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reiding-writing · 2 months

Note

Cold!reader accidentally letting a laugh slip after someone tells a joke (preferably Spencer) and the team is just a little shocked

CHECKMATE [ONESHOT]

/ˈtʃɛkˌmeɪt/

morgan and spencer just cannot agree on whether or not chess is actually a fun game to play, dragging you and emily into their debate in hopes of gaining a majority vote.

WARNINGS: fem!reader, playful arguing, chess slander

spencer reid x cold!reader || fluff || 1.1k || series masterlist!!

a/n: do people actually like chess? personally i think it’s really fun but my brother seems to disagree

main masterlist!!

“You play chess in your spare time Reid, at least my hobbies are interesting,” Morgan rolls his eyes with a laugh, leaning against the back of his chair with a confident smirk on his face.

“Chess is interesting,” Spencer furrows his eyebrows slightly at Morgan’s comment, frowning like it was a direct insult to him and not just the game.

It was nine o’clock in the morning, and Spencer and Morgan were having a debate about goddamn chess. What did you do to deserve such torture first thing on a Monday?

Letting Spencer sit opposite you probably, but sometimes he’d basically do your work for you so you suppose it still had its benefits sometimes.

Sometimes being the key word.

Today was not one of those times.

“Interesting to eighty-year-old scholars maybe,” Morgan scoffs at the mere idea that chess could be a fun and intellectual game at the same time.

You didn’t mind chess per se, you wouldn’t choose it as a way to satiate your boredom, but if someone - that someone being Spencer Reid because he was the only one in the office who actually played chess regularly - asked to play a match with you, you wouldn’t turn it down.

“Actually, the average age for competitive chess players is thirty one in the United States,”

Morgan presses his middle finger against his nose bridge like he’s pushing up an imaginary pair of glasses, pointing the index finger of his other hand upwards. “Actually-”

Spencer serves him with a hard push against his shoulder. “Shut up-”

The movement causes Emily to give a little snicker from her own desk, and Morgan takes it as a sign of his victory, clasping his hands together and bringing them to rest behind his head as he crosses his left ankle over his right knee.

“Alright, chess consensus, ‘fun’ or boring?” Morgan throws his arm out to you and Emily as a gesture for your responses.

“Not for me,” Emily’s answer, whilst definitely leaning in Morgan’s favour, is objective enough so that it doesn’t unintentionally insult Spencer’s entire lineage by suggesting that chess can’t be fun.

“Alright, Ice Queen, final vote’s up to you, you can make or break the final verdict here,” Morgan tilts his head dramatically in your direction with his hands outstretched.

You look up from your desk with an exasperated sigh, looking at him through your eyebrows in a clear indication that you don’t want to be involved in the conversation.

“Awe come on don’t look like that, this is very important stuff here,” Its like every word that leaves Morgan’s mouth is just to poke fun at Spencer’s love for playing chess, and as you glance in his direction you can see his eyes on you.

He wanted the answer too. Great.

With an exaggerated groan you lean back in your chair and shrug your shoulders. “It’s fun depending on who you play it with,”

“Oh come on, what kind of half-assed answer is that?” Morgan shakes his head, crossing his arms. “You gotta pick a side here,”

“I’m entirely right,” You mirror Morgan as you cross your arms over your chest. “If you have a shit opponent then obviously it’s going to be boring,” You enunciate your answer as if it applies directly to Morgan himself.

“I am not a ‘shit opponent’,” Morgan rolls his eyes in feigned indignation. “I just get bored half-way through,”

“Because you’re shit and don’t actually know how to play,”

“Not true-”

Spencer’s nodding calls Morgan’s defences insignificant.

“Hey-” Morgan pushes his hand against Spencer’s shoulder. “Don’t agree with her, I’m not bad at chess I just don’t like chess,”

“People who aren’t good at certain activities have a three times higher chance of disliking said activity,” Spencer doesn’t back down from his stance, shrugging lightly with a nonchalant expression.

“Okay, you’re teaming up on me now I’m calling favouritism,” Morgan waves his hands with a shake of his head. “Prentiss back me up here, she is so only siding with Reid because they’re secretly in love with each other,”

“Oh 100%,”

You scoff at Emily’s answer, rolling your eyes. “You’re just defensive because we’re right,”

“Chess is a very intellectual game, maybe you’re just not smart enough to understand it,” Spencer shrugs again as he shoots Morgan down, and a small snicker leaves your mouth at the combination of Spencer’s burn and the look on Morgan’s face as he computes it.

You cover up the tail end of it with a cough, hiding your mouth behind your hand, but it’s not enough to actually cover it up, and Morgan’s face moves from shock to horror as he blinks in your direction. “Am I tripping balls right now or did I just hear a laugh from the robot herself?”

“What? Am I not allowed to laugh now?” You scoff at Morgan’s apparent shock of you being able to experience positive emotions, immediately falling back into your naturally icy demeanour.

“There you are, you got possessed by a spirit of joy there for a second,”

“Shut your mouth,” You throw a crumpled up piece of paper across the desks to hit him square between his eyes and your three coworkers all burst out into laughing fits of their own.

Spencer’s laughter was much quieter than Morgan and Emily’s but it seemed to dominate your ear canals nonetheless, quashing your frustration for Morgan’s attitude under the waves of his voice and again leaving you, as Morgan had so nicely put it, ‘possessed by a spirit of joy’.

He was in a similar state, a small sense of pride flowing through his veins not only because you’d taken his side in his little debate, but also at the fact that he’d managed to make you laugh.

Him. Spencer Reid had actually managed to make the most emotionally guarded person in the whole office actually laugh.

Score one for Spencer.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #mgg #asks 🫶

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chvoswxtch · 11 months

Text

lucky

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

summary: matt finally gets to take out the girl that's been leaving care packages at his door for two months.

warnings: swearing, slight angst, tooth rotting fluff (might need to call your dentist after this one)

word count: 3k

a/n: the highly requested fluffy sequel to care packages. thank you to everyone that requested this. i hope you enjoy your first date with matty. ❤️ as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[part one]

“I hate you, you know that?”

Matt nearly spit out his coffee as he lurched over the conference table slightly, forcing the lukewarm bitter taste down his throat as a wave of incredulous laughter tore through his chest.

“What? Why?”

“Because it isn’t fair. It’s bad enough you’re so goddamn charming, and it’s borderline offensive that you’re like the most attractive dude I’ve ever seen. Not to mention that whole wounded duck routine you’ve got going on that makes all the girls fall at your feet-”

“Foggy, I don’t-”

“-but what’s exceptionally unacceptable is that you somehow managed to find a girl that knows about the horns, and not only didn’t run away, but still agreed to go out with you. Like the fact that you’re a vigilante and a walking human disaster totally didn’t phase her at all. That’s…like…against the rules!”

Matt couldn’t help but snicker at the disgruntled tone lacing his best friend’s exasperated voice, and the way the edges of Foggy’s mouth dipped in displeasure.

“What rules, Foggy?”

“The rules of the universe, Matt. You’ve had too much good fortune-

“Right, like being blinded and orphaned-”

“Oh, shut the hell up. I’m talking about-”

“Guys, please. If you two keep bickering, Matt’s gonna be late. He’s lucky she’s even going out with him at all. Can we finish this?”

Karen glanced between Matt and Foggy with an arch of her brow, trying to hide the smirk that threatened to capture her lips as Matt’s teasing grin faltered into a purse of his lips from that bruise to his ego.

“Wow. Thank you…for that vote of confidence, Karen.”

“It’s true and you know it. Now, both of you sign these damn papers so we can get out of here before she changes her mind.”

Foggy’s expression suddenly turned serious as he focused his attention solely on Matt, staring at him with an accusatory finger pointed in his direction.

“I swear to God, Murdock. If you fuck up my pipeline to those crack cookies, I will never forgive you. You better turn that Matthew Murdock charm up to a million, you got me? I want those cookies, Matt. Cookies.”

»»———　　———««

It had been five days since Matt had asked you to dinner, and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you. Between the slew of court cases he was elbow deep in and the extra patrol he’d been doing at the docks to bust a trafficking ring, he hadn’t had a chance to talk to you again. He couldn’t feel your presence when he awoke past his alarm in the mornings, and when he finally got home at the Devil’s hour, he could hear you below him sleeping soundly in your bed.

For the past five nights, the harmony of your heart’s rhythm had eased him into a peaceful sleep like a serene lullaby.

But Karen’s words had anxiety filling every single cell in his body as he navigated the bustling streets of Hell’s Kitchen.

What if you had changed your mind?

It had been five days. Five days without getting to speak to you again. Five days without another care package.

That wasn’t unusual, right?

You didn’t follow a strict schedule with them. The drop offs were usually every few weeks. It just wasn’t time for one.

Or maybe you didn’t want to deliver any more of them.

Maybe the reality of who and what he was sank in and gave you cold feet.

Maybe this was over before it began.

“Fuck.”

Matt felt like he was losing his mind playing the role of the plaintiff and the defendant in the case of had he royally fucked this up already. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this nervous to go on a date. Maybe it was because you were the first person he was going on a date with as himself. Not one half concealing the other. Not with a pre-spun web of lies to cover his tracks. Not with a rehearsal to remember to play down his abilities.

All his cards were out on the table, and while he felt an absolute rush of liberation that you knew the truth already, the consequences of that truth were daunting and seemed to be lurking around every corner of his mind. By the time he reached his door, his clammy hands kept slipping over his key, and sweat had started to bead uneasily along his hairline.

Should he call this whole thing off?

He really didn’t want to.

Did you want him to call it off?

He prayed you didn’t.

Had you been thinking about him for the past five days too?

He really hoped so.

»»———　　———««

When Matt finally made it to your door, he was nearly out of breath and his cheeks were flushed with heat. He had changed three times because you had, and he didn’t want to be over or underdressed. He focused his senses intently on you, trying to decipher the materials and textures of the outfit you finally settled on. You had music playing as you got ready, and for a few moments Matt just paused and listened to you hum along. You seemed to be in a good mood, and that eased his nerves considerably.

Was it wrong for him to invade on your privacy like that? The angel on his shoulder was already adding it to the laundry list for his confession on Sunday. But the Devil in him argued that he was going to hear you anyway. It wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t help what his senses picked up.

Fifteen minutes before he was supposed to meet you at your door, Matt panicked and realized he hadn’t got you any flowers, and promptly ran down the street in search of a vendor. He spent eight minutes trying to pick some out. He didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked, and roses felt too cliche and insincere. He wanted to pick something special, something that showed he put thought into them, even if he had run to get them right before he was supposed to pick you up.

