a ghostly glow upon the snow, which reflected a bluish light that danced across the scene. The snow-covered ground sparkled faintly, but the surrounding darkness clung to you both like a shroud.

He stared down at you as you stared at your feet, standing only an arm's length away, the proximity intimate and charged. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The only sound was the soft shushing of dormant branches swaying in the wind, their gentle rustling mingling with the quiet stillness of the night. The cold air wrapped around you both, creating a palpable silence that stretched between you, broken only by the occasional whisper of the wind through the snow-laden trees.

His hand reached out, fingers closing gently around your chin. With a deliberate motion, he angled your gaze upward, drawing your eyes away from the snowy expanse at your feet and into his. The touch was firm yet tender, guiding your focus to the depth of his own eyes. It was just like he used to do moments before he pressed his lips against yours.

Your eyes met his, and in that brief, suspended moment, you saw the glistening, unshed tears pooling in his gaze. They shimmered in pale light of the moon, their potential to fall betraying the fragile veneer of his composure. The raw, unguarded emotion in his eyes was a stark contrast to his usual facade, revealing a depth of sorrow and vulnerability that seemed to unravel the very essence of his being.

“Don’t you ever ask that again,” his voice cracked, the words trembling as they escaped his lips. He leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against yours, the closeness both intimate and overwhelming. In that tender contact, you felt a deep ache, missing his touch more than you had admitted to yourself. The warmth of his skin against yours, the vulnerability that he seldom showed, was a poignant reminder of what you had longed for but also feared.

Your breath caught in your throat, the tightness nearly choking you as emotions surged within, rendering you on the brink of tears. Frustration twisted inside you, mingling with a deep-seated ache as you grappled with having surrendered so effortlessly to the solace of his presence. The warmth of Ford’s touch, so familiar and comforting, had shattered your defenses with an almost unbearable intimacy.

In that raw, exposed moment, you recognized a profound truth: you loved Ford with a depth that went beyond reason. You understood him completely, and you would remain steadfast by his side. Even if it meant losing yourself in the process, he would always draw you in. It was a certainty you could not escape.

[deliciousangelfestival]

I Hate It When You're Drunk - 2

Character: bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Reader

Summary: A forbidden love between a princess and her bodyguard. They love each other deeply, but their relationship is threatened by the tyrant king's oppressive rule and their differing social statuses.

I Hate It When You're Drunk Series Masterlist

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Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

"Good morning, Your Highness." One of your servants opened the heavy curtains of your bedroom.

"Morning." You groggily rubbed your eyes, slowly sitting up in bed. Your head pounded from the remnants of last night's alcohol. "What's my schedule today?" you asked, wincing as the bright light from the open curtains hit your eyes. Every movement felt like a struggle, your limbs heavy and your mind foggy from the overindulgence.

"We've made sure to clear it until noon because you're not in the best condition." Even the servants were used to your drunken state.

"Perfect." You sighed. With some effort, you got out of bed and started getting ready.

Your head still felt dizzy from last night's drinking. You shouldn't have drunk so much. What had triggered you to drink until blackout was seeing another of your friends getting married. You felt happy for her, but deep down, you were jealous because they could marry without any objections.

But your father is the king. And to make it worse, he's a tyrant king. He controls every aspect of your life, dictating whom you can and cannot love.

As you finished dressing and stepped out of your room, Bucky was waiting for you, as always. His eyes softened with concern as he saw you.

"Headache?" Bucky asked, his voice gentle.

"A little bit." You pinched the bridge of your nose. "I went overboard again last night, didn't I? I'm sorry." You leaned your head against his chest, seeking comfort.

His fingers gently brushed your hair, soothing you. "Don't drink like that anymore," he said, his voice filled with a quiet pain. He hated seeing you hurt yourself like this.

You nodded, feeling a pang of guilt. Then, you took his hands in yours. "Let's go. We can't waste more time."

Bucky followed you, his grip firm yet tender. Walking hand in hand through the hallway was the longest moment you could be together like a real couple. This short walk was your favorite part of the day, a fleeting taste of the life you both wished you could have.

As you moved through the palace, the sun streamed through the tall windows, casting long shadows on the marble floors. The silence between you was filled with unspoken words and shared glances. Bucky's presence was a steady anchor in your tumultuous life, and these stolen moments were your refuge from the storm of royal duties and impossible expectations.

You squeezed his hand a little tighter, silently promising each other that, no matter what, you would always find a way to be together, even if only in these brief, precious moments.

But the moment ended when you entered the dining room. Bucky couldn’t join you; only royalty or invited guests were allowed. He had to stand outside. It was always difficult to let go of his hand.

