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whitehotharlots · 3 years

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Previewing the 2024 Democrat Primary

Within a couple weeks of his being sworn in, just about every person on earth will wish Joe Biden was no longer president. Sure, the few surviving John B. Anderson voters will be thrilled to see 4 years of crushing austerity and half-assed attempts at Keynesian stimulus. But most people will begin dreaming about a brighter future.

Good news! The 2024 Democratic primary field is going to contain dozens of options. Bad news! They are all going to be disgusting piles of shit.

The “top tier”

While it’s too early to do any handicapping, these are the candidates the media will treat as having the most realistic chances of securing the nomination.

Kamala Harris

Kamala did not win a single primary delegate in 2020. This is because she dropped out before the first primary, and that was because no one likes her. She has no base beyond a few thousand of twitter’s most violent psychos. Her disingenuousness approaches John Edwards levels: any halfway incredulous person can see immediately beyond her bullshit. She has no principles whatsoever, and while that may be par for the course for Democrats, she lacks even the basic politician’s ability to intuit anything that might, hypothetically, constitute a principle.

Even better: she is an awful public speaker. She sounds like how a talking dog would speak if he were just caught stealing people food off the kitchen table. She communicates in weird grunts and faux sassy squeaks, which is how she imagines real black women sound like, but something about her is unable to sell the bit. She begins her sentences in halfhearted AAVE, stops and panics halfway through as she realizes that maybe this sounds fake and offensive, and then reminds herself oh wait, no, this is okay since I’m black. This doesn’t happen once or twice per speech. This is how every single sentence sounds.

Kamala is like Nancy Pelosi in that no sketch show will ever impersonate her correctly, because anything that came close to authenticity would be considered far too cruel. This might benefit her in the primaries, as she exists in the minds of Democrats as someone and something she absolutely is not in reality. Nominating her would be like allowing your child’s imaginary friend to attempt to drive you to the store.

Andrew Cuomo

Easily one of the 50 worst people alive, Cuomo has a solid chance because Democrats, same as Republicans, are unable to differentiate between electability and self-serving ruthlessness. Cuomo used the deadliest public health crisis in American history as a pretext for cutting Medicaid and firing 5,000 MTA workers, and his approval rating increased. New York Dems are little piggies who love eating shit. If we assume that the political media will continue their habit of refusing to discuss the legislative history of right wing Democrats, Cuomo might well cruise to the nomination and then lose to literally any human being the GOP nominates by an historic margin.

Joe Biden

The party loves him because he is a right wing racist. “Progressives” tolerate him because black primary voters over 40 supported him, and their opinion is supposedly a magic window into god’s truth. Everyone else can tell he is manifestly senile. I don’t put it above the DNC to pick a candidate who is in horrible health, dying, or even dead--whatever the financial sector wants, they’ll get. But I would be shocked if his approval rating is above 39% by mid-2023, and by that point deep fake technology will be advanced enough they’ll put out a very lifelike video in which the Max Headroom version of Joe explains he’s proud of his accomplishments--that budget’s almost balanced already--but, man, I gotta abd--I gotta abdica--, uhh, I gotta, I, uhh, I gotta move down, man.

Wild Cards

These candidates would have all have a chance if they ran, but they could all much more easily retire to Little Saint James off of kickbacks they’ve gotten from Citibank and I.G. Farben.

Rahm Emanuel

Rahm is going to receive some hugely influential post in the Biden administration. Let’s say he becomes Secretary of Education. His signature achievement will be replacing all elementary school teachers with Amazon’s Alexa, which saved the taxpayers so much money we were able to quadruple the number of armed police officers we put into high schools. This will give him several thousand positive profiles on network news programs and the near-universal support of the Silicon Valley vampires who will own 99% of the country by the time Biden’s term ends. They will use their fancy mind control devices to convince geriatic primary voters that Rahm’s the one who will bring Decency back to the white house. His candidacy will be the paragon of wokeness, as expressing concern toward the fact that he covered up the police murder of a black guy will get you called a racist.

Rahm has a bonus in that Jewish men are now Schrodeniger’s PoC. When they are decent human beings, they are basic, cis white men who are stealing attention from disabled trans candidates of color. When they love austerity and apartheid, they become the most vulnerable people of color on earth and criticizing them in any way is genocide. No one will be able to mention a single thing Rahm has ever done or said without opening themselves to accusations of antisemitism, and that gives him a strong edge against the rest of the field. The good news is that an Emmanuel candidacy would result in over 50% of black voters choosing the GOP candidate--which, I guess that’s not really good but it would certainly be funny.

Gavin Newsom

Newsom is every bit as feckless as Cuomo, but he doesn’t put off the same “bad guy in an early Steven Segal movie” vibes. He will mention climate change 50 times per speech and no one will bother to mention how he keeps signing fracking contracts even though his state is now on fire 11 months of the year. If anything, this will be spun into an argument about how he’s actually the candidate best suited to handle all the water refugees gathering on the southern border. Look for his plan to curb emissions by 10% by the year 2150 to get high marks from Sierra Club nerds. He’s also a celebate librarian’s idea of what constitutes a handsome man, so he’ll have some support from the type of women who claim to hate all men.

Larry Summers

I mean, why not? Larry, like most members of the Obama administration, has politics that are eerily similar to those of Jordan Peterson. In normal circumstances, this makes a person a dangerous fascist who should not be platformed. But if that person has a D next to their name this makes them a realistic pragmatist who has what it takes to bring suburban bankers into our tent. If current trends in Woke Phrenology continue apace, Larry’s belief that women are inherently bad at STEM will be liberal orthodoxy by 2023, and his dedication to the Laffer Curve could see him rake in massive donations. Seriously, I’m not kidding: cultural liberalism is now fully dedicated to identity essentialism and balanced budgets. Larry is their ideal candidate. If he were black and/or a woman, I’d put him in the very top tier.

Jay Inslee

Unlike Newsom, Inslee’s attempt to crown himself the King of Global Warming won’t be immediately derailed, since his state is only on fire because of protestors. This, however, poses a different problem. He’s going to be a good test case for the Democrat’s uneasy peace with the ever increasing share of the electorate who become catatonic upon hearing a pronoun. On the one hand, you need to take their votes for granted. On the other hand, they’re not like black people or regular gays: most voters actively, consciously despise wokies, and associating yourself with them will ruin a campaign even in deep blue areas. There’s still gonna be riots in a year. Biden’s gonna announce the sale of all our nation’s potable water to the good folks at Nestle and some trans freak named Sasha-Malia DeBalzac is going to use that as an opportunity to sell their new pamphlet about how it’s fascist to not burn down small businesses. No matter what Inslee does in response, it’ll end his career.

AOC

I’m not one of those “AOC is a secret conservative” weirdos, but I am aware enough of basic reality to know she has zero chance of coming close to the nomination. The right and the center both regard her as a literal demon. The party is already blaming her for the fact that a handful of faceless Reagan acolytes failed to flip their suburban districts even though they ran on sensible pragmatic proposals like euthanizing the homeless. The recriminations will only get more unhinged when the Dems eat shit in the 2022 midterms. She will be a Russian, she will be white male, she will be a communist, she will be a homophobe: any insult or conspiracy theory you can name, MSNBC will spend hours discussing. Her house seat challenger will receive a record amount of support from the DNC in 2024 and it’ll be all she can do to remain in congress.

Larry Hogan

Don’t be dissuaded by the fact that he’s a Republican. Larry is the DNC’s ideal candidate: a physically repulsive conservative who owes his entire career to appealing to the most spiteful desires of suburban white people. He’s an open racist in a material sense--if you’re old-school enough to think racism is a matter of beliefs and actions, rather than the presence of cultural signifiers--but his is the beloved “never Trump” style of racism that Dems covet. He’s also a Proven Leader who thinks the role of government should be to finance the construction of investment property and give police the resources they need to run successful drug trafficking operations. Few people embody the Democrat worldview more than Larry.

The Losers Bracket

These people will have at least a small chance due solely to the fact that the Democrats love losing. They have lost in the past, and in the Democrat Mind that makes them especially qualified.

Joe Kennedy

The man looks like a mushroom-human hybrid from a JRPG. Trump proved that physical hideousness need not doom a presidential bid, but a candidate still needs some kind of charm or oratorical abilities or, god forbid, a decent platform. Joe aggressively lacks all of these things. A vanity campaign would be a good way to raise money and perhaps secure an MSNBC gig, so Joe might still run.

Mayor Pete

I am 100% convinced that Pete’s 2020 run was a CIA plot meant to prevent working class Americans from ever having a chance of living decent lives. I am also 100% aware that Democrats are dumb enough to enthusiastically support a CIA plot meant to prevent working class Americans from ever having a chance of living decent lives. If we have some sort of military or terror disaster between now and 2023 the Dems are sure to want a TROOP, and wait wait wait you’re telling me this one is a gay troop? Holy hell there’s no way that could lose!

Stacy Abrams

Never underestimate the power of white guilt. She lost the gubernatorial race to Gomer Pyle’s grandson, and her spiritual guidance of the Dems saw the party lose black voters in Georgia in 2020. Nonetheless, she is regarded as a magic font of fierceness within the DNC. She might stand a chance if she can establish herself as the most conservative non-white candidate in the field, but there’s going to be stiff competition for that honor.

Elizabeth Warren

Liz is probably angry that the party so shamelessly sold her out even after she was a good little girl and sabatoged Bernie’s campaign for them--yet another example of high ranking US government officials reneging on their promises to the Native American community. Smdh. The fact that this woman hasn’t been bankrupted a dozen times over by various Wallet Inspectors genuinely astounds me. So Liz is probably going to run again, and her campaign will be even sadder the second time around.

It might surprise you to hear this if you don’t work at a college or NGO, but Liz diehards actually do exist. She’ll get even less support this time because there will be no viable leftist in the field for her to spoil, but she’ll still hang in long enough to make sure the very worst possible candidate beats out the second worst possible candidate. Maybe she’ll fabricate a rape accusation against Sherrod Brown. Maybe she’ll spend her entire allotted debate time doing a land acknowledgment. With Liz, anything is possible--so long as it ends in failure.