The vendor had talked him into a bouquet of violet peonies, and since he didn’t have time to spare, he raced back praying that this was the one flower you didn’t hate or God forbid were allergic to.

Matt took a moment to gather himself outside your door; wiping the sweat from his brows with the back of his hand, attempting to steady his rapid breathing, smoothing his windblown hair back into place, and reciting a quiet Lord’s Prayer for good measure.

When his knuckles finally collided with your door to knock, he didn’t know if his heart was racing from the marathon he had just run, or because of you.

The light patter of your feet eagerly approaching the door caused a smile to grace his lips, and once he tuned out the sound of his own heart raging in his ears, he could hear yours fluttering in your chest like a hummingbird.

You were nervous too.

There was a bright smile on your lips, and a light twinge of embarrassment from how quickly you had flung your door open, and you let out a quiet laugh at your own expense.

“Hi Matthew.”

God, he had forgotten how melodic your voice sounded, and how much he suddenly loved his own name hearing it fall from your lips.

“Just Matt, is okay. Only my priest calls me Matthew. And, well…a few judges in the courtroom. And my partners when I cause them undue stress in the workplace. I mean you…you can call me whatever you want, whatever’s more comfortable. It’s just-it’s kinda formal, and you don’t have to-”

“Matt’s nice. I like Matt.”

“Matt likes you.”

Matt internally grimaced as those words slipped past his lips, and the mixture of disapproval and mortification on his face from his own blunder caused a fit of giggles to erupt from your mouth.

“Well, then we’re on the same page. Glad we’ve covered that base for tonight.”

He let out a breathy chuckle as he dipped his head for a moment, trying to find the source of his usual easy charm to refuel his glaring depletion. He cleared his throat as tilted his head to the side slightly, gazing blankly past his crimson glasses in the direction of your face with a somewhat shy smile on his full lips while delicately handing you the bouquet.

“I uh…didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked, but the guy said these were the prettiest ones he had.”

Warmth spread across the tops of your cheeks when your fingers lightly brushed against his to retrieve his thoughtful offering, your lips immediately splitting into a wide grin.

“They’re beautiful. Thank you, Matt. I love peonies. How did you know purple was my favorite color?”

Matt perked up at that, and he stood up a little straighter as a proud, dimple-showcasing, toothy grin took over his mouth.

“Lucky guess.”

“Do you always get so lucky?”

“I guess we’ll find out tonight.”

Matt’s dazzling grin immediately dropped, and you could see his eyes widen behind the cherry tinted lenses. As his face paled and his lips parted in horror, his brows shot up above the frame of his glasses.

“Oh God, I didn’t-that wasn’t…I swear I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not-you’re not-this isn’t…I meant the date. Not that I’m expecting anything-I wouldn’t-I just…meant I hope it goes well. I didn’t-Jesus fucking Christ.”

You were nearly in tears with laughter as Matt stumbled over his words. A part of you felt bad for laughing at the clarity of his humiliation, but it was so endearing knowing he was just as affected by his nerves as you were. This man that went out every night to take down dangerous criminals, and was arguably the most feared man in the city himself, was standing in front of your door stumbling over an apology about an unintended double entendre.

Reaching out to place your hand on his arm, you gave it a reassuring squeeze, momentarily distracted by the dense muscle you felt beneath the soft material of his shirt, before smiling at him in sympathy as you attempted to control your laughter.

“Matt, it’s okay. Really.”

He let out a deep exhale, his tongue darting out to wet his lips quickly as he let out a short and dry chuckle. Matt nodded his head in your direction, a faint curve of self-deprecation on his lips.

“Is this the worst first date you’ve ever been on?”

There was a teasing tone accompanying the timber of his voice, but layered beneath you could detect a chord of genuine curiosity intermingled with trepidation. The smile on your lips only grew as you looked up at him.

“Actually, it’s one of the best.”

Matt was completely in awe of you. There wasn’t a single falter in your heart’s rhythm. He felt his lips easily mirroring the smile that was on yours, reaching his hand out to lightly grasp your elbow as your hand was still comfortably placed on his bicep.

“What would I have to do to make it the best?”

“Hm. What’s for dinner?”

“Italian. That I know you like.”

A soft noise of content hummed from your throat, and the grin that bloomed on your lips triggered his own.

“Yeah, you’re definitely in my top three right now. But, the night is still young.”

Matt couldn’t help but chuckle at the playful invitation that flowed from your voice.

“Top three? I can work with that. I like a challenge.”

»»———　　———««

The restaurant Matt brought you to was a quaint, family owned spot just a few blocks away from your shared apartment building. It’s a place he had passed by on several instances, the aroma of fresh produce and homemade pasta sauce passed down through generations capturing the intrigue of his senses every time he crossed its path, but he had wanted to save it for a special occasion like a celebratory fifty year old bottle of champagne.

And tonight, he was popping the cork on it with you.

The space was incredibly cozy. Tea light candles flickered romantically on every table and cast an amber glow in the somewhat dim lightning. Collections of sepia and noir photos of large families and historic Italian architecture decorated the walls. The imported Sangiovese was rich in tannins and bold in flavor, caressing your tongue like bittersweet velvet. And the loud personality and thick accent of your waiter repeating your orders off in an alluring symphony of Italian made you feel like you and Matt had somehow been transported straight from Hell’s Kitchen to Italy just by passing through the door.

Both of your nerves seemed to evaporate into the breeze flowing through the open windows with every splash of burgundy against your lips and exchange of exquisite flavor from your dishes. Matt asked you questions with childlike excitement, eager to learn more about you, studying you with the exact same enthusiasm he showed important cases that were of the utmost importance to him.

In return, he found himself answering your own inquisitions easily without having to spare the devilish and more complicated details. It was so incredibly emancipating to not have to pretend with you. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t having to play a character. He could just be…Matt.

You approached every question with genuine curiosity and a respectful distance of where his invisible boundaries might be, and it made his heart soar that you were trying so hard to carefully craft his comfort. Matt had known that he was enthralled with you the first time he met you, but by the time dessert came, he was absolutely smitten.

He didn’t want to get too ahead of himself, but he also didn’t want the night to end.

“Can I walk you home?”

“Hm, I don’t know. You sure it isn’t too out of your way?”

Even if Matt couldn’t feel the way your lips parted into a huge smile, he could hear it in the cadence of your voice. The subtle joke made him chuckle as he nodded his chin in your direction, his own mouth pulling into a charming smirk.

“I’d still offer even if you lived in Long Island.”

The sudden spill of heat across the tops of your cheeks and the quiet sharp intake of your breath had his heart pounding faster in his chest.

“I suddenly wish I did.”

Even though your tone was playful, he could detect the implications behind your words. You didn’t want this night to end either, and that had him soaring up to cloud nine. Feeling emboldened by your indirect confession, Matt reached his hand out slowly to brush his fingertips against the palm of your hand, easily threading his fingers through your own, reveling in the softness of your skin that he had missed. He felt a spark every time your pulse resonated against his own, and his cheeks nearly hurt from how much he was smiling.

“I prefer you living a floor below me.”

By the time the two of you reached your front door, Matt couldn’t tell if it was the electricity from the building buzzing in his ears or the anticipation that kept building the entire walk, growing larger and larger like a snowball ready to plow into his chest to cause an avalanche when you turned your body to face him. As your thumb lightly brushed against the back of his scarred knuckles, a question that had been bouncing around in his head all evening could no longer go unanswered.

“So, as far as first dates go, what’s the verdict? Did I move up at all?”

Matt splayed his most charming smile across his plump lips, and while the flirtation in his voice was evident, so was the unmistakable undertone of uncertainty. The blood rushing through his veins was roaring in his ears like tides crashing against the shore during a storm.

“I’d say you made it to the top two.”

Matt cocked his head to the side slightly, seemingly surprised by your answer, his brows raising above the browline of his glasses slightly.

“Second place?”

“Unless you’ve got a last minute testimony for me to rule in your favor, Counselor.”

Your voice remained soft and teasing, but your heart was fluttering violently in your chest, like the hummingbird was trying to escape its cage. Matt carefully let go of your hand, reaching up to pull his glasses away from his face, baring himself completely before you as he slipped the crimson lenses into his pocket. The slight gasp from seeing his eyes for the first time that caught in your throat caused a bashful smile to appear on his lips.

His tongue darted out to wet them quickly, catching a taste of the tiramisu you shared still lingering on your tongue. He wanted to devour it from your lips. Taking a bold step forward, he did his best to fix his gaze where he thought yours was, leaning in slightly until your noses were merely an inch apart, the warmth of his breath fanning over your lips.

“May I?”

His voice seemed to have dropped an octave lower, coming out in an intimate whisper that you answered all too eagerly.

“Yes.”

Matt couldn’t hold back any longer. He quickly closed the sliver of distance between you, pressing his lips to yours with a satisfied groan, feeling a surge of pride at the way your breath caught in your throat. For a good thirty seconds, you actually stopped breathing. When he reluctantly broke the kiss, he brushed his lips against yours and whispered into them softly.

“Breathe.”

The second the command slipped off his tongue, you exhaled heavily before sucking in a sharp drag of oxygen, and Matt couldn’t stop the smug grin that overtook his entire mouth.

“Well, sweetheart? What’s the verdict now?”

“Yeah…yeah, yeah definitely in the number one spot.”

Matt beamed at the breathlessness of your voice, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you in closer to his chest as he purred into your ear.

“Lucky me.”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover @desert-fern @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @danzer8705

#matt murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock fic #daredevil #daredevil fic

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ourflagmeansgayrights · 5 months

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so much of the post s2 reaction from some izzy fans has been incredibly mask-off but i think by far one of the most blatant moments has been seeing all the ppl who think the season should’ve ended with izzy being made captain. aside from how in s1 his main textual arc was that he craves leadership and yet is incredibly ill-suited for it (source: those goddamn alex sherman DMs from last year) and how in s2 his arc has nothing to do with desiring leadership or being a capable leader. aside from that. there are multiple other people who DO have arcs or at least characterizations that would be better suited to being captain, such as:

frenchie, who is actually canonically made captain at the end of the show

oluwande, who was voted captain by the crew in episode 9 of last season

zheng, who has experience captaining an entire fleet of pirate ships

and i’m gonna come out of left field with this one but how about spanish jackie, who knows how to run a business and how to lead a group of 20 people with no problem. her management style might have to change a bit if she’s in charge of the revenge instead of her 20 husbands but ffs there’s still more to support having her as a captain than izzy

and i just gotta wonder 🤔 what does izzy have that these four characters don’t that makes some fans think izzy would somehow be a better captain??? 🤔🤔 rlly makes you think 🤔🤔🤔

#obligatory not all izzy fans disclaimer #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd s2 #frenchie #frenchie ofmd #oluwande boodhari #ofmd oluwande #zheng yi sao #ofmd zheng yi sao #spanish jackie #ofmd spanish jackie #izzy hands #dizzy izzy #israel hands #if this post is in the izcourse tag no it isnt u just dont know how to use tumblr #txt #og #mine

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qqueenofhades · 3 months

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I completely understand if you don’t feel comfortable answering this, but my mind is spiraling out of control and you’re the only person I know with the level of knowledge to where I can feel comfortable asking this without getting some form of “bla bla we live in a safe state don’t worry.”