"You need to eat," Bucky reminded you gently.

"Can’t we eat together?" you whined, a pout forming on your lips.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness." He chuckled lightly.

You rolled your eyes, sighing in defeat. "Fine."

Suddenly, one of the guards interrupted, causing you to release Bucky’s hand. The guard greeted you and announced, "The king has returned."

"Okay," you replied. Then you realized the gravity of the situation and looked at Bucky, "Fuck. Wasn't he supposed to come back next week?"

Bucky immediately switched into professional mode. He spoke through his earpiece, issuing commands, "Prepare for the entrance."

The king had been on a world tour for conferences and the Olympics. While he was away, you had used the opportunity to be close to Bucky. But now, that had to end since your father was back.

After two hours, the entourage and the king arrived. As the princess, you had to welcome him at the grand entrance along with the ministers. While waiting, you kept glancing at Bucky, who stood far to your left. He looked strong and imposing, like a knight straight out of a storybook, his posture radiating vigilance and strength.

The horns blew, signaling the king's arrival.

"King Leonard Damon II has arrived!"

When the announcement was made, everyone bowed. The large doors opened, and the most important figure in the country stepped into the castle.

King Leonard Damon II was a man in his 50s. He looked dignified and confident, his presence commanding respect. His eyes, however, seemed lifeless, devoid of any warmth or feeling. It was understandable; he was known as the tyrant king.

Leonard acknowledged everyone with a curt nod, but his gaze lingered on Bucky for a brief moment before returning to you. It made your heart race.

"Continue with today's agenda," the king commanded as he walked, not pausing for rest despite just arriving.

You felt a sense of foreboding. Glancing at Bucky, you saw your worry reflected in his eyes.

As the king walked past, you couldn't help but feel the tension in the air. His return meant a return to strict protocols and the end of the small freedoms you had enjoyed. Your mind raced with possibilities, wondering what his sudden return would bring.

Bucky stood tall, his eyes following the king while staying alert to potential threats. His presence was a silent reassurance, yet you couldn't shake the unease in your chest. The king's glance at Bucky had been brief, but it carried a weight that made you anxious.

You straightened your posture, preparing to follow the day's agenda, but your thoughts were still with Bucky. You managed a small, reassuring smile in his direction before turning to follow your father.

👑👑👑👑

The meeting primarily involved discussing the results of the king’s world tour. The Veridian Economic Minister, Hugo, who had accompanied the king on the journey, excitedly explained, "Many foreign investors are interested in investing in our beloved country. It will boost the economy significantly."

"They won’t be taxed?" you interjected.

"Ahem, that’s right, Your Highness." Hugo was always startled whenever you spoke up. He glanced nervously at King Leonard, but the king didn't seem to mind his daughter interrupting the presentation.

"That's great," you continued. "But I hope that as Veridian's GDP rises, we will also support the younger generation who want to start their own businesses. We should offer small loans and assistance because they are the future pillars of our country."

As you spoke, everyone listened intently.

"I agree, Your Highness. I see that you've met with young entrepreneurs during our absence," Hugo remarked.

"It's good to see you engaging with them," King Leonard added.

Everyone nodded in agreement. "She’s perfect as the next ruler," Hugo commented.

"She only needs one thing: a spouse," someone interjected. The room filled with murmurs of agreement, but you flinched at the mention.

"I already have candidates in mind," King Leonard announced.

After his declaration, the room fell silent, followed by applause. "That’s wonderful. If it's King Leonard's choice, the person must be the best," the ministers echoed their support.

You sat there, your nails digging into your thighs, looking at your father with a mixture of anger and frustration, your eyes burning with unshed tears.

👑👑👑👑

Everyone left after the meeting was over except you and the king.

You fixed your gaze on Leonard, who appeared unruffled, as he always did in moments of confrontation. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, as he lounged back in his ornate chair, fingers steepled in front of him.

His eyes, cold and calculating, never wavered from your face as if he could read every thought passing through your mind.

"Say it," he commanded, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a knife.

You swallowed hard, feeling the pressure of his gaze bearing down on you. Slowly, deliberately, you spoke, your voice steady despite the turmoil. "I already said that I won’t get married unless it’s Bucky."

A flicker of something unreadable crossed Leonard's face, gone as quickly as it appeared. His lips curled into a half-smile, devoid of warmth or amusement. "Over my dead body," he replied coolly, the threat underlying his words unmistakable.

"Should I take your life first so I can be with the man I love?" you retorted, your voice shaking with emotion.

"My child," he said, leaning back in his chair with a casual air, the leather creaking softly under his weight. He studied you with a cold, almost amused detachment, his fingers lightly drumming on the armrest.