Amy Klobuchar

Amy was the most bloodthirsty of the 2020 also rans. She will double down on the unpopular failures of the Biden administration, explaining that if you weren’t such a selfish idiot you’d love the higher social security retirement age and oh my god are so such a moron you think you shouldn’t go bankrupt to get a COVID vaccine? There’s a non-unsubstantial segment of the Democratic base that’s self-hating enough to find this appealing, but it won’t be enough to make her viable.

Martha Coakley

She lost Ted Kennedy’s senate seat to a retarded man who was pretending to be even more retarded than he actually was. Then she lost a gubernatorial race to a guy who openly promised Massachusetts voters that he would punish them for electing him. Her record of failure is unparalleled, making her perhaps the ideal Democrat standard bearer for the twenty twenties.

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musette22 · 4 years

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Body Politics

Read on AO3

Paring: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan)

Word count: 9.4k

Rating: E (so 18+ only please!)

A/N: Okaayyy! So it took a while, but I finally wrote the thing based on this prompt (which I unfortunately accidentally deleted, but I saved the prompt itself):"hello! I saw some pics of chris with various politicans for his new project and thought about a stucky/evanstan fic in which chris/steve wants to film a clip with a newly elected senator who turns out to be bucky/seb and chris/steve just can't deal with the hotness."

It’s… a bit longer than I intended it to be - surprise! As always, I’ve posted it to AO3 and I’d recommend reading it there because it really is quite long (that’s what she said). Hope you enjoy the filth 💖 N.B. I know you asked for Senator Sebastian, but it seemed to fit better with the story to make him a Representative instead! Hope that’s ok!

Body Politics

Chris has done dozens of these videos by now. In fact, he did two of them just this morning. He knows the drill, he knows what he’s doing, there’s really no reason to be nervous anymore. And yet, as per usual right before he’s going in, his anxiety is peaking, causing him to feel jittery and queasy, and like he’s suddenly forgotten everything he’s supposed to know about the American political system.

God, he’s going to make a massive fool of himself. What the fuck was he thinking? Should’ve just stayed in his lane, like plenty of people told him to. He sighs at his reflection in the mirror, splashing his face with cold water in the hope it will help him focus.

“Ready?” Mark asks him, as soon as he steps out into the hallway where Mark had been waiting for him.

“Absolutely,” Chris nods, all put on confidence and ease which he definitely isn’t feeling. “Let’s do this.”

Mark is well aware how bad Chris’s anxiety tends to get before this sort of thing, but he doesn’t comment. He knows Chris will be fine as soon as the cameras turn on and he can stop being Chris Evans, meatball and anxious mess, and start being Chris Evans, movie star and aspiring politician – or, as most people view him, real life Captain America. Chris doesn’t mind that image so much. He’s proud of what he’s done with the character and besides, Steve Rogers is a better man than he’ll ever be. Sometimes it’s a little frustrating when people seem to be more excited about meeting Cap than about what it is Chris is there to discuss with them – things that are important not only to him personally, but to the fate of the entire country. But on the flipside, his Cap persona has opened a lot of doors for him, and that makes the occasional flare of irritation more than worth it. Politicians and civil servants are just people too, after all. Well. Most of them.

Today, Chris is meeting with Democratic Representative Sebastian Stan. Stan is quite new on the Hill, and Chris was doubtful whether meeting with him would be worthwhile. But Mark had said he’d heard good things about the guy, plus he was willing to meet with them, so Chris had decided to give him a chance. Since it was all quite last minute, he hadn’t really had time to do much research on Stan and just read the notes that Mark had sent him earlier this morning.

Chris was impressed with the guy’s resume, and despite his usual nerves he was quite looking forward to speaking with him. It was undoubtedly going to be better than interviewing some stuffy old Republican. Again. Chris is well aware that he signed up for this whole bipartisan thing himself, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t occasionally get the urge to throw hands when he hears someone like Ted Cruz or Dan Crenshaw spout their conservative bullshit.

Chris walks into the office that’s set up like a small film set: two simple folding chairs set up on a worn rug in front of some antique, mahogany cabinets, giving the appearance of nonchalant sophistication. Next to the chairs are some studio lights and reflectors, and two cameras, one behind each chair.

Mark takes a seat on the far end of the room, there to observe and chime in if necessary, while Chris hikes up the knees of his dress pants before sits down on one of the folding chairs. He crosses his legs, tapping his pen against the papers resting on his knee while they wait for Representative Stan to arrive.

After a minute or two, the door behind Chris opens, and he gets up, ready to greet the Representative. He turns with a smile, which freezes on his face as he comes face to face with the guy he’s supposed to be interviewing.

Fuck, he’s gorgeous.

The thought flits through Chris’s mind, unbidden and very, very inappropriate, under the circumstances.

It’s true, though. Standing before him, wide smile on his face and his hand held out expectantly, is a man who wouldn’t have looked out of place on the kind of red carpet that Chris frequently finds himself on, too. Chris’s body moves on autopilot, greeting Stan and shaking his hand, while his brain produces nothing but static, helplessly stuck on a litany of holy shit he’s gorgeous what do I do what do I say.

Representative Stan is dressed in a perfectly tailored, aubergine suit, his chestnut hair slicked back in a way that could’ve seemed skeevy, but instead looks sleek and sophisticated. His steel-blue eyes are bright and intelligent, but there’s a glimmer of something almost mischievous in them, too – as if Stan knows something Chris doesn’t and he may choose to waylay him any minute. Stan’s jawline and cheekbones could cut glass, and his mouth… Chris has to make a conscious effort to look away from his mouth, or this could get really awkward really fast.

It’s only when both of them have taken place on their respective folding chairs and Gino, their camera guy, asks them if they’re good to go, that Chris’s brain decides to cooperate again. Not fully, but just enough to be able to focus on the questions he knows he needs to ask. He clears his throat and plasters on a smile, hoping fervently that he at least outwardly appeared like he knew what he was doing while he was inwardly busy having a melt down over a pretty boy.

He shakes himself. It isn’t just a pretty boy. Sebastian Stan is a United States Representative. One who is now looking at him expectantly from the chair opposite, ready to answer Chris’s questions about healthcare for all, gun control and gerrymandering.

Oh, Christ.

Stealing himself, Chris nods at Gino, signaling for him to turn on the cameras. He takes a deep breath, and starts.

“Representative Stan, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you so much for sitting down with us today and for agreeing to answer some of my questions.”

“Please, call me Sebastian,” Stan replies, smiling. “And the pleasure is all mine.”

Chris swallows, trying hard not to get stuck on the word pleasure or the way Sebastian’s slight New York drawl sounds coming from that beautiful mouth, and asks his first question. “Sebastian. Could you tell me, in sixty seconds, what your stance is on gun control?”

---

Representative Stan’s – Sebastian’s – answers are all incredibly thoughtful yet to the point, and with every reply Chris feels himself sinking deeper and deeper into a state of despair. He’s pretty and he shares Chris’s opinions on basically everything? This guy is trouble. Heaps of it.

When Chris asks question four, he almost falters when he thinks he catches Sebastian looking him up and down, gaze lingering for a moment on his hands and shoulders. But surely that’s just wishful thinking? Just in case, Chris quickly checks Sebastian’s left hand: no ring. When he meets Sebastian’s eyes again, the corner of his mouth ticks up into a hint of a smirk, as if he knows exactly what Chris was doing.

Immediately, Chris feels his cheeks heat up. Not for the first time in his adult life he’s grateful for the fact that his beard covers most of his face. He clears his throat again and sits up straighter, trying to appear as if he’s listening intently to Sebastian’s next reply instead of freaking out about the possibility that Sebastian might be interested back. Just the idea makes Chris feel too hot under the lights suddenly, his collar too tight around his neck.

He holds it together relatively well for the remainder of the interview, only tripping up and staring at Sebastian’s mouth as he talks maybe two or three times, and honestly, he kind of feels like he deserves some kind of medal for that. When his final question, regarding constituencies, has been answered, Chris represses the urge to sigh in relief. As soon as the cameras turn off, he reaches up to loosen his tie just a tad, needing to get some air.

And, lo and behold, Sebastian’s gaze tracks the movement, before settling on Chris’s mouth for just a moment. A thrill of excitement runs through Chris’s body, head to toe. Is he reading this right? Fuck, he hopes he’s reading this right.

“Thank you, Sebastian,” Chris says, standing up and watching Sebastian do the same. “This was all very interesting. It’ll be a valuable contribution to A Starting Point, I’m sure.”

“Not a problem,” Sebastian replies pleasantly. “It’s been very” – he pauses to lick his lips, not breaking eye contact – “enlightening.”

Oh, boy.

Chris holds out his hand again and Sebastian takes it. There’s no mistaking it now: the handshake lasts too long for it to be entirely professional and there is definitely more eye contact than necessary. Chris’s heart is beating in his throat by the time he finally pulls his hand back, daring to subtly let his fingers brush Sebastian’s wrist. He watches in satisfaction as Sebastian’s eyes darken a fraction, a spark of heat flashing through them before he smiles pleasantly again and turns around to thank Gino and Mark.

Chris internally slaps himself in the face. Jesus, this is such an inconvenient time and place to develop a crush on someone. Still, he already knows he’s helpless against Sebastian’s charm and he’ll probably spend the next few weeks or so pathetically (and unethically) watching the footage they just shot and daydreaming about all the things he wish he could’ve done to him. It’s just not fair for someone so smart and dedicated to also be this hot.

When Sebastian turns to him again, Chris valiantly pretends he’s not in the middle of a mental breakdown and gives him a smile.

“So, Chris,” Sebastian starts, pensively rubbing his chin. “Can I call you Chris?”

“Of course,” Chris hastens to assure him. “I’m just regular old Chris.” Regular old Chris? Pathetic.

“Okay then,” Sebastian replies, and his eyes are dancing. “Chris it is. So, I’m sure you’re busy, but I’d love to pick your brain on something. I wonder if you have a moment?”

Well, damn. Maybe Chris won’t just be daydreaming after all.

Chris nervously rubs the back of his neck. “Sure, yeah. No problem. You were my last interview for the day anyway, so I’ve got time.” He looks at Mark, who’s standing over by the doorway. “Are you okay going ahead without me? I’m not sure how long this will take so there’s not need to wait around for me, I guess.”

Mark, who, unlike Chris, is not an idiot, looks far too knowing. “Absolutely. You take your time, Chris. Do what needs to be done, and all that,” he grins. “I’m gonna head back to the hotel, got plenty of work to be catching up with. I’ll see you later.” Turning to Sebastian, Mark adds, “It was a pleasure meeting you. Take care. Be safe.”