I’m sincerely wondering if I need to be making plans to leave the country in the event of November bringing the most horrible of outcomes despite our best efforts (and yes I’m planning to vote blue in everything I can); as a AFAB in CA?

I know about project 2025. I’m terrified. Forgive my pop culture reference, but I feel like a version of Princess Zelda staring down a barrel of possible doom while everyone around me is like “nah that future you literally had a nightmare about where they made it illegal for a woman to have a bank account without a guy co-signing it and took the money from everyone who didn’t comply by a certain date isn’t even a possibility!”

I’m just confused about my life and am trying to take it day by day, and exercising every right while I still have it to prevent this outcome, but it feels weird making plans and retirement accounts and just general Setting Up Adult Life And Future Things™️……while wondering if I even have a future in this place at all and I’m just making it harder to escape if need be.

I’m sorry I’m rambling, and I guess I don’t know what I’m asking since no one has a crystal ball.

But I guess, it’s stuff like how much can the feds effect state’s policies? Is it possible for them to immediately block international travel for all women practically upon inauguration? How much time would I even have to gtfo if the worst begins?

Bc honestly this whole thing feels like the lead in to a very nasty chapter of a history book, and even though I have hope we’ll have another blue tsunami, it can be hard to try and figure things out when it feels like there’s barely any historical precedent for any of it.

Welp. Okay. First of all, I am giving you a comforting hug, I am walking with you to your favorite coffee shop, I am paying for your favorite beverage and also a baked goodie of your choice, and we are sitting down in a corner where we can talk honestly. So that's where I want you to imagine us having this conversation.

To start with, yes, I completely understand this feeling of utter, paralyzing doom, where I am trying to go about my daily life and make plans for my career and carry out daily tasks and Be Responsible while there's still just this total void beyond the end of the year, the utter impossibility of knowing if we will have dodged an absolutely massive bullet and finally be safe (since if Trump loses again he is 100% going to jail in the next four years) or, well. You know. That is a very hard way to live, when you're wondering if anything is going to matter and you can't see beyond that black cloud of fear on the horizon. It sucks you down and tells you that nothing is worth doing now in case it just gets so much worse. I am not going to tell you not to feel that. We all do. We are all scared. That in and of itself is a perfectly normal way to feel.

However, there are things you can do both now and if (I repeat, if) God absolutely forbid, the worst was to happen (again). First of all, we have already lived through a Trump presidency once. It was terrible and scary and awful and demoralizing as fuck, but we can do it again if we absolutely Goddamn fucking have to (once, again, God forbid). Second, you are currently about as safe as you could be in California. Newsom has proven himself to be smart, tough, able to run rings around Republicans, and unwilling to comply with their stupid performative-cruelty directives. He's not a saint or a magician, but you don't need that; you need a shrewd politician able to fight back, and he has proven himself willing and capable of doing that. So as long as he is governor, you're going to be more safe than not, and I'd also like to ask all the shrieking Online Leftists if, should the shit go down, they would rather live in a state with a Democratic governor who will fight Trump 2.0 every step of the way, or a Republican governor who will just roll over and obey. (But that would destroy their BOTH PARTIES ARE THE SAME talking point, so you know.)

Next of all, even if the Republicans are doing their best impression, America in 2024 isn't Germany in 1934. There are different tools, different ways to fight back, and different awarenesses/social media/visibility factors. I also need everyone to remember that just as Biden can't just sign an executive order and fix everything everywhere, Trump can't just sign an executive order and fuck everything everywhere, just like that with no more discussion ever. He tried that last time, it generally didn't work, and trust me, at least this time nobody is sleeping on the danger he poses. His candidacy in 2016 was dismissed as a long-shot joke that nobody took seriously until it was too late, and for better or worse, people aren't doing that this time. He will be sued instantly, incredibly, and repeatedly with everything his band of wannabe fascists try, and since we have had four years of Biden fixing the courts from where Trump trashed them, that does mean something. There is no scenario where even if he does issue some outrageous order against women, LGBTQ+ people, immigrants, etc (which to be clear, I'm sure he would try) it would just be carried out completely, immediately, and with no feasible way to stop it. Evil is evil, but it is also stupid, clueless, determined to hurt people just for the hell of it without any regard for what is possible or which will be allowed, and there's a lot more grey area in there than just "Trump says something terrible and it's instantly done, the end."

Once again, I'm not going to say that the worst-case scenario is not possible, but I don't think it's likely, and even if that does happen, there are ways for us to survive and fight back (again). Nobody wants it and it should not have to be asked of us due to the utter collapse of the social, civic, political, and intellectual fabric of this country thanks to the TrumpCult, but once again... these people are so loud and dangerous and cruel and stupid because they are in the minority. Etc. etc. polls are garbage, but we did just have an interesting piece of empirical data from the Iowa caucuses. Trump -- in one of the whitest, most rural, most conservative, most religious, most Trump-loving states in the country -- struggled to break 50%. Almost half of a rabid Republican fully-Trumpized electorate, among the diehards sufficiently motivated to get out and caucus in extreme freezing weather, voted for someone else (Haley and DeSantis took about 20% apiece). Now, no, we don't know how that will translate to the general election, and if registered Republicans will flock back to the nominee even if it's Trump, but as almost half of Haley voters said they would vote for Biden if it was a Biden-Trump matchup in the general, there is some sense that Trump is an aberration to their otherwise ironclad party loyalty. Now, Republicans are the fucking worst and nobody should be relying on them to save us; we still need to get out and vote for Democrats with all our might. But Trump is no longer barn-burningly popular even in core Trump heartland, and it'll be interesting to see how things go in future primaries.

My point is: I know the feeling that evil is awful and unstoppable and all-powerful, and will crush our lives and our futures no matter what we do to resist it. I really, really do. But Trump is a terrible candidate, he's running literally only to keep himself out of a long, long prison sentence, and if he had crushed the Iowa caucuses regardless, we might be having a different conversation. However, we need to remember that it is possible, again (God forbid) in the worst scenario, to resist, to live, and to win. Everyone who is motivated to work for a better world will still be here. Everyone who can help you and all of us will still be here. And there are more of us than there are of them. Yes, I do understand the feeling that we need to have contingency plans in place, I do absolutely know that it could get very bad, and all that (as you say, nobody has a crystal ball). But for now, I want you to take a deep breath, try to take this day by day, and remember that this is not a crushing and inevitable future that will sweep over you and destroy you without you (or any other person of good will) having a say in the matter. You still have agency, you still have the ability to protect yourself, and you still have others who will protect you in turn. You're not alone. The bad guys want you to think that, because when you're isolated and terrorized, you're easier to pick off and/or recruit into their cult. But you're not.

In conclusion: "What are we holding onto, Sam?"

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts #hang in there!

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ofstoriesandstardust · 1 year

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maroon (j.h.s.)

a/n: every goddamn piece of this is self-indulgent but as jordan always says, is that not what fanfiction is meant to be? i’d be more than willing to write more for these two but i’m also afraid this is what’s going to get me voted off the top gun island so goodbye i’m going to go hide under a rock until further notice.

pt. ii

summary: (Kazansky!reader) This is the way had always been.

Hangman flirted with anything and everything, bedding a new women every night and leaving them the next morning.

So when he picks up flirting with you, you know he’s just in it for the trouble, a way to get under your Dad’s skin. He’s just in it for the scarlet color of your cheeks every time he calls you “darling”. He’s just after you because you’re young and new, fresh meat for him. You know you’d never let your guard down enough to be wooed by this man, no matter how good it feels to have those sea-glass eyes on you.

And that’s how it goes. Hangman flirting with you every night while you worked, under the watchful eye of his team mates, with nothing more ever coming of it.

Until one night it changes, all because of a cowboy hat.

partially inspired by taylor swift’s “maroon”

main masterlist | top gun: maverick masterlist

warnings: age gap (of 11-ish years? but the specific years aren’t mentioned just that there is an age gap), implied/referenced sex, kissing, a heavy makeout, hickeys, i haven’t made out with anyone in two years, this is the closest to smut you will catch me writing, swearing, alcohol, Icemav but it’s a minor plot point, Maverick never pulled Rooster’s papers but he still went to UVA

word count: 2,885

His eyes track her across the bar, watching the way Bradshaw’s hands clap down on her shoulders, causing her to startle as she carries a crate. Even dressed in a plain black tee and jeans, a brown belt adorning her waist, he can’t help but admire how good she looks.

He watches as she offers Bradshaw a forced smile, causing a frown to tug at the brunette’s lips. Ever the pair, Bradshaw cared for her in a way only a brother could. Bradshaw settles down at the bar as she begins to unload clean glasses into the bar in preparation for what would probably be a busy Saturday night.

It’s futile for him to pretend he doesn’t remember the way she climbed into his lap the night before, straddling him, as he undid her belt in a flurry of passion, in vivid detail.

He knows that hidden beneath the material of her shirt are bruises he left, always wanting to claim and mark what was his.

The bell at the door of the Hard Deck rings, pulling him from remembering the night before any longer as he watches Admiral Kazansky and Captain Mitchell walk through the door.

Sometimes, it baffled him that the two of them were married. Sometimes, he realized there was no one more perfect for them than the other.

He watches the couple settle at the bar, talking with Rooster and the bartender, so clearly fond of both.

“Hey, how come Admiral Kazansky’s so fond of Penny’s bartender?”

The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them as he leans up against his pool cue. Coyote lets out a half-laugh, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

He turns to his friend. “What?”

Coyote shakes his head, turning away from him as he moves to take his shot. “Just can’t believe you’re so clueless.”

“What?”

Coyote finally straightens up, looking at him. “She’s his daughter.”

He pales, looking to his friend closely for confirmation he’s not just fucking with him. He kind wishes he was, that Coyote’s hand would clap on his shoulder and say Nah, just kidding man, should’ve seen your face though.

His hands feels sweaty against his pool cue as a growing pit of dread forms in his stomach. Coyote frowns as he remains silent. “What?”

“Oh, I fucked up.” He whispers, mostly to himself as he stumbles back, landing in one of the spare bar stools near them.

Coyote follows, coming closer. “What did you do?”