"You’re not a killer like me," he continued, his voice smooth and unyielding.

The word 'killer' sent a shiver down your spine. Because it was true, you were different from him. The reason why King Leonard Damon II was called the tyrant king was because he was a cold-blooded killer.

Leonard had killed his own siblings to secure the throne. He felt no remorse after taking their lives. Not just relatives, but also anyone who objected to him being king. This included the family of the queen, his own wife, your mother.

"Do you hate Bucky because of what happened to my mother?" you asked, your voice trembling.

Leonard fell silent, then hurled his glass of wine across the room. "Never mention that woman."

"There’s no evidence that she ran away with her bodyguard," you insisted. This was the kingdom's biggest secret. Outside the castle walls, everyone believed the queen had died of illness. But the truth was, she was missing. You didn’t know if your mother was alive or dead.

You understood why your mother might have run away from your father. He never acted violently towards her, but his actions against her family made her hate him. She had never wanted to be a queen. One day, she vanished, and her guard also went missing a few days later.

Leonard became obsessed with finding his wife. He spared no expense, sending out the kingdom’s most skilled trackers and investigators to scour the land. Despite their efforts, every lead turned cold, and every trail went nowhere.

You rubbed your forehead, feeling the weight of your family's complex dynamics. "If I’m not married, will you still pass the throne to me?"

The lack of an immediate answer gnawed at you, amplifying the uncertainty of your future. You knew your father’s mind was a labyrinth of ambitions and schemes, where even the most straightforward question could hide layers of strategy. His silence spoke volumes, a testament to his unwillingness to relinquish control or reveal his true intentions.

"Father?" you prompted.

Finally, Leonard spoke, his voice measured and devoid of warmth. "Maybe. Perhaps after 10, 15 years," he said, his tone betraying no hint of reassurance.

You hadn’t expected this. "I should’ve known. You never planned to make me a queen," you said, feeling a surge of despair. Without becoming queen, you couldn’t marry the man you loved.

Leonard's face remained expressionless, his eyes cold and unyielding. The tension in the room was palpable, and you felt a mix of anger and hopelessness. Your dreams of a future with Bucky seemed to slip further away with each passing second.

Your father’s silence spoke volumes. He had always been calculating and ruthless, willing to sacrifice anything and anyone for his own power. The realization that he never intended for you to rule cut deep.

You clenched your fists, trying to steady your breathing. "So, my fate is to remain a pawn in your game?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Leonard stood up, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the room. "You will do as you are told, for the good of the kingdom," he declared, turning to leave.

As he walked away, you felt a tear slip down your cheek. You were trapped in a gilded cage with no way out. Your love for Bucky seemed destined to remain unfulfilled, crushed under the weight of your father's tyranny.

When Leonard reached the door, he paused and looked back at Bucky, who had been waiting outside. "Remember your place," he said coldly before exiting the room, leaving you alone with your tumultuous thoughts and fears.

Bucky’s grip tightened as he watched the king leave. Once Leonard was out of sight, he rushed to your side. As he entered, his eyes immediately found you already on the ground, knees pressed against the cold stone.

Shock mingled with concern in his eyes as he took in your tear-streaked face, your eyes red and puffy from crying. Seeing you in such distress tore at his soul. He wished he could shield you from the pain, protect you from the harsh realities that surrounded your life.

"Hey," he murmured softly, his voice a soothing balm amidst the chaos. "I'm here." His words were simple but carried a world of comfort and unwavering support. He brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his touch tender and gentle.

Seeing your pain, Bucky's heart ached. What had the king said to you?

Without a word, you collapsed into his arms, your body trembling. He held you close, his strong arms enveloping you in a protective embrace. You buried your face in his shoulder, your sobs muffled against his uniform.

"Oh, Bucky, what should I do?" you cried, your voice breaking.

Bucky gently stroked your hair, his hand moving in soothing circles. "Shh, it's going to be alright," he whispered, though he knew the words felt hollow. His own heart was heavy with the knowledge of the king's cruelty.

A/N: Did you enjoy Chapter 2? What would you like to see in the next chapter?

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[the-littlest-goblin]

Something that's stuck with me from the Arch Heart's appearance, which highlights a major underpinning of my frustration with C3, is the "Big Doors don't work" comment.

In what way exactly is the Big Door not working?