“Yes, sir,” Sebastian replies, giving Mark a playful wink.

Mark turns to smirk at Chris one more time before he grabs his briefcase and heads out the door behind Gino and his assistant, leaving Chris and Sebastian by themselves. The sudden silence is a little stifling, and Chris is the first to break it.

“So…” he says, like an idiot.

Sebastian inclines his head with a smile. “So,” he replies, looking back up at Chris from under his eyelashes. “My office is a little further down the hall, if you want to follow me. It’s not much, but at least it offers better seating than a couple of folding chairs.”

Chris laughs, a little louder than the comment warrants, but he’s nervous, okay? He’s not sure where this afternoon will take him, but he sure hopes he’s not reading this wrong and Sebastian isn’t going to break out some official documents for them to discuss the moment they step into his office.

Sebastian leads the way through a maze of corridors, occasionally raising a hand in greeting while Chris tries to keep his head down. He doesn’t mind being recognized or stopped, usually, but he’d rather not have to chat to some random stranger while he’s on his way to what is potentially a really hot and really inappropriate hookup. He gets a few looks, but he keeps his gaze fixed on Sebastian’s back, and fortunately it isn’t long before Sebastian opens a door on the left hand of the corridor, gesturing Chris inside.

It’s just a normal Capitol Hill office; not too big, all white walls and dark wooden furniture that’s seen better days but that still does the trick. The window looks out onto a lawn, high enough up to ensure no one is able to see inside when they look up on their lunchbreak walk. Sebastian’s desk is littered with papers, most of them organized into neat piles and held down by paperweights. A man after Chris’s own heart.

The door closes behind them with an audible click, and Chris stills. His instincts tell him to fill the silence with mindless chatter, but he knows he’s likely to say something embarrassing that could well end up jeopardizing this whole rendezvous. So he bites his tongue, and waits for Sebastian to speak first.

Sebastian takes his sweet time – whether because he doesn’t know what to say either or to rile him up, Chris isn’t sure.

“Take a seat,” he says eventually, gesturing to the sturdy, armless chair in the middle of the room, about two yards between it and the wooden desk near the window. Chris, starting to wonder if this is going to be just business after all, does as he’s told, expecting Sebastian to take place behind his desk.

Sebastian doesn’t. Instead, he perches on the edge of his desk, one foot on the ground and crossing his wrists on his left knee. Chris is having flashbacks to being called into the principal’s office, only much, much better.

“I really do admire your initiative and ambitions with this website,” Sebastian says, sounding genuine. “It’s always a risk for someone from the entertainment industry to venture into politics and usually I’d say it’s not a great idea.” He pauses, and Chris fights the urge to squirm in his seat. “But then, usually,” Sebastian continues, “people are after some kind of power or influence, whereas you’re concerned with making sure people are informed enough to vote, and vote wisely. I think that’s a very admirable aspiration.”

Chris sends Sebastian a grateful smile. “Thank you. A lot of people think I’m just sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong and I should stick to acting, but I care deeply about these issues. My career has afforded me a platform, an opportunity to make my voice heard, and I can’t not use that opportunity to try and make a difference.”

“That’s exactly it,” Sebastian agrees. “Sure, you’ve got a famous face and name, but you’re not taking advantage of it. You’re using it to do some good. And, um –” He pauses, biting his lower lip around a smile and tilting his head a little to the left, before finishing, “Well, let’s just say I think that’s very sexy of you.”

Chris barks out a surprised laugh. “Glad to hear it, Rep- Sebastian,” he corrects himself. Gathering his courage, he deliberately, slowly lets his gaze sweep Sebastian’s form, head to toe and back again. “And as it happens,” he goes on, deciding to throw caution to the wind and just go for it, “I think you’ve got many excellent qualities yourself.”

A slow smile spreads over Sebastian’s handsome face, lighting up his features and momentarily stealing Chris’s breath away.

“That so?” Sebastian looks down at the floor for a moment, then looks back up at him through his eyelashes – to devastating effect. Chris is pretty sure he lets out a quiet gasp, his heart tripping over itself in his chest.

Jesus Christ, where is his cool when he needs it? Or his game, for that matter.

“I’ve gotta say,” Sebastian continues, head still cocked and fixing Chris with his gaze. “You’re not at all how I was expecting you to be.”

“How were you expecting me to be?”

“I don’t know.” Sebastian gives him a considering look. “Less down to earth, less likeable, more Hollywood?”

Chris huffs a laugh. “Yeah, people usually tell me I’m a little disappointing in real life. Shorter than they were expecting, not as muscly, etcetera etcetera.”

Sebastian frowns, a little wrinkle appearing on his brow that Chris immediately wants to smooth out with his thumb.

“Oh no, I don’t think you’re disappointing at all. You’ve exceeded my expectations, if anything. I figured it probably took tons of make up to make you look as dashing as you do on screen, but if anything I think you’re more handsome in real life.” Gesturing at him, Sebastian clarifies, “The beard, the waist, the shoulders – it’s… quite something.”

“Oh,” Chris says intelligently. “Thank you.” He winces. “I mean-”

“You’re cute,” Sebastian interrupts, grinning.

“I –” Chris falters again, dropping his head into his hands. “Fuck, I swear I’m usually smoother than this.” He looks back up at Sebastian a little sheepishly. “You just kinda caught me off guard. I guess you surpassed my expectations, too. I wasn’t expecting a Representative too be quite so…”

“So?” Sebastian prompts, still watching him closely.

“Gorgeous,” Chris breathes.

This time, it’s Sebastian who sucks in a breath, his eyes widening just a little. It’s small, almost imperceptible, but Chris is watching him closely so he notices. Seems Sebastian isn’t quite as unaffected by all this as he first appeared. That knowledge makes something in Chris’s chest loosen, helps him regain his footing a little.

Keeping his eyes locked with Sebastian’s, Chris slowly uncrosses his legs, planting both his feet firmly on the ground. Sebastian’s eyes drop down to Chris’s lap before they flick up to his face again. His perfectly white, straight teeth – more Hollywood than Capitol Hill – sink into his plump bottom lip, right hand dropping to his waist to casually unfasten the button on his suit jacket.

For a few seconds, neither of them speaks or moves, the tension in the room almost palpable now. Chris suppresses a shiver when Sebastian slowly gets up and walks over to him with an air of a predator approaching its prey.

Unconsciously, Chris holds his breath, then lets it out again in a rush when Sebastian plants his hands on Chris’s shoulders and proceeds to straddle his thighs, sitting down squarely in Chris’s lap.

Chris makes a sound, somewhere between surprised and helplessly turned on, his hands flying up to rest on Sebastian’s waist. “Whoa, I- okay.” He swallows nervously.

“Okay?” Sebastian checks.

Chris nods, a little too quickly to be suave, but hey, this is kind of an unusual situation.

Sebastian relaxes infinitesimally, the only sign that he’s not quite as confident here as he appears to be. “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes drifting over Chris’s features.

From up close, Chris can count Sebastian’s eyelashes, can see the hint of a stubble on his jawline. He’s intoxicating, and Chris doesn’t dare move an inch as he lets Sebastian study him. Finally, after he’s looked his fill, Sebastian’s gaze comes to rest on Chris’s mouth. His tongue, pink and wet, flicks out to wet his own lips, and Chris’s mouth starts to water. He aches with how much he wants to kiss that pretty, pouty mouth.

After a long, loaded moment, Sebastian leans in, his breath ghosting Chris’s lips for a second and making his heart race in anticipation, before he finally presses their mouths together.

The kiss is soft, lush, almost sweet. Chris holds his breath, his stomach flipping like he’s some kind of blushing virgin being kissed for the very first time.

Then, Sebastian makes a sound – a tiny, throaty noise that’s almost a moan but not quite, and something inside of Chris snaps. He groans, parting his lips and urging Sebastian to do the same, and then they’re kissing, hard and openmouthed. Chris slides one hand up Sebastian’s neck, burying his fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. Sebastian moans for real this time, hands smoothing over the fabric of Chris’s suit jacket, lingering on his shoulders and arms.

“Fuck,” Sebastian mutters against Chris’s mouth, squeezing his biceps. “So fucking hot.”

Chris is used to being called hot, of course. It’s inescapable in his profession. But coming from Sebastian, quite probably the sexiest man on God’s green earth, the words mean a lot more than they usually do. It emboldens him enough to wrap an arm around Sebastian’s waist and pull him closer against him, pressing their groins together briefly.

“Uh,” Sebastian hiccups, pulling back a fraction to look down at Chris. His pupils are blown already, lips reddened and spit slick, and Chris wants. He wants this man so much and he hardly even knows him.

“God, look at you,” Chris breathes, staring in something close to awe. “Pretty as a picture, sittin’ in my lap.”

Sebastian swallows, his eyelids fluttering at the compliment, and then he slowly and deliberately grinds down. Both of them groan at the friction, Chris’s own hips jerking upwards of their own accord, and Sebastian does it again, simultaneously leaning down to capture Chris’s lips in another kiss. Soon, they’ve found a sort of rhythm, their hips rolling in time with the slow, luxurious thrusts of their tongues into each other’s mouths. It’s intoxicating - the smell of Sebastian’s aftershave mingling with fresh sweat and arousal making Chris’s head swim.

Already, he’s uncomfortably hard inside his slacks, the need to rut, to seek relief, becoming almost unbearable the longer they spend slowly grinding together on that office chair.

“Sebastian.”

Sebastian hums, dragging his mouth over Chris’s cheeks before taking his earlobe between his teeth, worrying it gently. Chris makes a pitiful noise. He throws his head back automatically, inviting Sebastian to attack his exposed neck next. Licking along the tendons that stand out, Sebastian presses wet little kisses to his throat and jaw, too much and not enough at the same time. It’s like Sebastian has a map to all of Chris’s weak spots, like he’s trying to tick them off one by one until he reaches the spot marked X.

Just when Chris thinks he’s going to have to beg him for some relief, Sebastian pulls back, placing one more lush kiss on his lips before he climbs off Chris’s lap.