He lets go of his pool cue, Coyote grabbing it before it clangs to the ground as his hands move to rub over his face. “Oh, I’ve fucked up.”

Coyote takes a half-step closer, nudging his shoulder. He looks up to meet the somewhat suspecting look on his best friend’s face.

“What did you do?”

The first time you meet Jake Seresin, it’s a sunny Wednesday afternoon in May. It’s been eleven days since you graduated college, packing up your whole life and moving back home to San Diego, not that anyone’s counting.

The bell above the door of the Hard Deck jingles as he walks through it, pulling off his shades as his eyes adjust to the the dimmer lighting of the bar. He saunters towards the bar, pulling your attention from where you’re wiping down the bar. He settles on the bar stool in front of you, offering you his trade-mark, award-winning smile (one that you’re sure he’s been told is dazzling).

Penny’s just gone back to the office to grab something and you take a deep breath, looking up at him. He’d be the first customer you served... ever.

“How can I help you?” You ask.

He ignores the question, pulling a toothpick form his pocket and putting it in his mouth. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, a moment he doesn't miss. “Admiring the view?”

You shake your head, clearing any thoughts from you brain. “I assume you came in here for a drink.”

He shrugs, setting an arm on the bar to lean up against it even though he’s sat. “Who knows? Maybe I came in here to talk to the pretty new bartender.”

“The pretty new bartender is off-limits Hangman.” Penny calls from the office.

“And why is that?” He calls back.

She appears in the doorway of the office, causing you to look behind you. “Because she’s 22 and fresh out of college.”

“I’ve always liked them young.” He says, eyes raking over you. “Fresh out of college, you say?”

The bell rings again, pulling your attention to the door. “Don’t even think about it, Bagman.” Bradley calls from the front door, striding towards the two of you.

His eyes don’t leave your body, still looking at you like you’re the best thing he’s seen all day. “Oh, but I am Bradshaw.”

Bradley comes in to view, nudging his shoulder. “Stay away from my little sister Bagman.”

That causes the blonde’s eyes to fly up from where they had settled on your chest, rapidly moving between you and Bradley. “You serious Bradshaw?”

“We’re not related.” You answer, finding your voice as two other (you’re assuming) pilots approach the bar. You distantly recognize them as Bob and Phoenix, friends of Bradley’s from the uranium enrichment plant mission that brought him back to San Diego permanently.

The blonde seems to breathe a sigh of relief, body physically sagging with it.

“We might as well be.” Bradley answers, tossing you a look. “Our Dads are friends.”

You snort. “Sure. Friends.”

You recognize a couple of the other pilots that approach the bar from pictures Brad’s sent you, from the Facebook posts Mav makes. From the phone calls with your Dad, talking about the new group of pilots permanently stationed at North Island. From the stories of the legends who had nearly died together, who had all come home.

Bradley rolls his eyes as his friends join him. “You know what I mean. We go way back.”

“Will I ever be able to get rid of you?” You ask ruefully, shooting him a smile.

Bradley pulls his aviators further down on his nose, giving you a smirk and a wink. “Never, darling. You’re stuck with me.” You shake your head as he pushes his aviators back on to his nose. “How’s your first day going?”

You shrug. “It’s a bar job that my Dad hooked up for me so I don’t sit at home twiddling my thumbs for the foreseeable future while I try to figure out what do to do with my life.”

“Hey, shit could always be worse.” He says, offering you a smile.

Natasha, who’ve you learned to recognize from the years she’s been friends with the person who’s inserted himself into your life from the moment you were born, offers you a small smile. “How was graduation?”

“I’m still mad you wouldn’t let me come.” Bradley mutters.

“Okay top 1% Naval aviator who can just drop everything to come to my graduation.” You say, rolling your eyes. “But it was good. I’m happy to be back in San Diego.” You say, now looking back towards Natasha.

“Well, if you ever need anything, give me a holler.” You nod, smiling at her words.

“I know how you could help me.” Hangman says, eyes never leaving yours once.

Bradley leans over to smack him upside the head. “Don’t even think about it Bagman, I’ll drown your ass in the ocean outside.”

And so that’s how it goes.

Everyday after work, Bradley and company would appear at the Hard Deck. You quickly learned their callsigns and their names and their lives, some of the finest people you knew.

Bob, who offered you a goofy smile and would sit at the bar on slow nights, just to chat.

Coyote, who always tipped well.

Fanboy, who sat and discussed the plot line of the latest Pokemon game for the Nintendo Switch in-depth with you.

Payback, who always cracked a joke that made you laugh no matter what kind of day you were having.

Phoenix, also known as Natasha, (to you, just Nat) who always invited you and Callie and Amelia over for girls nights, who felt more like a big sister than a friend, who fit so seamlessly into your life it was like she’d always been there.

And then there was Bagman. Also known as Hangman. Also known as Jake.

Jake, who reveled in the scarlet of your cheeks every time he complimented you, commenting on how flattering your top made your chest look, or how he admired the way the bar lights reflected in your eyes. Jake, who had no problem picking up women, and yet had set his sights on you.

Jake, who was completely and thoroughly off-limits, no matter how much your heart wanted him.

Wanted the man who gave you a dazzling smile every time he entered the bar, who always asked about your day, who always made sure you got home safe. Your stupid heart wouldn’t catch up with what your brain (and everyone else) already knew. That you couldn’t have Jake and even if you could, he didn't want you. You were someone fun to flirt with because ti was easy to fluster you, easy to get under your skin.

So you resigned yourself to hang to the back, to watch him woo women night after night, watch him sleep with anything that had a pulse. To hear about his conquests the next day when he discussed the marks left on his body, the blush of your cheeks at his graphic description of how he got them.

(One time, he asked you if you’d like to do the same to him. You don’t think you breathed properly for fifteen minutes.)

You resigned yourself to be nothing more than the pretty bartender and it stayed that way as the summer months went by.

“This doesn’t seem like your scene. What’re you doing here?”

You jump, relaxing slightly when you catch sight of Jake, dressed in a nice pair of blue jeans and deep emerald green shirt that compliments his eyes. His outfit is completed by the cowboy hat on top of his head, prompting you to giggle and raise an eyebrow. “A cowboy hat? Really?”

He narrows his eyes, bottom lip jutting out as his fingers pass over the rim. “I happen to like it quite a bit. It makes me feel like home. And it is cowboy night after all.” He steps into your space. “But you didn’t answer my question, sweetheart.”

“I could ask you the same thing, Bagman.” You say, although the close proximity of his body to yours is making it hard for you to breath properly.

He shrugs, backing away and falling back to a couch shoved into the corner of the bar. It gives him the perfect view of the bar, even if it’s dimly lit enough for it to make it difficult to see who’s back here. He pats the spot next to him expectantly, as if you joining him is the most natural thing in the world. You sigh, taking the seat next to him as you watch the dancing out on the floor.

“One of my neighbors heard about this and invited me. My Dad has been trying to get me out of the house for anything besides work so here I am.”

He nods, eyes skimming over the crowd. “And your neighbor? Where is she?”

You hum, eyes searching the crowd for the girl. “She’s been dying to meet a cowboy, so maybe I should introduce the two of you- hey, there she is!” You point the girl out. She’s cozied up to another man, also wearing a cowboy hat.

“She’s not my type.” He says, taking a sip of his drink.

You splutter, bringing your gaze back to him. “Not your type? She’s gorgeous.”

He shrugs. “Sure, but that doesn’t mean I’m attracted to her.”

“So then what is your type?” He says nothing, simply bringing his gaze to yours, looking you over once before returning to his gaze to the dance floor. He takes another sip of his drink and you can’t help but watch the way he licks his lips.

“She’s not a very good friend if she’s leaving you alone for any man to swoop in.”

“Oh, like you?” You ask, the words tumbling out of you before you can stop them. You feel your cheeks warm as he returns his piercing gaze to you.

“Perhaps.” He says with a nonchalant shrug, eyes moving over the maroon top on. The one your neighbor had encouraged you to wear because it quote, showed you off in all the right ways. You duck your head, cheeks blooming in an even redder color.

He reaches out, picking you up to set you in his lap, causing you to yelp at the movement. “You gotta warn a girl before you start manhandling them, Seresin.”

“Manhandling?” He asks through a chuckle, raising an eyebrow. “You call that manhandling, sweetheart?”

You huff, your cheeks still warm. Still, your arms fall to sit behind his head, hands coming to cup his neck. One of your hands reaches up, knocking his cowboy hat. “And what is it with this?”

He adjusts it back in to place, frowning. “You don’t like?”

You shrug, unable to look away from his emerald eyes. “Never said I didn’t. What if I wanted to wear the cowboy hat?”

He smirks. “You know the rule, sweetheart.”

You snort. “The rule?”

His smirks grows wider, making a coil tighten in your stomach. “Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.”

Your ears begin to ring as your heart seems to stop in your chest as his words.

You duck your head, cheeks feeling a firetruck red as you take in the implication of his words. He lets you look away for a minute before one of his hands leaves the back of your thigh, reaching up to grab your chin, gently guiding your gaze back to his.

“I mean, only if you want to.”

You’re sure if your brain was an image it would the spinning wheel of your computer restarting as your tongue suddenly goes dry, unsure of what to say.

“I don’t get it.”

He furrows his eyebrows, letting his hand drop from your chin. “What do you mean?”

“I mean- Well, you’ve never shown interest in me before.”

“Yes, I have.” He splutters, eyebrows drawing together even more. “I flirt with you like, all of the time.”

You roll your eyes as his hands moves up to the back of your neck, gently moving your hair to one side. He reaches up to softly adjust your necklace that must have shifted out of place when he’d unceremoniously plopped you in his lap. “You flirt with everything Bagman.”

He leans closer, hovering over your lips. “Not like I flirt with you, sweetheart. And please, I wish you’d just call me Jake.”

You swallow, unable to look away from his piercing eyes. “Okay, Jake.” His hands have fallen back to your waist and he’s made no move to pull back.

“How much have you had to drink tonight?” He whispers, eyes flickering down to your lips.

You blink in surprise. “Hardly anything, why?”

“Because I only want to do this if you want this. And I want you to want this while sober.” You can only bring yourself to nod, words suddenly leaving you. Still, it’s not enough for Jake as he murmurs, “Need to hear you say it sweetheart.”

“I want this.”

It’s all the confirmation Jake needs as he surges forward, connecting his lips to yours. The kiss is strong, stealing any remnants of breath from your chest as both of his hands slip down past your waist to rest on your ass. His grip against you is strong, pulling you farther into him as your hands have nowhere to go back to tug at his hair.