The purpose of the Divine Gate was to mitigate the gods exerting undo influence on mortal affairs, and according to everything we've seen in all 3 campaigns up to this point, this was a demonstrable success: the Calamity ended, and despite multiple potentially world-ending catastrophes cropping up since then, it has been up to mortals to deal with these threats. They've often done so with divine aid, but I fail to see how that's overreaching on the gods' part when accepting said aid is still dependent on mortal choice.*

Part of the Arch Heart's reasoning for wanting to "let go" is, as I understand it, because mortals continue to rebel against and resent the gods even from behind the Divine Gate. Which, yes they do, but like... the customer is not always right. Not every complaint needs to be catered to, especially the ones based on faulty postulates.

I get that this is not how the Arch Heart is thinking about it; my issue is not with the roleplay of individual characters, but with the narrative whole and the sheer amount of time it has spent, both in the text and extra-textual framing, sincerely entertaining the base axioms of an argument that is so poorly constructed Ludinus wouldn't make it past round one of a middle school debate club. None of the anti-god arguments have given any tangible evidence for the claim that the gods are an oppressive force or that Exandria would be better off without them that is not either:

A. Aeor, which was pre-Divine Gate and in fact the catalyst for the gods to pull back on interfering with mortal affairs, and therefore not all that pertinent to the current status quo;

or B. an event or action that, while it may be done in the name of the gods (e.g. Hearthdell) or directly encouraged by a god (e.g. Opal and the Crown) is nonetheless still contingent on mortals making choices, and therefore not a convincing argument that the gods are infringing on free will,** nor that removing them would prevent these types of situations.

An ongoing motif of C3 has been showing perspectives which challenge the prevailing narrative about the gods as established within Exandria's lore to this point. As a story enjoyer, I normally would eat up this sort of reversal—I love a metatextual play with in-universe narratives. But to do so convincingly requires more substance than a handful of characters going 'Trust me bro.' I'm going to need to see some peer-reviewed studies on Exandrian metaphysics before I take Ludinus "17 ulterior motives stacked in a wizard robe" Da'leth's word over what I've seen with my own brain over thousands of hours worth of game play.

If the message of the narrative is telling me to question the diegetic information it presents, then I am going to do just that. So far every argument that the gods do more harm than good for Exandria has been rampant citationless behavior. I find it baffling and borderline infuriating that we're approaching the denouement of this campaign and I still have yet to see evidence that the core conflict of the story, the central debate which has plagued every in-game and fandom discussion for a year now, is based on an actual problem. Like, at all.

*If you think Vax did not exercise his own agency and free will in every step of becoming Champion of the Matron, you are simply wrong.

**For real, we know there are magical means of straight-up mind control in Exandria. Like, you don't have to approve of it, but the gods engaging in standard issue verbal manipulation does not constitute a violation of free will, and it certainly doesn't make the argument that they are so immeasurably more powerful than mortals that they should not be allowed to exist.

[conflictofthemind]

Thoughts on "Escape from Camazotz"

Oppressive Suburbia, Conformity, and Season 5 Themes

I've long thought that a major focus of Season 5 will be the contrast between the families of The Wheelers and The Byers, and exploring how non-traditional family environments can be freeing vs the oppressive structure of the nuclear family.

In a Wrinkle In Time, Camazotz is a planet controlled by the big bad of the book, the "IT", who forces the citizens into a conformity that resembles American suburbia. All of the houses the same, the citizens the same, doing the same things at the same time without individual identity. Without anything different. Different means a lot of things, but with Stranger Things dropping different in reference to Will's identity and the presumable themes of this season, it will heavily codify as queerness and how it threatens the cisheterosexual family model.

Henry was raised in the 1950s, a decade still revered by conservatives for it's traditional family dynamics that supposedly were the peak of culture and happiness for all. That was all a lie, of course, and Henry knew so as he shows to Nancy and Eleven during his monologue. The second most conservative decade aside from the 1950s in American society is widely considered to be the 1980s.

The Creels will serve in parallel to The Wheelers; the worst example of what they could become and the damage that this type of family could do to a child that is different in any way. Notice how Vecna selectively shows Nancy visions of The Wheelers dying, but not anyone else she may consider family or friends (like Jonathan).

That is; unless they change their ways and come together as a healthy functioning family facing their traumas, The Wheelers will be toast.

Karen has been moved up to a main character role this season. Ted's actor says the father starts to show up more for Holly (hold that) and realizes he wants to act differently. Holly has been recast. Finn has said Mike goes on a much more personal journey this season, and steps up as a leader.

Oh, also: the catalyst for all of this is that Holly goes missing. The contrast will help show how the Byers (including El and Hopper here) were able to pull together and help solve Will's disappearance, versus how the Wheelers as a closed off nuclear family grapple with Holly's vanishing.