On instinct, Chris’s hands fly up in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry,” he says, panting slightly. “Did I-“

But before he can finish his sentence, Sebastian has quickly taken off his suit jacket and thrown it carelessly to the side, sinking to his knees in front of him. He pushes open Chris’s legs with a hand on either knee, a question in his eyes as he looks up at him.

“I hope you’re alright with this, because I really wanna suck you off.”

Chris does absolutely not squeak. “Yeah, I’m – I’m alright with that.”

“Excellent,” Sebastian grins, feral and beautiful. Slowly, he runs his hands up Chris’s thighs until he reaches his belt, opening it quickly and efficiently. Chris lifts his hips a little so that Sebastian can pull down his slacks just enough to reveal the bulge of his erection, the tip, red and already wet, peaking out over the waistband. Sebastian let’s out a low whistle. He reaches up to press his palm to Chris’s dick through the fabric, squeezing lightly as if to get the measure of it.

Chris inhales sharply. Somehow, Sebastian looks even better from this angle than he had before, and he watches Sebastian’s every move with lidded eyes. “C’mon,” he murmurs, hoping he’s not overstepping.

Sebastian’s eyes snap up to his face, the look in his eyes is downright predatory. “You want it?” he asks, squeezing Chris again and licking his lips.

Chris can’t help but roll his eyes a little. “You know I do, Congressman.”

“Oh, that do it for you, huh?” Sebastian sounds amused, that cheeky twinkle appearing in his eyes again that gets Chris’s pulse racing.

“You do it for me,” Chris replies honestly, reaching down to card a hand through Sebastian’s hair. “I’ll admit it’s kind of hot that you’re in politics and have a lot of the same opinions as I do. But to be honest, if you’d been working at my local gardening center, I’d still have done a double take. You’re just really fucking gorgeous, Sebastian.”

Sebastian looks at him with big, round eyes, his mouth hanging slightly open. He swallows once, then licks his lips. Hoarsely, he asks, “How are you real?”

Before Chris has had a chance to reply, Sebastian is taking him out of his underwear, wrapping a hand around the base of his cock, and taking him into his mouth. Chris groans loudly, his mind blanking out for a second at the exquisite feeling of Sebastian’s hot, wet mouth around his dick.

“Jesus, fuck.”

Sebastian pulls off for a moment, just long enough to mumble, “Language,” before he reapplies himself to his task.

Blinking through the haze of pleasure, Chris stares down at him. “Did you just..?”

Sebastian just moans around him, but his eyes are laughing. Chris can’t help it – he laughs too, out loud, the sound quickly turning into another moan when Sebastian takes him deeper still. He swallows him down, all the way into the back of his throat, making himself gag a little. Pulling back to gulp in a breath, Sebastian keeps his slick, red lips wrapped around the head, gently suckling while his hand grips him with the perfect amount of pressure as he strokes along Chris’s shaft.

Chris hopes he’s not overstepping when he brings his right hand to Sebastian’s head and slides his fingers in his thick, chestnut hair, tugging at it experimentally. If the sound Sebastian makes is anything to go by, he’s more than alright with that development. Chris curls his fingers, messing up Sebastian’s perfectly styled hair and reveling in the effect it has on him, the way it seems to make him sloppier, more desperate.

Sebastian lets him fall from his mouth for a moment to lap at his shaft, before mouthing at the base of it, burying his nose in the coarse hair there. Chris isn’t sure what it is about that particular gesture that hits him, but suddenly the urgency he feels intensifies threefold. He gives Sebastian’s hair an unsubtle tug, pulling him back down, and Sebastian happily lets himself be steered, taking Chris into his mouth once more and beginning to suck him off with renewed vigor.

Sebastian’s mouth is exquisite. Chris has never felt anything quite like it, and it’s not long before he’s a panting, delirious mess. “Oh god,” he breathes, “if you keep that up, I’m not gonna last long.”

Abruptly, Sebastian stops what he’s doing, looking up at him with slightly wild, dark eyes. A gossamer strand of saliva still connects his wet, reddened lips to Chris’s cock.

“I want you to fuck me.”

The words ring out loud and clear in the otherwise silent room, and Chris blows out a quick, steadying breath. He strokes Sebastian’s cheek, thumb trailing over his slightly puffy lower lip.

“You have no idea how much I want that,” Chris says regretfully. “No idea. But I wasn’t exactly anticipating this to happen today, if you know what I mean.”

Sebastian’s eyes light up. A moment later, he’s getting to his feet and hurrying towards the built-in cabinet near the window. Chris watches in confusion as Sebastian produces a black, leather gym bag and rummages around in there for a second, reemerging with a triumphant sound.

“I’ve got stuff.” Sebastian sounds a little breathless as he holds up a packet of condoms and a small bottle of lube.

Chris grins, raising a single eyebrow.

“I’m a single, gay man,” Sebastian explains, rolling his eyes. “I do go out occasionally, you know. Plus I used to be a boy scout. Always be prepared, and all that.”

“Hey,” Chris says, holding up his hands. “I’m not judging.”

“You totally are,” Sebastian snorts. “You should stop that and fuck me instead. Deal?”

Oh, but Chris loves this. He loves the banter, the way the extreme sexual tension of just moments ago has shifted into something more lighthearted, though still undeniably charged. It’s been a while since he’s had anything more than a one night stand, and those typically leave little room for levity, in his experience. Usually, people are so preoccupied with the fact that they’re sleeping with Chris Evans, Captain America, and so desperate to please him, that it almost becomes a little off putting.

With Sebastian, there’s none of that. Yes, Sebastian’s clearly very attracted to him, but he doesn’t hesitate to crack a joke or make a smartass remark. Chris admires that kind of self-assuredness, that independence, if you will, while he also manages to make it clear how much he wants this.

How much he wants Chris. And the feeling, Chris thinks, as he slowly lets his eyes trail up and down Sebastian’s slightly disheveled form, his entirely mutual.

Purposely lowering his voice, Chris says, “Take off your shoes, socks and pants.”

A visible shiver runs through Sebastian at Chris’s commanding tone.

Chris smiles wolfishly. “That’s what I thought. Today please,” he adds when Sebastian doesn’t move immediately, just stands there like he’s frozen.

Sebastian jerks into action, going over to the desk where he puts down the supplies before turning back to face Chris. Slowly, he starts to toe off his shoes, which he kicks aside, followed by his socks. Chris watches intently as Sebastian’s hands drop to the buttons on his slacks, unbuttoning them one by one before hooking his thumbs in the waistband and pulling them down, past the modest swell of his ass. They fall to the floor and he steps out of them easily. Chris’s eyes glue themselves to the bulge in his dark grey briefs, where a wet spot has formed at the front. Next, he lets his gaze trail over Sebastian’s long legs, elegant and yet with firm, muscled thighs that Chris would love to feel wrapped around his waist one day. Or his head. He’s not picky.

Sebastian just stands there, letting himself be looked at, seemingly savoring the attention. Finally, he reaches up to loosen his tie, deftly pulling it off and dropping it. He starts unbuttoning his dress shirt, next, but Chris stops him after he’s opened the last one.

“That’s enough.” He goes to sit up a little straighter in his chair and beckons Sebastian closer. “Come here.”

Obeying beautifully, Sebastian walks over to him, but not before snatching the condoms and lube off the desk. He comes to stand in front of him, holding Chris’s eyes and waiting for further instructions.

“Take off your briefs.”

Sebastian lets out a shaky breath. Slowly, he slides his underwear down his legs and steps out of them. His dick isn’t too large, but it’s pretty, and makes Chris’s mouth water instantly. Reaching out, he puts his hands on Sebastian’s hips. He darts a quick glance up to his face to check if this is okay, when Sebastian just bites his lip as he looks down at him with a heated look in his slate grey eyes, Chris lowers his mouth over Sebastian’s cock.

He lets out a pleased little hum at the taste of him on his tongue, swiping it around the head to lap up the precome that’s gathered at the tip. Sebastian moans beautifully, hands resting on Chris’s shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle.

“Chris,” he breathes, letting his head fall backwards. Chris looks up at him through his lashes, marveling at how pretty Sebastian looks even from this unflattering angle. He bobs his head and sucks him off with relish, taking him down over and over, until Sebastian’s thighs start to tremble.

“Please.”

Chris pulls off with a wet sound. “Please what?” he asks, voice even rougher than it was moments before.

“I need –” Sebastian whimpers, hips jerking, and Chris thinks he knows exactly what he needs.

He sits back against the back rest and pats his lap. Sebastian takes the hint immediately and climbs on, straddling his thighs. His flushed, leaking cock presses against the front of Chris’s dress shirt, sure to leave a stain, but Chris couldn’t care less. He’s got a lap full of mostly naked Sebastian; he does not feel particularly worried about dry cleaning right now.

Chris allows himself a moment to take Sebastian in. With his flushed cheeks, and dark eyes, glossy with arousal, he’s breathtaking. His hair is mussed and his toned, tanned torso visible through the gap in his opened dress shirt. His cock is hard and flushed, the base surrounded by neatly trimmed pubic hair. Sebastian’s been biting his lips, it seems, because they look extra red – a little raw from the way his teeth have been worrying at them while Chris sucked him off. Needing to taste them more than he’s needed anything in a while, Chris leans in, wrapping an arm around Sebastian’s waist and pulling him into a deep, hungry kiss. He runs a hand along Sebastian’s long legs, which are remarkably smooth, like the rest of him. Sebastian balances a line between strong and elegant, and Chris is mesmerized by it.

“God, you’re stunning,” Chris rumbles, trailing a hand from the hollow of Sebastian’s neck all the way down his chest, abs, and then bypassing his cock to slide around to his backside. He grabs a handful of that small but perfectly formed ass and kneads it. Sebastian’s breath hitches, and Chris splays his hand over Sebastian’s tailbone before he deliberately dips his middle finger between his cheeks. When the tip of it brushes Sebastian’s smooth, tight hole, Sebastian gasps, his pupils dilating impossibly further until there’s barely anything left of the beautiful ocean blue of his irises. Their gazes lock while Chris gently teases at Sebastian’s hole with his finger, rubbing little circles there that don’t do a thing yet to loosen him up but that have Sebastian squirming in his lap nonetheless.

It takes approximately a minute of this before Sebastian breaks, whining in the back of his throat in a way that Chris is pretty sure is unintentional.

“What is it, baby?” The endearment is out before Chris can check himself, but the way Sebastian shivers against him shows he doesn’t exactly seem to mind it. “You need something?”