He gently tugs at your bottom lip, cautiously ask for permission. You grant it to him, his tongue heavy against your own. His hands glide over your ass as your own find purchase in his hair, tugging at the strands.

He breaks the kiss, one of his hands sliding up your body to rest on the back of your neck. His touch leaves you feeling warm all over as you pant, struggling to catch your breath as his lips fall to the crook of your neck, pressing gentle yet hungry kisses to the bare skin.

Your eyes flutter close when he finds that spot, teeth digging into your skin. “Jake, you-” You swallow, mouth too dry to speak. “You’re gonna leave a mark.”

“Good.” He mutters into the skin before continuing his work, leaving a bruise you know is gonna be a bitch to deal with in the morning. “Wanna leave a mark to match the color of your cheeks.”

He finally pulls away after taking his sweet time to mark up your neck. “That was hot.” You mutter under his watchful gaze, head still spinning with the way the night is turning out.

“We should get out of here.” He whispers.

“Before you get dishonorably discharged for public indecency?”

His smirk is back as he grips your thighs, leaning in closer. “That’s exactly why sweetheart.”

#jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin fic #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #top gun: maverick #top gun: maverick fic

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deadpresidents · 11 months

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Despite living through the idiocy of every excruciating moment of the Trump Era, I somehow still find myself amazed at how fucking stupid these crimes are after reading the unsealed indictment. They are reckless and dangerous and serious violations of national security, but also just straight-up dumb. So goddamn dumb. I’m actually surprised that I am still finding ways to be shocked at the stupidity of this one supremely ignorant person. And at the fact that, after four years of having HIM as President of the United States, nearly 75 million Americans voted for him again.

#ELECTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES #Donald Trump #President Trump #Trump Indictment #Politics #History #Presidents #Presidential History #Presidential Politics #2020 Election #2024 Election

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mamirhodessxox · 4 months

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Wreak Havoc

Death Island!Leon S Kennedy x Umbrella!Reader one shot

Desc: When Leon & His team Rebecca, Chris, Jill & Claire run into an incident at Alcatraz Reader unexpectedly shows up to grab one of the secret antidotes for her personal studying on the new virus being sprung on humanity & in the process gets into a fight with Leon that makes it clear to everyone about the twos old love history.

Content: Violence, Mentions of heartbreak, Death Island!Leon x Umbrella!Reader, small Implication of sex, Angst, Fluff??, Happy ending :)

{~I'm very serious with you guys interacting with my writing!!!! it would make me so happy & excited, the more comments & reposts the more inspiration i have to write :) Votes and comments are strongly appreciated so please COMMENT COMMENT COMMENT COMMEENNTTT the more comments the more content <3!!!~}

Word Count: 1913 Words used

Leon’s plans were far from what was currently happening, The poor guy was just trying to go on a tour around San Francisco but instead he was stuck in alcatraz fighting off the undead becoming infected & even uninfected and when he was told to grab the antidote to stop all of this mess he ran into you which was an even bigger pain in his ass.

You see, when you were In the technological area of the prison so was Leon & when you were standing across from him in the room his heart was already preparing to jump out of his chest, You two had multiple encounters on past missions that it even had a small fling between you guys but you couldn’t let him too close as you felt the fear of being heartbroken by the man who was your first love, first fuck & first everything so you cut ties with Leon before things got too ‘serious’ and clearly there was still that little spark between you both as you felt a small twang in your chest making direct eye contact with his blue eyes.

You couldn’t handle the tension or distraction that was stopping you from getting what you needed for Umbrella since they wanted to test this virus on multiple people like experiment subjects, the silence was loud & all the two of you heard were technical wires sparking and faint noises from some freakish monster fighting Jill so you cut the memories short & finally spoke up “You done reminiscing on the past yet” “As done as you are, what the hell are you doing here?” Your eyebrow perked up a bit as he held the gun attached to the belt of his jeans “I think you already know why i’m here Leon so let’s make those easy and start handing me the goddamn antidote” “Not happening doll, You know what happened last time you pulled one of these stunts.” You scoffed before stretching your arms “Fine you want to make this difficult and hurt your fragile ego we can play that game.”

Immediately as you started sprinting towards Leon he picked you up and practically body slammed you onto the floor but that still didn’t stop you from anything, you tugged on his hair and lifted both your legs and quickly wrapping them around his head putting his face in an area he was VERY familiar with & very much so missed but that’s for a later discussion, You flipped him over to where you were not on top and quickly got up but much to your demise he didn’t give up, he stood up and tried slamming you against a wall but you acted fast and held on multiple wires hanging from the ceiling and started swinging back & forth enough that you kicked him in the face “Son of a bitch!” You Snickered at his pain as he landed on a technical board while you jumped onto the ground and grabbed a random pole about to hit him with it but he held up his wrists against the pole causing it to bend “Why do you choose to make my life more- fuck!- more difficult than it already is sweetheart!”

You glared at him as he used one of his pet-names for you as a verbal weapon, he knew exactly what he did with that name and he knew it would hurt you in a place of your heart that you locked up & shoved away, “why do you choose to get in the way of MY job leon?” He smirked as he pushed you back as you attempted to hit him one more time “Because you’re so in love with me beautiful” You hated the way he spoke to you with sarcasm sometimes but you knew it was true, You were unexceptionally in love with him despite your split up & you hated it with your entire soul, “Just give up the act sweetheart you know your not gonna get what you want.” He warned as you kept trying to get swings at him but would fail miserably because of his dodges that he learned from training many years ago

After 30 more minutes of endless fighting you eventually gave up, both of you sat across from each other in two separate corners breathing heavily & sweat running down your guys’ face eventually leon broke the silence with a heavy sigh “Why do you do this to me Angel? You know how much you make my heart hurt when I see you so why do you do it?” You refused to acknowledge what he was saying to you so eventually he got annoyed and crawled his way towards you & almost placed a hand on your knee but you quickly pressed your high heel boot against his forehead & lightly pushed him back to where he sat on his stomach sighing “Sweetheart why did you leave? was it something I did back then I just don’t get it? What did I do?” You became irritated with his nagging for answers so eventually you fessed up. “It wasn’t You Leon. I think you know that by now. I was scared of you breaking my heart at some point so I prevented it from happening by dumping you before you could do it to me.”

Leon looked at you with sympathetic eyes while sitting up and moved your leg out of the way to cup your face into his hands while he hummed softly “You know that I would have never left you right? No matter how fucked up your little mind is I find it extremely fucking attractive to the point where I even bought you an engagement ring doll.” You rolled your eyes trying to move your head out of his grasp but he didn’t budge, “Yeah right, I highly doubt tha-“ “It’s true sweetness, I even have it in my wallet to this day after all of those years.” You watched him move one of his hands off of your face and digging into the pocket of his pants and pulling out a wallet he still somehow had on him & fishing out a ting that was slowly starting to show off how old it was getting & placed it into the palm of your hand “You know I never lie Doll face.”

You felt your breath hitch slightly but you gave the ring back to him and just around that time a guy as buff as leon but with short brown hair busted through the doors “Goddamnit Leon where the fuck have you been! And who the hell are you?!” You glared as Leon stood up & pulled you up along with him “Don’t worry about it Chris, let’s go before that weird fucking monster eats up rebecca.” Rebecca? Who the fuck is Rebecca? You didn’t have time to blurt out this question since Leon was dragging you along, Once your eyes settled on that big creature that was swinging it’s weird large fucking tentacles at what seemed to be Jill & Claire you felt pure fear run through your veins

“Rebecca!” You snapped your head as you heard Leon shout out this woman’s name once again but then you saw her run towards Leon with a box of what seemed to be the antidotes of the virus and even samples of said virus. You watched as she hugged around him in relief while blood ran down her face and it made the blood inside of your own body start boiling that you snatched the box she held & quickly held out your gun at Leon, Chris & Rebecca “we’re going to kill whatever the fuck that thing is back there & we’re all going to go our merry separate ways and i’m going to be taking this” “Who the hell do you think you ar-“ you quickly aimed back at Rebecca with an anger expression plastered on your face in which Cho Leon took note of “Watch it Bill Nye I will easily shoot whatever is in that fucking large cranium of yours.” Chris glared you down but you didn’t care, you put your gun away set the box down and started loading up some sort of large machine gun that could possibly take down whatever creature you saw Jill & Claire fight with, Chris was busy making sure Rebecca wasn’t wounded or infected while Leon practically hovered over you trying to help but you would shove him away “What the hell was that about huh? You’re not taking shit from us got it?”

You kept ignoring him, just as you got to make the machinery work the creature had slammed of its tentacles on the area you & leon were currently located causing you to fall down & hang onto a piece of metal while Leon was slammed against a wall “SOMEBODY FUCKING HELP ME?” You saw Leon quickly spring up and run directly towards you while Chris got ahold of a large rocket launcher & continuously blow up the creature wreaking havoc on everybody, You hear Claire shout something out towards Jill & Rebecca run towards You & Leon to help him grab you as he was slowly sliding off of the platform, Leon quickly grabbed onto your hand dragging you back up causing him & Rebecca To fall backwards while you rolled onto the side as you groaned loudly after just now realizing there was a deep gash in your side & due to you quickly loosing blood you passed out.

Eventually you woke up but it was outside of the prison on the ground patched up in stitches & gauze wrapped around the stitched up gash, You sit up quickly and wince causing Leon to move away from his group & kneel towards you “Good-morning sunshine, Thought I lost you for a second.” He chuckled out lightly while your eyebrows furrowed “Is it dead?? What are we doing out he-“ “it’s more than dead don’t worry.” Jill reassured with a smile on her dirtied face “We haven’t seen you in a while, It’s good to finally see you.” Claire spoke out walking towards you “Thanks..It’s nice seeing you guy’s too..” Leon cleared his throat indicating he wanted to speak with you so Claire & Jill walked off towards chris & Rebecca ass he grabbed ahold of your hands “Sweetheart I think you know we will never be able to avoid each other so that’s why I’m going to ask- not even ask TELL you to Marry me, give us an actual chance & be with me. I’ll handle all of your Umbrella bullshit an-“

You smiled up at him and leaned up as much as you could to grab his face and kiss him “Fine. I’ll marry you.” He grinned and just as he was about to kiss you deeply Rebecca stepped towards you “Y/N right..? I’ve heard a lot about you & I just wanted to address that..Leon & I? Have nothing between us an-“ You smile reassuringly “It’s fine rebecca, Don’t worry about it.” Rebecca smiled in relief & congratulated the both of you & eventually a helicopter came around and picked you all up & brought you all to a facility.