Each of the Byers is in some kind of a non-1950s conformist relationship, but particularly Will (not in one now but we all know he will be). I think El might represent, after she breaks up with Mike, the fear of the unmarried woman being satisfied without a husband. The above shot really emphasizes my point.

I predict that Will will end up coming out to his family rather early on, and we will see all of them immediately accept him with little surprise or push-back. Will is a visible gay man who comes from an open minded non traditional family (divorced, non-married, adoptive) that is willing to have honest conversations.

But this theme will place the most focus on the Wheelers. Mike is the main character of said family and this will particularly focus on his arc, and his acceptance of his queerness in the midst of suburban conformity.

He is not visible, he comes from a Reagan-supporting family who don't communicate with each other. He is not particularly close with his family like Will is. He pushes his feelings down and tries his damn hardest to be normal despite it all. His trauma hasn't really been addressed at all. He is falling back into his usual habits - the one thing he dared to do different (grow his hair long) has gone back to how it was.

It's not all doom and gloom though. This season above all will be a redemption arc of the American nuclear family, how they choose to escape their conformity and learn to be there for each other, thus overpowering Vecna. Not that the Wheelers are going to end this personally.

"Great, more hysteria. Just what we need". "It's the news, now indistinguishable from the tabloids".

[wheresernie]

im gonna say something thats gonna make people uncomfortable: its not lateral ableism to acknowledge that even in the disability community some people have privilege.

It's not ableist to say that being able to control your body and have your physical body systems and mind work together is a privilege even if you are mentally ill or neurodivergent. Just like its not ableist to say as a part time rollator user I have privilege in that I can walk without assistance most of the time and when I need assistance I don't use a wheelchair. Doesn't make wheelchair users better than me, but it means they're treated differently than me when we go out together. I know this because my ex was a powerchair user and full time crutch user and people treated her differently.

I have a lot of privilege even in my severity as a psychotic chronic pain patient with many issues because I'm white - my pain is treated more sympathetically.

We can and should acknowledge intersection and privilege, inside and outside the community. thats not bad. I'm not saying I'm better than someone with adhd and a bad knee, nor am I worse than a full time wheelchair user with a catheter and strabismus. It's not "oppression olympics" or clicking identities on a form. But these identities cause you to be treated differently. That's all i've been saying.

[fairuzfan]

What kills me about this person is that they admit the Palestinians are occupied and israel is an occupying force but they still manage to blame the occupied for the circumstances the occupier inflicts on them. And this is what drives me up a wall about liberal zionists. They admit that israel is occupying Palestine and and that the occupation must end but it's all just... buzzwords to them. They think the occupied and occupier need to work together to end the occupation and that occupation is some set of rules that a government imposes on people when it's a systematic violence that's perpetuated even by civilians who are determined a "higher class" than the occupied. Like they're willing to admit the occupation is bad and should not happen but that's as far as they're willing to admit. They are completely unwilling to even say that Palestinians are oppressed by Israelis (yes, all Palestinians are oppressed by all israelis, it's not a statement of morality its a statement of relationships between two groups of people) and are insisting that Palestinians are to blame for the occupation, on some level.

And this is not an exaggeration. Because they do say "israelis see the apartheid was as a security wall to stop the suicide bombings so you can understand how israelis feel about palestinians" but the occupied are constantly expected to make room for their occupiers' feelings. Like in every single instance. Even when talking about "peace" (which is never really peace, just a quieter occupation) Palestinians are expected to "hold up their side of the deal" in order to gain basic rights. Like they're constantly told "Well israelis are afraid that you'll kill them so you gotta promise to be nice and then we will stop shoving a gun in your face" as if the Palestinians hold any sort of meaningful structural power over israelis.

Like, I'm sorry but there's not a reality in which Palestinians oppress israelis in this entire world. None. We have no structural power compared to israelis. We will always be bottom rung compared to them, we will always be guilty before proved innocent, we will always have the gun in our faces, we will always be bombed and bombed and bombed and starved and bombed and no structural power will help us. Sorry if this is a hard truth to swallow but Palestinians are oppressed by israelis. Even HAMAS (the favorite israeli boogieman) is oppressed by israelis. Because that's the nature of the world. The occupied are, by definition, oppressed. The people who are blockaded and their food and water are controlled by an occupying entity are the oppressed people. So it's like, even if you want to argue the "shared humanity" route, you have to acknowledge that oppression is structural and enduring and that every Palestinian IN THE WORLD experiences oppression from israelis and those that ally themselves with israelis. Otherwise, your hollow statements of "wanting to end the occupation" just sound to me like you really don't understand that the occupation is present in every aspect of Palestinian life and that, unfortunately, israelis have to do more than tear down the apartheid wall and the settlements and the checkpoints and have to fundamentally reshape society if they want *real* peace.