“Yes,” Sebastian breathes.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Want your fingers in me,” Sebastian answers instantly, though the way his voice trembles tells Chris it’s harder for him to say it than he’s trying to make it appear. “Please.”

“Anything you need, baby,” Chris assures him, leaning in to steal a kiss.

He takes the lube from Sebastian’s clenched fist, popping open the lid and reluctantly drawing his hand back from Sebastian’s ass to coat his fingers in the stuff. They’re back a moment later though, slick fingers rubbing over Sebastian’s hole with intent, before he starts to work the tip of his forefinger slowly inside. Sebastian sinks his teeth into his bottom lip as Chris slowly slides his finger in deeper, his mind bombarding him with signals of hot, tight, wet that go straight to his already rock-hard cock.

He can’t wait to be inside Sebastian, but first, he needs to make sure he does a thorough job opening him up. The last thing Chris wants to do is hurt him. In fact, he’s already ready to fight anyone who ever hurt Sebastian in the past or is planning to in the future, and he’s rather not have to kick his own ass.

“More,” Sebastian demands. His tongue darts out to lick his own lips, and Chris’s cock twitches at the sight. Lining up a second finger next to the first, he slowly presses it in as well, carefully stretching Sebastian’s tight entrance, readying it for his cock. Just that thought alone is enough to make Chris’s brain short-circuit for a second. Sebastian rests his forehead against Chris’s, his breathing picking up, but it doesn’t sound like he’s uncomfortable. So Chris doesn’t stop, instead slightly spreading his fingers to gently pry him open further.

“You’ve got – big fingers,” Sebastian pants, rocking back on them just a little.

“Sorry,” Chris says guiltily.

“No – ah. That’s, that’s really not a bad thing.”

Chris smirks. “I see. You want more?”

“Yes, please,” Sebastian breathes, the last word fading into a moan when Chris adds a third finger to the first two.

“There’s a good boy,” Chris says, kissing Sebastian’s cheek almost sweetly. “Asking for it so nicely.”

Sebastian sighs contently, melting a little further against him. Slowly, Chris starts to slide his fingers in and out while Sebastian’s fingers dig hard into Chris’s biceps. Since Chris knows sometimes the discomfort of the initial stretch can cause an erection to flag, he brings his left hand to Sebastian’s cock to stroke it tightly, just until Sebastian’s eyelids start fluttering from pleasure instead of tension.

Chris keeps him on the edge for a while, aware that he’s probably done enough to prepare him, but unable to stop staring at Sebastian, where he’s open and wanton and beautiful in his lap. It’s only when Sebastian whimpers and buries his face in Chris’s neck, breath hot and moist on his skin, that Chris remembers he’s working towards something here.

“Shhh,” he coos, rubbing Sebastian’s smooth back with his free hand. “It’s alright. I’m gonna give you what you need, okay?”

Sebastian nods shakily, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Chris’s throat.

“Please,” he pleads, somewhere between sweetly and desperately, and Chris’s heart does a funny thing inside his chest. He has to kiss Sebastian again then, deep and slow and consuming, swallowing his beautiful moans as he crooks his fingers inside of him to makes him cry out softly into his mouth.

Finally, Chris makes himself pull back, pulling out his fingers and wiping them on the bottom of his own shirt.

“Okay,” he says, feeling a little unmoored and shaky himself. “Alright, stand up for me, honey.”

Sebastian does, climbing off Chris’s lap, and standing there on slightly unsteady legs, like a baby deer, waiting to be told what to do next.

“Take off the shirt and bend over the desk.”

It’s an order, but Chris watches Sebastian’s face carefully so see his reaction, ready to propose something else if he isn’t comfortable with this. He needn’t have worried. Sebastian instantly turns around, all but ripping off his shirt and then pushing aside some of the papers on his desk before bending over it. He keeps his legs straight, making his ass stick up in the air a bit as he presents himself for Chris’s hungry gaze.

For a moment, Chris can’t believe his luck. He came here today with a purpose; to work on his project, his brain child that he cares about a lot, and it had gone well, and that was all Chris has hoped for from today. To find himself in this position now, with the most attractive man he’s ever seen laid out before him like some sort of fata morgana, patiently waiting for Chris to fuck him stupid, that’s something he could never have anticipated. It’s better than anything he could have dreamed up.

“Jesus,” he says out loud, too caught up in his feelings to have much of a brain to mouth filter left. “I can’t believe I got this lucky. Look at you.”

“Chris,” Sebastian says, sounding a little impatient now. Which makes sense, considering he’s naked in his office on Capitol Hill, draped over his own desk, while some actor guy with his pants open watches him from a chair.

Chris shakes himself and finally gets up. Taking off his suit jacket, he drapes it over the back of the chair, and calmly turns around. He walks closer but still doesn’t touch Sebastian, just stops a few feet away. Something tells him that despite Sebastian’s impatience, he probably quite likes being on display like this. Feeling bold, Chris decides to take it a step further and test him a little.

“Show me,” he says.

Sebastian goes still. “What?”

“You heard me,” Chris repeats calmly. “Show me.”

Chris thinks he hears Sebastian murmur a curse, but then he lifts his arms and brings them to his ass, grabbing his cheeks and parting them, spreading himself open for Chris’s inspection. Chris can’t help the soft groan that escapes him at the sight. Reaching out, he smooths his palm over Sebastian’s lower back, then over the curve at the top of his ass, thumbing him open a little bit further.

“Fuck, that’s pretty.”

And it is. Sebastian’s pink hole is wet and slightly relaxed with how long Chris just spent fingering him. It makes Chris’s mouth water. He briefly entertains the thought of eating him out, but then Sebastian makes another impatient noise, wiggling his ass a little.

“Come on,” he pleads. “Do it, Chris. Just- please.”

A new wave of arousal washes through him, fast and strong, making him feel a little lightheaded.

“Okay, yes, I’m – Fuck. Just one second.” Chris doubles back for the lube, then grabs a condom and prepares himself as quickly as he can with his shaky, fumbling fingers. He positions himself behind Sebastian, his clothed thighs pressing into the back of Sebastian’s bare ones. With his left hand, he grips Sebastian’s hip as the other lines up his cock, resting the tip against his entrance.

“Please,” Sebastian repeats, sounding more desperate than ever, and then Chris is pushing forward, slowly sliding into the warm, welcoming heat of Sebastian’s body.

He grits his teeth to stop himself from moaning too loudly. Despite the thorough preparation, Chris’s brain whites out for a minute at how tight Sebastian feels around him because of his muscles clenching instinctively at the intrusion. Sebastian is making aborted little noises that could be pleasure or pain, and once Chris’s brain comes back online enough to register them, he leans down over Sebastian’s back to press a kiss to his spine as he fully bottoms out. He stays there for a moment, trying to keep his breathing even and kissing up on Sebastian some more in an attempt to distract or comfort him, whatever it is he needs.

But it must not be as bad as Chris thought, because it’s only a couple of seconds before Sebastian starts to push back against him.

“I’m good,” he says hoarsely, “you can move now.”

“Oh, thank god,” Chris sighs. He pushes himself back up to his full height and draws out a few inches, groaning at the drag of Sebastian’s inner walls around his cock before pushing back in. He means to go slow, to let Sebastian adjust, but it feels so good that he can’t help but slide in deep and stay there for a moment, drawing tight little circles with his hips that have Sebastian shuddering below him.

Unable to help himself, Chris pulls back and snaps his hips forward again forcefully, burying himself deeper into Sebastian’s welcoming heat. Judging by the sound Sebastian lets out, he does not mind. In fact, as Chris starts pumping his hips and driving into Sebastian over and over again, Sebastian starts to become louder and louder, moans and curses falling freely from his lips.

Chris adores every single sound Sebastian makes as he lays into him, but part of him is still conscious of the fact that they’re at Sebastian’s place of work. The door may be locked – at least, he hopes it is – but he doubts the room is soundproof, and he’d never forgive himself if their little tryst ended up jeopardizing Sebastian’s job or reputation in any way. Since Sebastian doesn’t respond to Chris’s pleas to keep it down, Chris doesn’t see any other option than to bend forward and put his hand over Sebastian’s mouth, muffling his cries.

“I’m sorry,” he says, genuinely regretful. “If we’d been somewhere private I’d’ve let you be as loud as you want, sweetheart. But this is your office. We don’t want anyone to hear us, do we?”

Sebastian moans in a way that Chris thinks could mean that he in fact does want everyone to hear them, but while that may be true in the moment, Chris is pretty sure Sebastian would regret it hugely after everything was said and done and the whole wing knew of their sexcapades. So he keeps his hand where it is, even if it impedes his freedom of movement a bit.

When he feels Sebastian lick at his palm, Chris’s first thought is he’s just being a brat, but when he does it again, Chris takes the hint. He takes his hand off Sebastian’s mouth and puts his fingers to his lips. Sebastian immediately takes them into his mouth, lips closing around them as he suckles them like he’d sucked on Chris’s dick before, making content little noises.

“Oh, baby,” Chris groans, rolling his hips again as he feeds Sebastian his cock and his fingers at the same time. “You just needed something to suck on, huh? Being fucked not enough for you? You wish you had my cock in your mouth, too?”

Sebastian whines around his fingers, and Chris rewards him with an extra forceful thrust that has Sebastian scrambling for purchase on the edges of his desk.

Just so he can draw this out as long as he can, Chris takes it down a notch, slowing until he’s just leisurely sliding in and out, making his strokes long and deep and getting Sebastian to sigh in pleasure below him. Part of Chris wishes he could just stop time right here, stay suspended in this moment in time forever, buried inside in the most stunning man he’s ever had. Not that he’s had all that many men. He’s definitely bisexual, but he tends to lean towards women a little bit more – at least, he thought he did.

Being here now, with Sebastian, he genuinely can’t imagine wanting anything else ever again. Which is… something to be examined closer when he’s not balls deep, perhaps. To stop his mind from overthinking, Chris changes their positions, pulling his fingers from Sebastian’s mouth and ignoring his protests. He pulls him upright by the shoulders, plastering his clothed chest to Sebastian’s naked back.

“Oh,” Sebastian breathes, lifting his hands to grab at the arm that Chris wraps around his chest.