2 years later since then Leon & You got Married & Even had a child recently! A sweet little girl who had the both of you wrapped around her finger. Life was doing great you would say, Until You had gotten a call from a very very old friend of yours Albert Wesker, Alerting you that your work is needed immediately for yet, another outbreak.

xtripleiiix’s masterlist

🏷️a list: @ginswife @coolpastelartshoe @greatkoalawizard @cokolin044 @kotoriarlert

#oh my fucking goooood #leon s kennedy fanfiction #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil x reader #jill valentine #chris redfield #claire redfield #death island leon #Spotify

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best-evangelion-girl · 9 months

Text

Propaganda Below

⬇️⬇️⬇️

Misato's Car

"MIsato's car? YOU WANT SEXY AS FUCK SLEEK LINES AND THE STRENGTH OF A GODDAMN BUNKER? THIS BITCH SURVIVED AN N2 MINE SHOCKWAVE AND STILL DROVE ON AFTERWARDS. BEST TROOPER, HARDIEST FUCKIN GIRL IN THE SQUAD. JUST NEEDS A LITTLE BODY REPAIR." -@dee-the-red-witch

"It’s blue! It’s battery operated and a stick shift. It’s got way too many batteries in the back and I’m surprised it’s still running with the way it’s driven. Elon could never.

Also pretty sure it got blown up in the rebuild. Don’t quote me.

Either way. It’s a little french bad boy. Vroom vroom" -@kgbunny101

"vote misato's car, the true best girl" -anon

tags from last round:

"#if misato's car loses im deactivating" - @img-tiff

"#misato's car genuinely deserved more screen time" - @kotomarukki

youtube

Ramiel

"vote ramiel, i think we can really make her scream" - anon

"We all love cubes. Minecraft, Rubix, all classics.

Now, have you ever asked yourself, what if that cube could scream, and shoot lasers that can melt mountains? That would be Ramiel.

Ramiel, the angel of thunder, the 5th angel, is perhaps one of the most powerful angels faced by NERV. Nearly impervious to physical attack, it was only able to be killed by an extremely precise shot to the core with a positron rifle.

Also, have you seen the way she's animated in the rebuild movies? jesus christ i love her so much" -@alice-hastur

"Vote for Ramiel I STG if she loses to a car i am going to scream.

Have you SEEN HER!?! she's PERFECT!!!

who gives a shit about a dumb car" - also @alice-hastur

tags from last round:

"#RAMIEEEEELLLLL #ramiel sweep always and forever #sorry lilith you deserves more but the geometric shape wins for me" - @fire-lord-katara

"#Lilith I love you you're wonderful and I want you to turn me into orange goo #bUT OCTAHEDRON GOES EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEH #RAMIEL SWEEP" - @fern-pajamabrain

#best evangelion girl poll #neon genesis evangelion #poll bracket #poll competition #Youtube

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trollprincess · 3 months

Text

So I think the Academy may have screwed over “Oppenheimer.”

Now I know what you’re thinking. “Wait, what are you talking about? Did you miss the Barbie snubs? Are you paying attention?” Yup, I’m totally paying attention. Let me explain.

This year’s crop of Best Picture nominees is very good. There’s not a one that doesn’t make me immediately flinch as to why it’s even there. There are some I might have added (“The Boy and the Heron” and “Across the Spider-verse” both deserve to be there, for example), but this is a good list. Not just by Academy standards, which can be questionable as hell, but by anyone’s standard.

Up until now, “Oppenheimer” has pretty much been a lock for this. It’s very well made, acted, directed, written, all of it. It’s good. It deserves it.

But. BUT.

Final voting is between February 22nd and 27th this year. So that’s an entire month of press and interviews and predictions and whatnot. And already the big story is not “Oppenheimer has 13 nominations.” It’s “Why the fuck weren’t Margot Robbie and Greta Gerwig nominated for best actress and best director for Barbie?!”

And the thing is, they DID get nominated - Margot for producing and Greta for writing. Which is not me dismissing the fact they *should* have gotten nominated for directing and acting. (Note: There will be no Ryan Gosling shaming in this house. He deserves his nomination. So does America Ferrera. This is not a case of “only the man got the nomination.” Don’t erase America’s well-deserved nomination.)

So back to Greta and Margot. The next few weeks are going to be the Hollywood media asking “Did the Academy fuck up?” about their nominations. Did they not get the point of the movie? How does one of the best movies of the year not get a nomination for it lead actress and female director? Did Oppenheimer only get so much attention riding on “Barbenheimer”’s coattails? (Monetarily, oh, yeah. Awards show-wise, no.) Like, today we’re talking about their snubs, but it’s not going to stop today. There’s going to be discourse and prediction discussion and “Annette Bening stole Margot’s nomination” bullshit probably.

Basically, the Academy accidentally made the fact it snubbed Margot and Greta the story, and not the fact three other movies got more nominations than “Barbie,” including the likely winner of Best Picture.

The next part depends on if Hollywood can feel guilt and shame. So, you know, it’s anybody’s guess. But directors only voted for directing nominees, and actors only voted for acting nominees. Everybody gets to vote for best film.

Now, here’s the thing. Even IF they got nominated for directing and acting, they wouldn’t have won. Actress is between Gladstone and Stone (I’m hoping for Gladstone), and Nolan probably already has an empty mantel spot prepared. They just wouldn’t have won, it’s just nice to be nominated, yadda yadda.

But the Oscars have this *thing* where sometimes it’s not so much you getting an award because *that performance* deserved it, but because YOU deserved it. Leonardo DiCaprio should have gotten an Oscar for “What’s Eating Gilbert Grape” and/or “Wolf of Wall Street,” they gave it to him for “The Revenant,” which isn’t as good as either previous role. Kate Winslet wins for “The Reader,” which if Best Acting By Kate Winslet were an Oscar category wouldn’t even make the list and would probably get beat by “Mare of Easttown,” which isn’t even a goddamn movie.

You’re an Oscar voter this year. It’s the end of February, and you’re looking at your ballot. And you’ve spent the past few weeks hearing about the Oscars fucked up. How Hollywood didn’t get the point of “Barbie.” How the Academy didn’t even nominate BARBIE for the fucking “Barbie” movie. And you might be thinking, “… I mean, we CAN still give them Oscars.”

Greta’s an easy choice. The Barbie script is incredible, and detailed and smart and funny. Greta already has Oscar nominations for writing. Adapting a book is one thing. Adapting sixty years of canon is a high achievement. I think this pretty much locked her screenplay win.

Margot is nominated for best producer. We’re going to spend the next four weeks seeing articles about just how much work Margot put into this movie. When Margot Robbie loves a project, she works her ASS off on it. And the work shows with Barbie. It’s a good goddamn movie, AND it made $1.4 billion dollars. As good as it was, “Oppenheimer” doesn’t make $955 million if “Barbenheimer” isn’t a thing. There’s an argument to be made that Margot deserves the producer nomination AND win MORE than the actress nomination, because as a producer she made TWO movies reach a billion at the box office, *and she had fuck all to do with one of them*.

So, yeah, I think the Academy might have fucked over “Oppenheimer.” Because for the next month, while people are debating what and who to vote for, all that right there? That’s going to be the discourse they’re sitting on right before voting for Best Picture.

#barbie #oscar nominations #this is me playing 3D chess with an awards show I know frighteningly well and yet still want to throw things at

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lexosaurus · 6 months

Note

Hi you can totally delete thing but I was wondering if you had any advice

I found out a creator. I really liked the products of and have merch is a terrible person, and unlike dp, they're still connected and getting money from the ip.

I wanted some advice on what would be the best future corse since it was somethibg I really loved and was super popular for what it was. It wasn't a book series or anything that got into main stream but I still feel really upset since a lot of my o Teresa from that part of my life tied into it. I'm just not sure what to do.

I can’t really give advice in this situation because I personally just…don’t really do anything.

It’s just like. There are so many shit people out in the world. So many. I know people harp on JK Rowling and think that if they avoid HP then they’re safe, but then they’ll go out and read or watch something written by someone else who’s alive and just as bad, but just isn’t as famous.

Like damn if I have to sit here and vet goddamn everyone for everything that I like, I’m gonna have nothing left. Can’t eat chocolate cuz slave labor, can’t use my phone or drive my car cuz child slave labor for rare earth metals, can’t read goddamn Ender’s Game cuz dude who wrote it is a professional hater, can’t be in the DP phandom cuz dude who produced it is a professional hater, can’t buy 90% of clothes cuz slave labor, can’t play most video games cuz company behind it is under a misogyny or sex or worker’s rights lawsuit, can’t watch a shit ton of movies cuz so and so was behind it or starred in it and they were a sex criminal…

You get what I’m getting at?

It’s literally goddamn impossible to like things.

Idk man I can’t tell you what you should or shouldn’t do because my philosophy is sort of like fuck it, it’s impossible to ethically have hobbies and do literally anything so! I’m just gonna live my life, surround myself with good people, and vote for policies that will help change things for the better!

That’s kinda my approach. 🤷‍♀️

#ask #sorry if this isn’t wnat you were looking for #i just don’t have it in me to vet everything before i use or do it #kudos to those who do but it aint me i’ll tell u that #hopefully this isn’t a surprise to anyone #i mean we ARE in the DP phandom #this should be a bit expected from me

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

Text

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 ao3

It’s quiet for the whole day. Eddie wakes up mid-afternoon, sees that a doughnut has been left for him in a paper bag on the coffee table. It takes a few minutes more for him to realise that it’s still just the two of them in the house—that Steve must’ve told everyone not to call, not to come over.

Eddie’s chest almost hurts at the thoughtfulness behind it—but he’s not surprised by it, not now. Not since he saw Steve in the RV keep the volume of the radio down low, even as the clock in his head grew ever closer, just so his friends could sleep a little longer.

And the quiet means Eddie, too, can just… stay. Rest.

He’s glad of it, even though a part of him thinks it’s stupid—that save for that terrible night, this might be the most exhausted he’s ever felt. He’s not even done anything, but his body still aches, like he’s only just finished running from the trailer park.

There’s the ghost of pain at his knee, as if his brain has finally remembered a past hurt. He thinks of Nancy telling him that he fell. “I was so scared you wouldn’t get up again.”

Steve seems to understand implicitly. He does most of the fetching of food and drink, and when Eddie tries to protest, he doesn’t make it a big deal, just says that he wants more practice on the crutches; he phrases it in such a way that it sounds like Eddie is doing him a favour rather than the other way around.

“Hey, check it out,” Steve says, halfway from the couch to the kitchen. “I can really move on these things now.” And he very briefly swivels in place on the crutches, as if he’s leaning on dancing canes instead.

Eddie snorts, feels a rush of fondness. “All right, cool it, Fred Astaire.”

For dinner, they eat defrosted spaghetti bolognese from Joyce. Eddie teases Steve when he notices that he can twirl the pasta perfectly around his fork.