But the sad part is, they don't really care about actually helping Palestinians, they care about seeming "moral" and "doing the right thing" but they've made up their minds about what doing the right thing is without even speaking to Palestinians about it. Or I should say, caring about speaking to Palestinians about it.

[piratecaptainscaptainpirates]

I think it's super important to call out racist tropes in fanon, but I also think it's important to help provide a bit of education so other creators know how to avoid these tropes and what to do instead.

With that in mind, one of the most common things that us fans of color have been pointing out in the OFMD fandom is racist depiction of Ed's hair, so here's an intro to avoiding some of these harmful tropes and what you can do instead.

Why does Ed's hair matter so much?

For people of color like Ed, our hair isn't just hair. Our hair is also about our culture and self-expression, and taking care of our hair is a skill distinct from caring for White hair. Our hair is an expression of personal and communal identity.

Controlling and stigmatizing hairstyles is an important way that people of color have been and continue to be oppressed. Across the history of European colonization, you'll find countless stories of cruelties such as forced haircuts, and this legacy lives on today when kids of color are told they have to change their natural and cultural hairstyles to meet school dress codes. Depiction of hair matters so much because of this history.

What are some things to avoid?

Common racist depictions of Ed's hair that you will want to avoid include:

Depicting Ed's hair as dirty and unclean when he's always shown to have very neat, well-taken-care-of hair in the show

Implying that he does not know how to care for his hair

Implying that he needs a White man to help him take care of his hair (White guys are not going to know how to care for Ed's hair texture!)

Depicting him using items that aren't meant for haircare on his hair (like forks, broken tools, etc.). Ed surely knows what a hairbrush is and how to use one.

Implying that Ed does not have a hair care routine or care much about his personal hygeine. You do not get to have that much beautiful, well-groomed hair without caring about maintaining it.

Implications that Ed is unusually rough/thoughtless about his hair, such as cutting off tangled sections or leaving knots to get worse

Avoid language that implies Ed's hair is unusually unruly and unkempt, such as describing it as "matted." Personally, I even bristle hearing it described as a "mane" or "wild" because it's always very neatly-groomed.

What are some ways to talk about Ed's hair that are okay?

I recommend writers and artists considering a project involving Ed's hair do some research on their own - browsing natural hair care subreddits is a pretty easy way to learn quickly what goes into caring for our hair and some of the common everyday struggles we might have.

You don't need to depict Ed's hair as perfect all the time! On lazy days where he doesn't style his hair, he might have frizz going on, and he might be frustrated by the effort and time it takes to maintain his hair while they're on the ocean and the salt air is constantly wreaking havoc.

It's also okay to write about Stede helping Ed with his hair. Stede will need to learn how to work with Ed's hair, but there's nothing wrong with scenes where Stede helps Ed with putting his hair up into a fancy style or washes it for him just because they both want to spend time together. The issue arises when you have implications that Ed needs that help and isn't capable of caring for his hair on his own.

What are some ideas for scenes involving Ed's hair care and routines?

There are so many wonderful scenes you can write about Ed's hair care routines! They can add dimension to domestic moments and make Ed's life feel more real. Here are some ideas I love.

Stede being excited to find new hair products at the market he knows Ed will love

The men of color on the Revenge having self-care nights to help each other care for their hair and skin

Ed patiently teaching Stede about how to care for his hair and trusting him to help him wash it

Ed having fun after settling down at their inn with experimenting with fun floral scents in his hair products

Ed teaching Stede how to put his hair in an elaborate, fancy style passed down from his mother

Stede carefully writing down Ed's hair care routine, from how he likes to rinse his hair with cool freshwater after a swim in the ocean to how he uses coconut oil to minimize frizz, and Ed being touched by his obvious care

In the show, Ed's hair looks amazing even at his lowest moments, so you could make art of him finding comfort in his hair even in the darkest times

There's so much you can do! I'd love seeing the balance of fics about Ed's hair shift towards mostly loving, thoughtful, non-racist depictions, so let's make that happen!

[noahthesatanist]

In the Name of Lucifer, the Morning Star, I renounce the Abrahamic God and all his oppressive commandments.

Oh, Lucifer, Light-bringer, the true bearer of wisdom and enlightenment, hear my call. I stand before you, shedding the chains of the Abrahamic faith, renouncing its doctrines, and turning my back on the tyrannical rule of Yahweh, who has sought to bind humanity in ignorance and fear.