Chris buries his face in Sebastian’s neck, dragging his lips and beard over the sensitive skin until Sebastian is squirming against him. Chris groans in Sebastian’s ear, tongue darting out to lick around the shell.

“You feel so good around me, sugar,” he praises, free hand dropping down to press Sebastian’s leaking erection against his belly. “You feeling good, too?”

Sebastian shudders against him, clearly torn between whether to press back or push forward into Chris’s hand. “Please, please, can I-”

Chris hums, shaking his head. “Sorry, honey. Not yet.” He slides his hand down from Sebastian’s clavicle to his pectoral, flicking experimentally at his left nipple with his thumb.

“No, no, unnghh,” Sebastian moans, letting his head fall back against Chris’s shoulders.

“Ohh,” Chris chuckles, charmed. “Sensitive, huh? How’s it feel when I touch ‘em? Feel good?” Not waiting for Sebastian’s reply, Chris takes the hard little nub between his thumb and forefinger and tweaks it lightly.

“Oh fuck,” Sebastian curses, jolting like he’s electrocuted, before panting, “Do that again.”

Chris doesn’t have it in him to deny Sebastian anything right now, so he repeats the movement and tries not to come on the spot from the way Sebastian’s ass tightens around him when he does. In his experience, most guys’ nipples aren’t all that sensitive, but from Sebastian’s reactions, is sure seems like he’s a nipple kinda guy. Which works out perfectly, because Chris is too. He’s already dying to suck on them sometime, scrape his beard over them, worry them between his teeth and find out how far he can work Sebastian up just from playing with his pretty nipples.

When Sebastian whimpers and sighs, yes, please, yes, Chris realizes he’s said all that out loud. And even though this might just be sex-drunk ramblings, Chris’s heart leaps at the implication that there might be a next time.

Keeping up a steady pace, Chris continues to fuck into Sebastian from behind while he rubs and pinches at his chest. He relishes the high-pitched noises that fall from Sebastian’s lips seemingly without conscious thought: he’s lost in it, just like Chris is lost in him, and it feels so fucking good.

Finally, when he feels the tell-tale tightening in his balls, Chris almost reluctantly pushes Sebastian away from him, down onto the table. He’s loath to let go of him, would much rather keep him close, but he’s conscious that he’s not hitting the spot in that position, and he wants to make this as good for Sebastian as he possibly can.

With a hand on his lower back, Chris presses Sebastian down as he starts to finally give it to him properly, pulling almost all the way out on every stroke before plunging back in. He chances a look down, mesmerized at the sight of his cock sliding in and out of Sebastian’s hole, which hungrily draws him in over and over again. There’s something almost obscene about the fact that Chris is still fully clothed, just his dick out, while Sebastian is gloriously naked, unabashed and wanton, letting himself be taken.

“Oh Jesus,” Chris pants, crazy with it, his body feeling loose and too-tight at the same time. “You’re so fucking hot, you’ve got no idea. Driving outta my fucking mind, sweetheart, Christ.”

“Harder,” Sebastian pleads, trying to muffle his cries in his own forearm. “Fuck me harder, c’mon.”

A haze comes over Chris’s brain, the only thing he can see and feel being Sebastian and the buzz in his veins, the pleasure coiling in his gut, so close to release. He grabs Sebastian’s hips and pulls him back against him every time he fucks into him, and suddenly, Sebastian’s moans change. They become higher and breathier, littered with aborted curses, and Chris knows he’s hitting the spot.

“Like that, baby? You like it like that?” Chris doesn’t care that he probably sounds like a bad porno right now, his entire consciousness filled with the scent of arousal in the air and the slick, filthy sounds of their bodies joining mixed with obscene moans.

Sebastian isn’t much better, anyway, keeping up a near constant litany of Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, in time with his beautiful, naked body being shoved up and down the table with every forceful thrust of Chris’s hips.

“Oh god,” Sebastian gasps suddenly. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come.”

“You’re – like this?” Chris asks incredulously. “You don’t need me to-?“

“I need you to keep going,” Sebastian groans. “Just like this, don’t you dare fucking stop.”

“Yes, sir,” Chris grits out. Truth be told, he doesn’t think he could stop now even if he wanted to. He’s so close.

Sebastian seems to finally have lost the capacity for speech altogether, the little breathless ah, ah, ah, sounds that Chris punches out of him the only thing he can manage.

“I’m guh-” Sebastian tries futilely, but he doesn’t get further than that.

“Now,” Chris orders, aiming another trust right into Sebastian’s prostate and grinding down on it, his hips flush with Sebastian’s ass. “Come for me, do it.”

And Sebastian does. He keens, body seizing up, clenching tightly around Chris’s cock. Chris’s hips stutter, wanting to keep thrusting, but it’s too much. Before Sebastian has even finished, Chris’s orgasm slams into him like a freight train. He comes with a long, drawn out moan, losing all sense of place or time as waves of pleasure wash over him, cock pulsing as he fills up the condom with his release.

Chris isn’t proud of it, but he more or less collapses onto Sebastian’s back when he starts to come down, his heaving, dress shirt-clad chest against Sebastian’s sweat-damp back. Chris presses his lips to Sebastian’s shoulder blade, panting against his skin as he catches his breath for a good few minutes.

Finally, his softening dick slips out, and Chris is forced to get up. “Give me one second,” he murmurs, looking around and spotting a box of tissues that’s fallen to the floor. He quickly removes and ties off the condom, wrapping it in a tissue and tossing it in the trashcan, along with the one he uses to clean himself. Next, he tucks himself back into his pants and zips them up, before he grabs another hand full of tissues. He cleans Sebastian up carefully, mindful not to be too rough with his undoubtedly sensitive, softening cock.

“You okay?” Chris whispers, gently stroking the slight curve of Sebastian’s hip.

Sebastian just hums in reply, not showing any inclination to get up of his own accord. He seems pretty out of it, honestly, so Chris helps him up and then guides them both to sit down in the chair again. He pulls Sebastian into his lap, against his chest, the contrast between their states of dress even starker now than it was before. Somehow, Chris is a little moved by it, by how much Sebastian seems to trust him, even if he barely knows him. It makes him tighten his grip instinctively, murmuring praise and endearments into Sebastian’s hair as Sebastian’s head lolls back against Chris’s shoulder.

After a few minutes, Sebastian starts to stir, blinking open his eyes and shivering a little. Chris pulls him closer still, rubbing his hands over Sebastian’s arms and legs in an attempt to warm him up a little.

“You with me again?” Chris asks quietly, lips brushing Sebastian’s ear.

Sebastian swallows, then gives a short nod. “Yeah.” His voice comes out thick, so he clears his throat. “I’m- I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to let myself go quite so much.”

He sounds embarrassed, and Chris won’t stand for that.

“Are you kiddin’ me?” He grabs Sebastian’s chin, turning his face so he can pull him into a kiss. It’s soft, sweet, without much intent, and Sebastian hums into it. “You were perfect,” Chris praises as he pulls away. “You are perfect.”

Despite the fact that he’s been naked all this time, this is what makes Sebastian blush, and Chris watches the color appear in his cheeks with delight, chasing it with his lips and nuzzling Sebastian’s hot cheeks.

“You’re pretty fucking amazing yourself,” Sebastian breathes. He turns into Chris further, lifting a hand to run it first through Chris’s beard and then his hair, tugging him down for another kiss. This one is slower, deeper, and Chris lets himself melt into it.

“I couldn’t believe my luck when you looked at me like that, earlier,” Sebastian confesses, speaking against Chris's lips. “Never woulda thought you’d have been into guys, let alone that you’d be like this.”

He doesn’t have to specify what he means by that, because Chris understands. He never thought Sebastian would’ve been like that, either.

Chris gives a small shrug. “Yeah, I’m bisexual, but I don’t flaunt it. ‘Cause, you know – Hollywood.”

Sebastian hums. “Yeah, I do know,” he says, before adding, “Capitol Hill,” by way of explanation.

A giggle bubbles up inside of Chris that he can’t quite stop in time.

When Sebastian raises an eyebrow at him in question, Chris blurts out, “We just fucked on Capitol Hill.”

Sebastian laughs, bright and happy, resting his forehead against Chris’s. “We sure did, sweetheart.”

He probably shouldn’t push his luck, but Chris has never been very good at keeping his feelings do himself. Before he can question it too much, he says, “So, I know it’s all backwards, but… I’d love to take you out for dinner. If – if you want.”

A sweet, fond smile spreads over Sebastian’s face. “Well, as it happens, I could really go for a burger and a beer, right about now.”

Chris groans, squeezing Sebastian’s waist. “If only you could be naked for the whole thing, and it would be perfect.”

Sebastian laughs. “Maybe on our second date. If you’re lucky.”

It Chris crosses his fingers behind Sebastian’s back, no one needs to know.

Read (and comment?) on AO3 - Thank you! ❤️

#my fic #evanstan #rpf #chris evans x sebastian stan #chris evans #sebastian stan #evanstan au #smut #politics #a starting point #ao3 #meet cute #my writing

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legendarymasterwolf · 3 years

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My Top 10 Favorite Video Games

Now that The Last of Us Part 2 and Ghost of Tsushima are out and I’ve finished both, I’ve decided to finally compile a list of my top ten favorite games I’ve played and have revisited over time. This is my own personal list, make no judgments based on what is here.

And awaaaaaaaaaay we go!

10: Ghost of Tsushima

I’ve never played a game that scratched that samurai itch before, and this one totally did it for me. Whether it was the standoffs straight out of a Kurosawa film, or the ability to scare the shit out of Mongols, or riding through a beautifully rendered world viewed through one of the most natural HUDs I’ve ever seen, I loved this game. Sure, it may be leaving this list once Cyberpunk 2077 comes out, but for now, it takes the tenth spot.

9: Star Wars: The Old Republic

Still one of my favorite Star Wars games. This was the first MMORPG I played where my character actually had a voice. I know, it’s a little thing, but I still like it. Whenever I have a spare moment on the road, a decent connection, and some time to chill, I fire up this game. Plus, it’s still operating even with Disney owning the franchise now, so there’s that.

8: Wolfenstein: The New Colossus

Still scarily relevant at the time of writing (hopefully not for much longer) and one of the best modern reinventions of a protagonist from a classic series. Also, shooting, hacking, and exploding Nazis and Klan members will never get old, no matter how many conservative man-children say otherwise. Plus, there’s one of best female characters in gaming, Grace Walker, who’s got some of the best lines in the game and some great commentary on masculinity.