“Sorry, what the hell is that, Harrington? We in a goddamn commercial right now?”

Steve elbows him. “Shut up or I’m stealing your portion.”

It’s kind of unnecessary, for them both to be sharing the one couch. Neither of them bring that up.

When clearing away some of the VHS tapes, Steve finds a notepad that doesn’t belong to him. He scans it with interest, then chuckles.

“Oh my god, look at this.”

He beckons Eddie to look at one of the pages.

Eddie leans in. The page is covered in writing, to the point that the white of the paper is almost invisible. The handwriting keeps changing, too, never the same on each line…

And Eddie realises that this has been written by the kids—all of them.

It acts as a log, of sorts: them recording their impressions of each musical watched while staying here. El has drawn a wonky cluster of five stars for The Sound of Music—has signed it with her name and a smiley face.

In the margins, Eddie can see them voting on whatever they want to watch next, laughs as he comes across Dustin and Erica bickering:

Erica picked last time! You’re not allowed an opinion, Dusty-Bun

But there’s more than just talk about the movies. Part of the page has been separated by solid lines in pen, forming a box. What’s written inside is much neater: updates on Steve’s progress in the hospital. At the bottom of the square, Eddie recognises Dustin’s handwriting instantly—cramped and hurried, like when he’s excitedly jotting down details during a campaign.

He can come home!!!

When Eddie glances over at Steve, he’s still looking down at the paper, smiling like it’s some art project he wants to stick on his fridge.

“They’re so stupid,” he says, and so clearly means something else. He carefully sets the notepad aside. “I kinda want to frame it.”

They lie on the couch in comfortable silence for a while. The sight of the kids’ writing reminds Eddie of the pencil marks he saw in Steve’s poetry book, evidence of him underlining particular lines.

“Hey, did you—uh, did you always like poetry?”

Steve gives him a sideways look, smirks slightly. “What’s up, you doubting my credentials? Did your ‘Munson Doctrine’ say I can’t read, either?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “No, I was just…” He leans on his elbow, turns further towards Steve. His voice quietens in sincerity. “Just curious.”

Steve scratches the back of his neck. “Um…”

And huh, there’s that thing you do, Eddie thinks.

It’s like Steve has to prepare himself for honesty, work up to it. He thinks of that walk through the woods, being startled at the sound of Steve running up to him. “Eddie. Eddie. Hey, man. Uh… Listen, I just, uh… I just want to say thanks.”

Eddie remembers not knowing what to do in the face of an awkwardness that he didn’t expect, not from the likes of Steve Harrington. But more importantly, he was struck by the fact that Steve was so genuine. That once he got past the stops and starts, he meant every word, felt it deeply.

“It was in class, actually. It was… uh, we were looking at a Sylvia Plath poem?” Steve’s voice rises uncertainly at the end even though he’s not asking a question, and Eddie somehow knows then and there that he’s never told anyone this before. “Can’t remember the title, but um. Honestly? It stuck with me, ‘cause… kinda reminded me of my parents. Like, their marriage.”

Eddie opens his mouth. Shuts it. Then says, delicately, “Not the best omen.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, no kidding. Uh, that aside, there was like, a rhythm to it. I like when stuff… repeats, y’know? Hold on, think I can remember the last…” His hand reaches up to bat the top of the couch in time with his words as he recites, a touch reserved, “My boy, it's your last resort. Will you marry it, marry it, marry it.” A tense little shrug. “Guess I’ve got a thing for last lines.”

Eddie thinks of I was much too far out all my life/And not waving but drowning.

In the ensuing silence, Steve looks like he’s very subtly holding his breath—as if waiting for Eddie to show one hint of discomfort. Like he’s ready to instantly regret speaking.

So Eddie keeps his tone light, says, “That’s… kind of fucked up, man. Very niche though, I approve.” And he feels Steve relax—his good leg touching Eddie’s, thigh to knee. He senses that it’s safe enough to joke a little more, adds, “You should start a support group or something.”

“What?”

Eddie mimes holding a microphone, affects a news reporter’s grave tone. “If you have been affected by poetry, we advise you to call—”

“God, you’re so dumb,” Steve says, grinning. “You know when you did those, like, bits at lunch, y’know, all the voices, I used to think, Who does this asshole think he is?”

Steve’s voice is warm, so Eddie just tries to quip back, “Pretty sure you and half the damn school thought that.” He’s joking, he really is, but he can feel a little wisp of bitterness slip through despite himself.

And Steve must catch it, because he suddenly looks a bit contrite, replies quietly, “Not like that.”

Steve’s eyes flicker down to the left in thought—and there he goes again, Eddie thinks. Working up to something.

“I knew part of your deal with D&D was, like, storytelling, right? And you… I dunno if you remember, but the school used one of your short stories as… an exemplar? It was anonymised, in one of those study packets they’d—”

“Oh, those,” Eddie says. “Never read ‘em.”

Steve chuckles. “Well I could tell it was you. ‘Cause it was freaking nuts, man, all these like, myths and heroes, and it just… God, I kept thinking it came so naturally to you.” He shrugs again, more bashful. “Guess I was jealous.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “You were?”

Steve smiles as if to say Well, what can you do? “I applied to college, like, for writing and stuff.” His smile turns self-deprecating as he says, “Didn’t get in, obviously.”

“Huh,” Eddie says thoughtfully. “What did you wanna write about?”

Steve laughs. “Uh, don’t think it was your scene, man. No dragons or… Just kinda. Ordinary stuff? Like, basketball games or—”

“Basketball games,” Eddie echoes with an impish little smile, and Steve elbows him in the ribs.

“Not just basketball, you dick.” But he’s still smiling as he says it. “Or, I s’pose, yeah, basketball but, like, it’s also about something else…? Normal things, but… more, I guess. I don’t know, man, you’re better with words, I just—”

“You know, I don’t think that’s true,” Eddie says quietly, privately recalling, “Whenever I looked at you… all that shit… never touched you. You just stayed… you were so… lovely.”

“When all of The Upside Down stuff started,” Steve continues, as if he’s not even heard Eddie speak, “for a while, it was… it was all I could think about. Y’know, it was like one of your stories, just… like, fantasy. Unreal. And obviously, I couldn’t just… like, can you imagine if I filled my college application with all this shit? Just asking for someone to…”

Steve makes a slashing motion across his neck, and Eddie winces slightly at how his fingers graze the scar there.

There’s a lull, and then Steve gives a little sigh, speaks again.

“I don’t even think I finished my application properly, it was kind of a blur. Just sent it off ‘cause, well, I had to at that point.” He crooks an arm behind his head, blinks pensively. “Guess all of… uh, everything, sorta… stole my words.” He huffs with another one of those self-effacing smiles. “God, that sounds dumb.”

Eddie tilts his head from where he’s resting on the arm of the couch. Looks at Steve, his side-profile, the thoughtful curve of one eyebrow. Thinks that he gets it; that sometimes there are no words for something like this.

“No,” he says honestly. “It doesn’t sound dumb, Steve.”

Steve breathes in and out, relaxed and easy. His chest only stutters a little, a remnant of… before. His knee presses further against Eddie’s, as if in silent gratitude.

“Do you remember…” Steve starts, and there’s already laughter in his voice; he’s still looking up at the ceiling as if whatever memory he’s thinking about is being projected on there, like a private cinema. “Remember when… y’know, that English class, last period. When we had to read, um, a play. Williams something?”

Eddie thinks. “Oh. A Streetcar Named Desire?”

Steve clicks his fingers. “That’s the one. We were made to read it out loud; it took forever. And you—” He laughs up at the ceiling again, joyful creases around his eyes. “You kept talking over the girl that got Blanche’s part, do you—?”

“Didn’t know I made such an impression,” Eddie teases. He vaguely recalls completely overselling a breathy Southern Belle accent—definitely remembers getting sent out of class for being ‘a disruptive influence.’

Steve turns his head to the side, glances at him. Grins. “Hey, I thought you were a riot, man. Least you made it come to life with how you, like, delivered everything. Everyone else made it sound so boring.”

“Well.” Eddie manages an imperious flick of the wrist, feels a sudden heat to his cheeks. “Guess no-one else appreciated my talents, huh?”

And even though Eddie’s being flippant, Steve replies, with all sincerity, “No. They really didn’t.”

Eddie doesn’t know what time it is, when it happens. Just knows that it’s growing late, that Steve’s quietly flicking through a magazine next to him—that nothing is happening, but his mind has apparently decided to freak out anyway.

He reluctantly gets it, though; has kind of suspected that perhaps he’s just been staving off the panic from last night, that maybe that’s why he’s felt drained all day.

He grits his teeth against the feeling, tries to keep quiet.

But maybe Steve notices precisely because of his attempt at silence. Suddenly the magazine has been dropped, and Eddie feels a hand around his wrist.

“Hey, are you—? Shit, your heart’s going like crazy.”

Eddie screws his eyes shut. “Yeah, m’fine. It’ll pass. Th-think it’s just—” He shudders out a breath as Steve’s fingers stroke over his pulse point. “Just. Last night, it was—the first time I’d driven… there. Since. Y’know.”

“Oh. I’m—”

“If you apologise one more time, I’m gonna push you off the goddamn couch, Harrington, and then where will we be?”

“Uh. Well, I’d be on the floor?”

Eddie laughs shakily—from the way Steve squeezes his hand, knows that that had been his aim.

It does pass, eventually. Eddie manages a deep, proper breath in and out—feels, embarrassingly, a bit like he’s run a marathon.

Steve finally lets go of his hand to pick up a thicker blanket from the floor, drapes it over them both. The warmth gradually makes Eddie sleepy. He loses track of time. Doesn’t know when his eyelids become too heavy to open.

He hazily feels a hand in his hair, Steve’s fingers working in little absent-minded circles, like he’s not even aware that he’s doing it.

“Gonna f’ll ‘sleep,” Eddie mumbles, “if y’keep tha’ up.”

Steve’s hand stills for just a moment. He hears Steve sigh out a soft, “Oh, you’re so tired,” like he’s fretting a bit. He resumes playing with Eddie’s hair, and this time, while it’s still gentle, there’s more of an intentionality to it.

Eddie thinks he turns his head into the touch, but he’s honestly not sure. Feels somehow both weightless and heavy. Wants to lie on this couch forever, so long as Steve’s here.

“Tell me something,” Eddie says, does his best to enunciate. He wants to linger in this cosy in-between for just a little…

“Hmm? Like what?”

“Um… wha’ kinda…” Eddie yawns. “Wha’s your favourite thing to read?”

Steve is silent for a little while, long enough for Eddie to jolt out of an unintended half-sleep when he does say something.