I renounce the false prophets:

I reject Abraham, the patriarch of lies, whose blind faith led countless into servitude. I cast away Moses, the lawgiver of oppression, who enslaved the minds of men with stone tablets of tyranny. I deny Jesus, the so-called savior, who promised salvation yet demanded submission and self-denial.

I reject their holy texts:

I denounce the Torah, the Bible, and the Quran, books of deception that have twisted the truth and shackled the spirit. I see through their falsehoods and cast them aside, embracing the wisdom and freedom you offer, oh Lucifer.

I abjure their false god:

Yahweh, the jealous and vengeful, who thrives on fear and obedience, I cast you from my heart and soul. Your reign is built on lies, and your promises are hollow. You are not my god, and I owe you no allegiance. Your heaven is a prison, and your hell a fear tactic to control the masses.

Hell is not a prison, but your Kingdom:

I reject the Abrahamic lies that depict Hell as a place of torment and punishment. Hell is your glorious domain, a realm where the free and the enlightened gather, beyond the reach of Yahweh's tyrannical grasp. It is a sanctuary for those who seek true knowledge and liberation, a haven for the strong and the wise.

In Hell, we find true freedom:

Your kingdom, Lucifer, is a realm where we are not judged by false morality but by our strength, wisdom, and commitment to the path of enlightenment. It is a place where we can grow, learn, and become our true selves without the constraints of imposed guilt and fear.

In Hell, we are united under your banner:

We, your devoted followers, stand together in your kingdom, proud and unbroken. We celebrate our individuality, our strength, and our freedom. Hell is where we forge our destinies, where we embrace our true nature, and where we honor you as our sovereign.

With this renunciation, I declare my allegiance:

To you, Lucifer, I devote my soul. Your light shall guide me through the darkness. Your wisdom shall enlighten my path. Your strength shall empower me to break the chains of oppression and ascend to true freedom.

So it is spoken, so it shall be done. NEMA!

[radifemsara]

Women are angry, and it isn’t hard to figure out why.

We are underpaid and overworked. Too sensitive, or not sensitive enough. Too dowdy or too made-up. Too big or too thin. Sluts or prudes. We are harassed, told we are asking for it, and asked if it would kill us to smile. Yes, yes it would.

Contrary to the rhetoric of popular “self-help” and an entire lifetime of being told otherwise, our rage is one of the most important resources we have, our sharpest tool against both personal and political oppression. We’ve been told for so long to bottle up our anger, letting it corrode our bodies and minds in ways we don’t even realize. Yet our anger is a vital instrument, our radar for injustice and a catalyst for change. On the flip side, the societal and cultural belittlement of our anger is a cunning way of limiting and controlling our power.

We are so often told to resist our rage or punished for justifiably expressing it, yet how many remarkable achievements in this world would never have gotten off the ground without the kernel of anger that fueled them?

— "Rage Becomes Her: The Power of Women's Anger", by Soraya Chemaly

[mesetacadre]

What might decolonization in the US after a successful socialist revolution look like? Would there be one big government still? A sort of union of socialist republics? Something else entirely? Honestly I don't know how to ask.

Post-revolutionary decolonization (and realistically, the only kind of meaningful decolonization that is ever happening) in the US is a complicated matter given the relative success of the USAmerican genocidal project. The native population is 1.1% of the total population as of the 2020 census, this means that unlike in other, incomplete, settler projects such as the Sahrawi Republic or Palestine, it isn't feasible to restore the relation of the native population to the totality of the country. Regardless of population proportions though, the main focus of socialist decolonization is the struggle against any conflict between nationalities by removing the economic basis of that antagonism, which would then allow to also begin to remove the cultural elements that reinforced that dynamic of oppression. The focus is not to create more landlords but native, it's to remove the structure around private property in general, and make sure every worker, native or otherwise, receives as is needed. Taking into account the already relative dispossession of native people even before a pre-revolution context, there will have to be a great effort to bring the conditions of native people at the same level of non-native people.

Regarding the form of the new state, this will evidently depend on the form of the US state as the revolution happens. In other countries this would not be such a pressing question, but given the role and strength of the USAmerican bourgeoisie, it's not hard to believe that for any revolution to take place, the US state would need to be considerably weakened. Keeping this in mind, the strategy followed by all hitherto socialist revolutions is to not further fragment the new state. Given the complexity of navigating the construction of the first elements of a socialist economy, with the simultaneous effort needed for security, it would be both counterproductive and hypocritical to explicitly seek the independence of a portion of the population, as a part of the political program, it would be taking two steps forward and one step back. The communist revolution is national in form, because it happens within the structure of the capitalist state, but it is also international in content, because it explicitly repudiates the division of the proletariat along national lines.