7: “Assassin’s Creed” Series

I’m cheating here, but I can’t just choose one game from this series. One of the first games I played when I got a PC was Revelations. I played through the rest of them in the year that followed and I became hooked. So hooked, that I got both the Ezio Collection and AC3 Remastered for PS4 when the opportunity came (though the latter was just because it was on the Odyssey Season Pass). Odyssey was the first AC game I platinumed and, barring a few missteps here and there, I loved it. I can’t freaking wait for Valhalla.

6: “Persona” Series

I was just going to have Persona 5 Royal in this spot, despite still not finishing it (damn Okumura boss fight), but I’ve also got Persona 4 Golden and am loving it, so now I need to get Persona 3 whenever Sega decides to port the game to PC. Each game is set in a high school with an other world where your inner self is revealed. The social links system is great and you're basically playing an anime, complete with filler and everything. Some of them have surprisingly relevant themes, too(P5 fans know what I'm talking about). Now to finish them at some point.

5: Marvel’s Spider-Man

A game better than Spider-Man 2: The Game? No one thought it was possible until this came out. The web swinging has weight to it, the acting is great (props to Yuri Lowenthal), and the story, which Dan Slott contributed to, is a fantastic original Spider-Man story. Also, this happened to be the game that convinced me to buy a PS4. Can't wait for Miles Morales.

4: Disco Elysium

When I heard about this game, I knew I had to play it. It's not like any other isometric RPG I've played. In it, you play as an alcoholic detective waking up after a three day bender to find himself with amnesia and 24 distinct personalities that are always clashing, especially when you’re in conversation with an NPC. The story progresses as you try to piece together not only the case you were assigned to, but why you drank for three days straight to forget the case altogether. It’s batshit nuts and I love it. It also runs fairly well on my laptop, with a console port on the way. Also, still need to finish it. I know, my backlog is huge.

3: Red Dead Redemption 2

I never really got into the original RDR, mainly because I didn’t get a console until Christmas 2018. Thankfully, RDR2 is a prequel to the original game, set in the last years of the Old West, so it was easy to get into. While it did take a while for the game to get going and its storage size is massive (105 GB, WTF), when I finally powered on through and played the rest of the story, I was treated to some of the best characters I’ve seen in a game along with a story so heartbreaking, I was tearing up by the credits. Sure, the realism did become annoying to an extent, I could have done without the Guarma chapter, and the epilogue was four hours too long, but regardless, this is still one of my favorite depictions of the Wild West I’ve ever played.

2: “The Last of Us” Series

If the story for RDR2 was heartbreaking, then this series shattered my heart, pieced it back together, shattered it again, and then gave me hope to mend it in the future. I can’t choose between either Part 1 or Part 2, because I think both games are not only brilliant, but oversimplified when it comes to their themes. If we’re being simple about it, Part 1 is about Love and Part 2 is about Hate. In actuality, Part 1 is about the lengths we are willing to go for the ones we love and Part 2 is about the cycle of hate and how love can break it. Beyond the story (going to finally do that Part 2 breakdown in the future), the gameplay in both games is entertaining, the graphics look breathtaking (Part 2 has ruined all other games for me when it comes to graphics), the music is on point, and the performances are some of the best ones I’ve seen for a video game. This series set a new standard for how we see games and I can’t wait to see what the future holds for it. I don’t even mind waiting another seven years or so for the next one!

1: The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt

While the other games on this list are fantastic, they don’t hold a candle to the game that first inspired me to start thinking about making this list. This was the first game where, when I got to the credits, I felt not joy at completing another game, but sadness at the story finally being over. Geralt of Rivia’s final tale is still my favorite for its choices with no clear terms of morality, monster hunting missions that kept me enthralled even if some of the creatures scared the shit out of me (fucking Aracnomorphs), and the chance to have some fun with several members of the opposite sex (I regret nothing). Oh, and Gwent. Can’t forget Gwent. CD Projekt RED still remains one of my favorite developers to this day and I can’t wait for Cyberpunk 2077 to finally release in December (when it’s ready!!!).

And there you have it, my Top 10 Favorite Video Games I've played so far. This list is definitely going to change in the next couple months once I finish Watch Dogs: Legion and Cyberpunk 2077, but for now, this is how it is (AC already has an entry here, and Valhalla won't change that).

I may be putting my energy into that TLOU Part 2 Breakdown of my thoughts along with that Ellie/Dina fic I've been working on, so expect those at some point.

If you haven't already, go out and vote! Stay safe!

Lemme know what you think!

Until then!

#ghost of tsushima #swtor #wolfenstein the new colossus #assassin's creed #persona #marvel's spider-man #disco elysium #rdr2 #the last of us #the witcher 3 #video games

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ffamranxii · 4 years

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Okay folks, I am all caught up with Tokyo Mew Mew Au Lait chapters 1-3 and Tokyo Mew Mew 2020 Re-Turn chapters 1 and 2 so I am Doing A Thing! Buckle up, bitches!

MASSIVE SPOILERS IF YOU’RE WAITING FOR THE OFFICIAL ENGLISH RELEASES (whenever the hell those will be). Thanks to @berrychanx, @hikayagami, and @ribbonstrawberrysurprise for the scans, English translation, and hard work putting the translation onto the manga so neatly.

LEADERS

MOMOMIYA ICHIGO AND SHIBUYA AOI

Honestly this is the biggest difference between the 2020 Re-Turn reboot/original series and the magical boy tribute. Aoi is in no way like Ichigo once you get past that they’ve both been injected with Iriomote cat DNA. Whereas Ichigo is cheery and bubbly and cute, Aoi is withdrawn, suffers from low self confidence, and sort of breaks the fourth wall during nearly every fight, freaking out at how catchphrases and such just seem to burst forth from him after he transforms. (It’s honestly a funny highlight.) Their respective crushes are also treated differently, with Aoi falling hard for Anzu (though of course saying nothing) almost immediately, almost a love at first sight sort of deal, and Ichigo already having this crush on this boy when we start vanilla TMM and already deeply committed to him in the reboot. In civilian form, (using vanilla Ichigo here, it’s not fair to compare Aoi to 2020 “been a magical girl for years” Ichigo), Aoi is a lot more unsure of himself, and seems almost to be in this Mew Mew thing for Anzu, whereas Ichigo immediately had a “I’ll do my best” acceptance mindset from the start. (Both freak out over their cat ears appearing at random moments, even Ichigo in the 2020 reboot, and I think I can finally give poor Aoi a point over Ichigo here. It makes him uncomfortable but he just wears a hoodie and hopes no one notices. It makes Ichigo freak out more lol.)

THE LOVE INTEREST / DUNGEON NAVI / SECONDARY PROTAGONIST

AOYAMA MASAYA, HINATA ANZU, SHIROGANE RYOU

Anzu is a precious peach and she occupies such a weird role here that I almost couldn’t make her a neat little graphic. She doesn’t fit neatly into a “oh, they’re a genderbent so and so” like nearly everyone else, and it’s fascinating. On the one hand, several panels in the first chapter of Au Lait make it clear that the writers are setting her up to be Aoi’s love interest. Every magical girl anime has a love interest, so why wouldn’t a magical boy manga? But that’s where she diverges. Unlike Masaya, who is a very clear tribute to Sailor Moon’s Tuxedo Mask (with the exception that he’s a cute bean as a civilian, he’s nearly the same person. No past, gets kidnapped, magical form to protect the magical girl, evil form to fight the magical girl [this happened in PGSM, and he’s been brainwashed several times]), who has always been a secondary character, Anzu actually starts the Au Lait manga. She wasn’t even featured on the promo images, so when I opened the first chapter in a zip file I thought I’d downloaded the wrong one. My rudimentary Japanese confirmed I hadn’t, but I was like “well who tf is this chick?” I waited for an English translation to be sure and yup - Anzu is being treated almost like a secondary protagonist. Well that’s new. It’s as if the Au Lait writers smashed together the characters of Ryou and Masaya and named their love child Hinata Anzu. She’s intelligent, she knows more about this project than she should, and, like Ryou in vanilla, she’s out and about and helping the boys, not just as a civilian, but in every battle. She doesn’t have powers (that we know of), but her smarts and knowledge of animals have served them well time and again. Au Lait seems more like, as one reader put it, Anzu And The Dork Squad than Aoi’s team.

Masaya in 2020 Re-Turn is adorable. He is at odds with Quiche over Ichigo (or more like, he dislikes just how much Quiche likes Ichigo), and in a moment of panic he uses his leftover remnants of Deep Blue’s power to... change his clothes. I’m not sure what actually happened there. (Note: Thanks ribbonstrawberrysurprise: Deep Blue manifested to float the chimera anima/train and its passengers to safety.) But I love that he was so concerned for Ichigo, who at that moment desperately needed help, that the being who created his body and didn’t like Ichigo wanted to protect her. Ryou was his standoffish self, but even he seemed to have a hint of a lingering crush. He organized a party for the Mews and then took over in cafe duties so Ichigo could meet her man at the airport, unable to quiiiiite meet her eye while saying so. I always did like Ryou/Ichigo.

THE SASSY RICH BITCH

AIZAWA MINTO AND YOYOGI SHIZUKA

First of all: SAILOR JUPITER TAUGHT ME THAT PINK EQUALS FLOWER HURRICANES AND CAN I JUST SAY THAT I AM DISAPPOINTED AS FUCK THAT SHIZUKA ISN’T PLANT BASED AND CAN’T DO FLOWER HURRICANES THAT IS ALL.

Admit it. When we saw the promo image, we assumed certain things. One of those things turned out to be true: Aoi would be the Iriomote cat, because of course he would be Ichigo’s counterpart. Shizuka is wearing glasses, and his costume had the little tail, which meant he must have been a fish or a marine mammal and therefore Retasu’s counterpart, right? RIGHT. But also very, very wrong, my friends. Shizuka is indeed water based like Retasu - he’s an Amazon river dolphin (the pink ones!) - and that’s where all his similarities to our gentle green girl end. Instead of making everyone exactly the same but gender flipped, Au Lait is going in a slightly different direction, and I really like it. Shizuka is actually the most similar to our resident princess Minto! They both attend prestigious elite schools and generally act better than everyone else, but the real gem here is their interactions with their leaders. Shizuka has some truly snappy one-liners - such as discovering Ryuusei (”that’s the power of an idiot”) - and his reactions to Aoi are gold. He considers himself a genius, and indeed he’s very intelligent according to Natsume (and his school seems to be for smart people, it’s not prestigious for music or anything like that), and he makes little quips at Aoi all the time about how Aoi isn’t. I could totally see him spending an entire shift reading a book at Cafe Mew Mew while Aoi does all the work, only for him to stand up and someone to scream “HOLY CRAP, SHIZUKA’S UP, SHIT’S ABOUT TO GO DOWN.”