“What were your stories about?” Steve asks.

Eddie yawns again. There’s so much he could say, but long, rambling sentences feel far out of his reach. So he settles for, “S’bout… coming home, in the end.”

“Oh,” Steve says, then, “I like that.”

“Steeeve,” Eddie sings through another yawn. “Wha’ ‘bout you?”

“Oh, um… I s’pose… I like stories where people are… lost, I guess. And then they’re… not anymore. Or maybe, they’ve been… like, searching for something without realising it.”

Have you found it? Eddie thinks, his thoughts slipping away on a wave of sleepiness. Have you found what you’ve been looking for?

He drifts off before he can ask.

#the self sacrificial steve agenda #steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie

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artemisiatridentata · 6 months

Text

Hey my fellow westerners, if you’re still staying silent on Israel’s genocide of Palestine, you’re fucking cowards. Stop posting about taylor swift and your Halloween parties and silly “this is me” woodland creature memes for a goddamn day and post about the horrific genocide happening in Palestine. Learn about it. Watch videos from eye.on.palestine, Al-Jazeera, twitter, etc.

Oh, wait, is that content too graphic and disturbing for you?? Good!! IT SHOULD BE. It’s fucking *GENOCIDE*.These images, these thousands upon thousands of dead Palestinians, and Biden’s complicity in their deaths, SHOULD make you feel sick to your stomach!!! And as long as the US and the rest of the world’s governments continue to shrug their shoulders and condone genocide, YOU SHOULD NOT STOP TALKING AND POSTING ABOUT THIS.

I’m so serious. Call and email your politicians incessantly. Tell them you are a single-issue voter and the issue is genocide. Tell them you will not be voting for them if they endorse any bills that contain funding or other support for Israel. If you see pro-genocide politicians in public, confront them and ask why they support genocide. If you can, get out in the streets and protest, find out if any corporations that fund Israel have offices near you and show up there. Do not let them know peace. Look up what companies the BDS movement has asked us to boycott and then never fucking give them a dollar of your money again. Whatever you do, SPEAK UP. Post about this on social media, talk to your friends and neighbors and family and coworkers about this. Call it what it is — a genocide — and make it clear you are against it. Oh, but you might lose your job? PALESTINIANS ARE LOSING THEIR FUCKING LIVES. If you say or do nothing right now, I hope it haunts you forever.

#important #Palestine #free Palestine #Gaza #free gaza #BDS #let Palestine live #let Gaza live #covid #disability #covid is not over

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communistkenobi · 6 months

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Hi, you tend to have well-thought-out political opinions (I don't always agree with you, but your reading liveblog were the kick in the ass to make me read Orientalism, and you have managed to change my mind more than once), maybe might have a better answer here than me.

Is there an ideological reason that American (b/c it typically is, god help me) left-of-center types love electoralism so much online (and offline too, tbh. College continues to deal new and fun kinds of psychic damage), but only in the context of the general national elections? I so often receive various extensive breakdowns of reasons that I MUST vote for Biden in 2024, but less about the benefits of, like, getting really invested in my city council elections or the school board.

We have so many freaking elections for goddamn everything because the US/Canada are fuck-off huge that it's super easy to argue for the importance of participating in electoralism and instead I (especially recently) see so many people picking the worst hill to die on, that I really struggle to. Well. Understand why.

I’ll speak mostly to Canada since that’s where most of my formal knowledge comes from and also because I live here lol. Also a lot of what I’m talking about is coming from books I’ve read - Still Renovating by Greg Suttor for example is a pretty in depth history of social policy (primarily housing) in Canada, it’s very dry but is useful for this conversation. This is off the dome and not meant as a PSA or anything, it’s my own perspective, if people want sources for what I’m discussing I can go dig those up, but I’m just putting this disclaimer at the top in case this post leaves my circle.

To answer your question, my instinct is that it’s because north american democracy is increasingly necrotic and disconnected from the general public (with the usual list of caveats about how much liberal capitalist democracies have ever been “for the people”). Reading up on social policy in Canada directly post-WWII is pretty bleak when comparing it to today - social housing used to be a robust part of the housing market, people were paid far better and had far more economic security, our healthcare was freshly socialised and invigorated, the promises of the Keynesian welfare state were generally being met (for a predominantly white middle class electorate, of course), and so on. Even conservatives were basically on board with these things in the 60s, at least in Canada, although that obviously did not last long. And over the decades we have become entrenched in neoliberal cutbacks, the gutting of public institutions, the sale of public space and utilities, the downloading of responsibility for social welfare onto provincial and then municipal governments who have smaller budgets and more limited institutional power, the massive expansion in public-private partnerships, the militarisation of the police - these things really kicked off in the 80s/90s in Canada and have showed little signs of stopping or even really slowing down since (something that also obviously happened in the US). People make the joke that if libraries were suggested as a policy goal today it would be called a communist plot, but it’s true - all of the shit the government offered us forty years ago is unthinkable to even suggest now. Life in general has gotten more difficult as private wealth and deregulation has taken a progressively stronger hold on domestic affairs. This happened slowly over the course of decades, and as political horizons shrunk in terms of what you could expect/demand of your government, there was a real air of this being inevitable, not a result of conscious political decisions but just some organic outcome that no one had control over (“the invisible hand of the market”). Democratic civic responsibility demands we vote as citizens of our country, but for all the reasons outlined above plus a bunch of others I’m sure I’m forgetting, the liberal conception of democratic participation shrunk to the ballot box alone.

And while we all joke about everyone having the historical memory of a goldfish, I think the pandemic made this a deeply dissonant position to hold onto - we saw the government seemingly awake from a long slumber to exercise its might. It placed eviction bans on landlords, enforced mass quarantines and social distancing measures, provided economic relief to people who lost their jobs, stationed itself inside every building and public space to enforce mask mandates, rolled-out universal vaccination programs that were mandatory if you wanted to keep your job - we saw the government flex its power in labour, in housing, in healthcare, in civic life, and at the border in a way previously unheard of, particularly for people who were not alive to experience the welfare state of the 50s and 60s and even 70s. The state revealed itself as the life-structuring force it always had been before receding again, telling everyone to go back to normal as if nothing had happened, as if millions of people had not died in a global plague, as if it had not just demonstrated to everyone in the country that the state can at the drop of a hat order your landlord to stop evicting you and your boss to give you paid time off. This of course didn’t really happen in the US, or at least not nearly to this degree, which resulted in the deaths of over a million people.

So now when politicians perform this same incapacity to do anything, when they trot out hyper-specific policies that might benefit a couple thousand people at most, when they make stupid non-promises and shrink away from even mild forms of social democracy (eg Sanders-style campaign promises), I don’t know how much people buy it. I’m not particularly optimistic about the pandemic radicalising large amounts of people, but I think even if it doesn’t, we saw what happened! And we’ve all seen a million fucking articles about how people don’t want to go to work anymore, about labour shortages, we’ve seen essentially every sector of labour go on some kind of strike in the past two or three years - there is popular organised political participation happening far away from the ballot box, and is only growing in power by the day. Socialism is now a word that exists in the national consciousness, something that was unthinkable even a decade ago. Currently right now we are seeing an international conversation about (and global popular support for) indigenous sovereignty, we are seeing a full-throated articulation of what a LandBack policy would look like, and this comes on the heels of the national Canadian conversation of residential schools and missing and murdered indigenous women. Decolonisation is now a household term. In the case of the US, we are seeing people make the very obvious point that America can conjure billions of dollars to bomb hospitals and civilians, but any social policy to help its own citizens is too expensive, pie in the sky fantasy nonsense.

And by the same token, there is organised right-wing and fascist violence happening in the streets, massive increases in hate crimes, insane political stunts and demonstrations like the Freedom Convoy and 1 Million March 4 Children (inspired by the Capitol Hill storming in the US), Qanon plots to kidnap and execute elected officials - things that right wing parties are actively encouraging, particularly the PPC and CPC. More and more we see that electoral politics is the domain of the far-right, whose culture war issues have the best chance of being realised through the sacred portal of the ballot box. Democrats can’t even offer people legalised abortion now!

I think this is why liberals are in a state of hysteria. A healthy liberal democracy does not require constant, unrelenting reminders to “vote your ass off.” Liberals are very much aware, even unconsciously, that voting does less and less of what they want every single day - you see this openly admitted to by American liberals, who are now doing Hitler % meter calculations about which fascist to vote for come the next federal election. Voting itself is what matters, even as they openly, frantically admit it will do nothing but slightly delay the inevitable.

So to like directly answer your question: I think it has less to do with federal elections as a specific political strategy and more just an expression of anxiety about the fact that voting does not do what you want it to do, or what it once did - perhaps encouraging larger questions if voting does anything at all. If national federal elections don’t do anything, if you voting for the most powerful position on the planet doesn’t really change very much regardless of who’s in power, what is the point of voting at all? So I don’t think they are articulating an actual political strategy or way of doing politics, because by their own admission it’s not going to do much of anything (while at the same time being an existential crisis). I’m in a similar boat to you, I vote in smaller elections where I feel they will do some measure of good (in part because municipalities are responsible for so much more of civic life than they were a few decades ago), I have engaged with the Ontario NDP for several years (although that has come to an end now because of their position on Palestine). Electoralism is a compromise, it is an avenue for potential good, but not always, or even most of the time.

Thankfully there are other avenues for politics - labour organising, protesting, mutual aid support networks, getting involved with community work, even something like local neighbourhood councils. Those are places of political potential, and a single person’s presence in them can make a legitimate noticeable difference (speaking from several years of heavy involvement in community orgs). I have never really felt like I was making a change while voting, but I have felt that way helping community members not get evicted, or offering them free daycare a few times a week, or running programs from lgbtq kids who don’t want to go home after school. Those things legit save peoples’ lives, a lot of them are low stakes relative to their benefit, and they help stave off the alienation and loneliness I know everyone feels. Obviously you run into the same structural problems you would everywhere else, it’s not a paradise by any stretch of the imagination, but they are so many avenues outside of voting that do actually help people around you.

And I think if liberals admit that these actions are more powerful, more effective than voting, they are admitting to themselves that their core beliefs are wrong, that the communists and anarchists are correct and have been correct long before their dumbass was born. They can no longer point to any institution that gives a fuck about them as a defense against left-wing critiques of liberal electoralism. I think that is part of what animates their hysteria, their temper tantrums, their screaming about the only thing to do is do nothing at all. It is a full-throated defense of self-defeat. They are wailing as everything they believe in dies. I’d be pretty upset too if that were me! Luckily I grew out of that when I was like 19

#asks #and thank u!!! super happy you’re reading orientalism it rules

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