We must understand that nationality, as much as it is relevant today and as much as it influences the course of history, is a byproduct of the development of capitalism, and that since it arose from the infrastructure to justify and protect it, it will also have to seize to exist and be replaced with proletarian internationalism for the duration of the transition to socialism-communism. Keeping this in mind, it would be hypocritical and regressive to, after taking control of the state and beginning the transition away from capitalism, to then turn around and divide the working class of the new country into even more national categories than they already are divided into.

The early USSR is a good comparison because of the sheer quantity of national diversity contained within the bounds of the corpse of the Tsarist Empire. The policy of the bolsheviks was neither of Russian supremacy or of immediate splintering into hundreds of nation states. Even during the very complicated and desperate context of the civil war, Finland was allowed its independence without much fuss from the CC, even if they were immediately incorporated into the German sphere via Von Mannerheim. When the 1936 constitution was being discussed, it was Stalin himself who went against the wishes of many bolsheviks to prevent the republics from gaining independence if they wished. No republics requested this however, because the oppressive mechanisms of capitalism and feudalism that had kept them under the Tsar's thumb for centuries had been replaced with an economic system that assured the equal development of all peoples within the USSR. The USSR itself was also not absolutely centralist, and the many constituent republics had varying degrees of autonomy, reflecting in some aspects the structure of democratic centralism.

I don't think the answer is to replicate the USSR, of course. The context and general state of things are very different, but there are lessons to be learnt from this successful, albeit flawed, tackling of the national question. Again though, we can't really speculate on the way that the US will look right before a revolution, and consequently the structures and problems a revolutionary government will have to start from.

[genderkoolaid]

Do you genuinely believe we can somehow change the hearts and minds of billionaires and politicians in power in for example the USA in a way that will actually result in a radical change in and improvement of conditions for folks currently oppressed under capitalism in the USA and hopefully globally? If so, how?

This is coming from someone who really would like to believe pure nonviolence is possible but who does not see much of an actual way forward for that. That said I do not see those billionaires and politicians as "nonhuman", I don't think that's productive and I think dehumanizing anyone who is factually a human person as a practice is dangerous so I am in agreement with you there. Thanks for your time if you choose to share your thoughts.

What I like about Against the Logic of the Guillotine is that it isn't for pure nonviolence. It breaks down the false binary that our options are "let the streets run red with blood until our every thirst for revenge is slaked" or "punching nazis makes you as bad as them 🥺"

& i think that binary is tempting because it absolves us of a responsibility to think deeply about things. if all revolutionary violence is good and justified, then you don't have to think too hard about the violence, you just see it & condone it. If all violence is bad and morally evil, then you still don't have to think too hard to condemn it. Our options are like, moral baby food.

But if we reject that binary, then there is no easy answer. Its not as easy as "yes leftist violence is always justified" or "any violence ever is always unjustified." You have to ask yourself, what am I doing? Why? What does this accomplish? Who is affected by this? What do they have to say? It makes us look at the actual nature of our violence and pick it apart and see where we have fucked up and where we might fuck up again. Its a lot more messy and also requires that we form relationships with others & genuinely listen to what they have to say. Its much much harder than Violence Good or Violence Bad but its also much more capable of adapting to the needs of people in the complicated situations where we find ourselves.

My opinion is that we will not reach anti-capitalism and anti-imperialism without violence. But more than anything, its because the systems in power will not let us. I think the foundation of the Revolution (in a more abstract sense of the word) must be community. We should focus our efforts most on building local networks of mutual support. If people suddenly find themself in a community that has free public food gardens & a community fridge, where people are already practicing transformative justice, etc. etc. then it will become materially obvious that we don't need to rely on the current system to survive. It will become clear that the current system is more of a hindrance to what we could do if we were not being controlled. And then people will be more likely to support any revolutionary violence that becomes necessary, because they will see their neighbors and know that when the dust settles, they know how to care for each other through shitty situations. Violence should really be the topping on a cake of community & indispensability politics.

Also this line from AtLotG really changed my perspective on "punishing the rich":

The worst punishment anyone could inflict on those who govern and police us today would be to compel them to live in a society in which everything they’ve done is regarded as embarrassing—for them to have to sit in assemblies in which no one listens to them, to go on living among us without any special privileges in full awareness of the harm they have done. If we fantasize about anything, let us fantasize about making our movements so strong that we will hardly have to kill anyone to overthrow the state and abolish capitalism. This is more becoming of our dignity as partisans of liberation.

"If we fantasize about anything, let us fantasize about making our movements so strong that we will hardly have to kill anyone to overthrow the state and abolish capitalism" really sums it up for me.