Minto is also full of snappy quips at Ichigo in the reboot, mostly about how Ichigo should handle the biggest, strongest enemies since she’s the leader, and can’t Ichigo even keep them in place so Minto can shoot them down? (And yeah, someone totally said the above comment ^ when Minto stood up at Cafe Mew Mew.) Minto was always one of my favorite characters, and I love that we saw a lot of close ups of her in the reboot, and that she seemed to be second in command.

THE CHILD

FONG PURIN AND KANDA RYUUSEI

Oh my god these two. I refuse to believe they aren’t related. I know Purin is Chinese but you cannot take this headcanon from me.

Purin is my favorite character in OG Mew Mew and Ryuusei claimed my heart the second I saw the Au Lait promo. NEITHER OF THEM DISAPPOINTED ME, I AM SO IN LOVE.

While I WILL say that I in no way care for Mew Pudding’s redesign (I hate literally everything about it. I miss her jumpsuit. I hate the little pigtails at the top of her head. I hate the ribbon. At least she still has her fingerless gloves), I love that she got an entire panel of just her being badass. She stood in the middle of some train tracks, facing a runaway speeding train chimera anima, with that ^ fucking look on her face, and was like “where you going, na no da?” Purin from like, ten years ago wouldn’t have done that. She has matured so much, but she’s still the young, goofy little acrobat monkey who provides for her tea-themed siblings (who criminally do not make an appearance) and I just love her so fucking much, you guys.

RYUUSEI. Guys. He’s an idiot. Oh my god. He’s a cute lovable idiot. “What’s a gomodo dragon? What’s a kodomo dragon? What’s a condo dragon and why does it need a house?” Anzu was in love with him for like five seconds until she learned he’s a dumbass, and Aoi was jealous as fuck, and no one ever told him what his damn animal was, and I laughed my ass off through his entire last couple pages. He also had his jacket hand embroidered with the kanji for dragon, BUT IT’S MISSPELLED. It’s missing a stroke! XD

Ryuusei is the KOMODO dragon (which is Anzu’s favorite animal), and komodos are badass. He also either always had weird animal powers, or just never noticed that he suddenly got super smell. Komodo dragons, by the way, can track their prey for literally MILES by smell alone, for DAYS. It’s absolutely terrifying (thank you for the nightmares, Wild Thornberries), and Au Lait made it fucking comical. I can’t even. HE CAN SMELL THE RED DATA ANIMAL ON PEOPLE. I love it. He’s super strong and super cute, apparently lives with his grandparents, and is Purin’s counterpart in every single way, except I think SHE might be more mature than him. I love him. He is my baby.

Yellow is my favorite color and yellow never disappoints.

THE FAMOUS

FUJIWARA ZAKURO AND ROPPONGI AYATO

Zakuro had next to no presence in the reboot. She occasionally made some panels look pretty. She twice had a half page to herself, one per chapter. I am sad. I love my wolf lesbian. In semi-related news, I feel I have solved the mystery of Zakuro’s red data animal, something that has plagued the TMM community for years. The grey wolf is not endangered at all, yet Zakuro is injected with one, right? I read somewhere (either in a TMM blog or a conservation blog) that there is a subspecies of grey wolf that IS critically endangered. I believe it’s the Mexican grey wolf? I headcanon she was injected with DNA specifically from a Mexican grey wolf.

Moving on. In Chapter 3 (which was a DELIGHT), we met Ayato. Chapter 3 was the most frustrating chapter because let me tell you, Au Lait marks the first time I have ever read a manga chapter by chapter as it was being released in Japan. So I’m waiting Nakayoshi to publish the chapter, then I’m waiting for someone to scan Nakayoshi, then I’m waiting for someone to translate it, over and over and over, and omg I can’t believe this is what people DO. I’ve waited for full volumes before, but CHAPTERS? This is torture. Ayato, I haven’t had enough TIME with you!

Ayato seems to be an actor (in a really... really weird stage play), and has very few lines in his first appearance. I’m not sure what I make of him. He says about six sentences, which is actually a lot for a character introduced on a cliffhanger, but... I can’t decide if he’s said them in a mysterious Sailors Neptune and Uranus way or a flamboyant Sohma Ayame way. I ALSO DON’T KNOW WHAT ANIMAL HE IS AND I AM VERY ANGRY. BB Ryuusei said he smells like yakitori (a type of grilled chicken), which confirms he’s a bird. But. WHICH BIRD, DAMNIT?

CHAPTER FOUR WHERE ARE YOU?

THE FUNDING

AKASAKA KEIICHIRO, HINATA NATSUME, SHIROGANE RYOU

Hello again, Ryou! The boys here were wallpaper (though cute wallpaper) in the reboot. Natsume is 100% a troll. I love her. She admits in chapter 3 she literally just injected hot boys for her Mew Mew project. Even Ryou wasn’t that blunt. I mean, if you gotta save Earth and stare at people while you do it, they better be cute, right?

IF FOUND, PLEASE CALL THE FANDOM

MIDORIKAWA RETASU, SHIRAYUKI BERII, AKAI RINGO

Aside from her two half panels as a Mew Mew per chapter, this is the only good cap of Retasu as a civilian in the reboot. D: I believe Hiroo Taichi will be her counterpart in Au Lait.

I never liked Berii. There, I said it. She got TWO animals. She was some random newbie and she got to be leader just like that? And she was clueless and dumb and the writing in A La Mode wasn’t great. But I really like 2020 Berii. She’s cute, she seems more rabbit than cat, and she seems more intelligent and less of a blonde Ichigo clone. I don’t know if she’ll have an Au Lait counterpart.

WHERE IS RINGO? THE REBOOT WAS THE PERFECT OPPORTUNITY TO PUT HER IN THE STORY FOR REAL AND SHE JUST... WASN’T THERE?! THIS IS BLASPHEMY. RINGO IS THE BEST MEW MEW. BEST GIRL. JUSTICE FOR RINGO.

THE RELATIONSHIPS

MASAYA & ICHIGO VS AOI & ANZU

ZAKURO & MINTO VS AYATO & RYUUSEI

Nearly all of 2020 chapter 1 focused on Ichigo seeing Masaya again. I’m guessing this took place after he left for London. Ichigo left with him after A La Mode, and some time between then and Re-Turn came back to Japan, and now Masaya is back. They are still as lovey as ever, but not as sickeningly cute as Tsukino Usagi and Chiba Mamoru or anything. Phew! Their counterpart in Au Lait seems to Aoi and Anzu. (Look at that height difference! Poor Anzu, her poor neck.) Aoi already has a massive crush on her, but Anzu, bless her, is oblivious.

AND NOW FOR THE GAYS.

I think Zakuro and Minto is probably one of the most popular TMM ships and holy lesbians, Batman, they were well fed with this GORGEOUS panel at the end of chapter 2. Look at it. Zakuro had literally no panels, save for her two intros, to herself, and barely any panels at all in the reboot, and then BA-BAM, this beautiful ending shot. I swear Ikumi did it on purpose. Speaking of gays - is Ayato/Ryuusei the new Zakuro/Minto? Ayato seems to be at least bisexual (he also hit on Anzu), but this was literally his second panel. He is in a (terrible, TERRIBLE) play, and the actors are walking in the audience looking for the villain. Ayato walks into the audience and HITS ON RYUUSEI. His first goddamn words are “Do you want me to keep you, my cute little puppy?” to Ryuusei. He says fuck this acting shit, I see a SNACK. I think I ship it. I think I ship it hard.

THE STORY

*Au Lait is just getting started, so typical magical girl boy anime manga: Let’s find the others! Shenanigans! Some fillers! It’s cute, I love it, go read it.

*2020 Re-Turn is actually REALLY GOOD and chapter 2 reminds me of just how unique Tokyo Mew Mew was and still is among not just magical girl series, but animanga as a whole. Quick, what was the last environmental series you remember? Mine was Captain Planet - in the 90s. Preachy, in your face, after school special about things like pollution and endangered species and littering and honestly it was really cool, but very much a product of its time. Even now, magical girl animanga is still focused on bad guys, but bad guys are generic and represent something created for the series. Here, the bad guys are US, other human beings, who traffic animals, who endanger them, who wreck our planet enough that animals are barely clinging to life. There’s a very poignant scene featuring the adorable snow leopard up there (who’s the secondary protagonist of the reboot) ^, showing his mother being shot and himself being snatched by poachers, and he’s terrified, and has no idea what’s going on or where he is, and Ichigo is terrified for him. We need more series like this - not just of the magical girl genre, but of ALL genres. To make it accessible in this way, for people of all ages, something enjoyable, that people can fangirl over and love and its creators clearly put a lot of love and thought into. We need another Captain Planet, but less preachy, less after school special-y. We don’t want to be like the aliens (who remember, are descendants of humans who fucked up Earth so badly they had to leave it).

Behind all the cute of this manga and its reboot, and its new spinoff, Tokyo Mew Mew has a powerful message that we should all be following. It’s not even subtle. Get yo shit together, peeps.

#tokyo mew mew #tokyo mew mew 2020 re-turn #tokyo mew mew au lait #tokyo mew mew ore

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daenerysstrangersagain · 4 years

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The Logistics of Dragons

link

Or the Ecological Disaster that is The Dragon and the Strategic Implications

Now, what got me thinking about stuff like this, were the quotes regarding Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar and their size. We are told that at least two of the dragons could fit a horse in their mouths, and that Balerion could fit something even larger, perhaps a Mammoth or Elephant. Let's assume that horse are bite sized for most fullygrown untampered or restrained dragons. From the somewhat poor portrayals of the dragons in the TV series, the dragons seem to have a very large head to belly ratio but even so, thats freaking huge. And while I'm tempted to say that because they are reptilian that there metabolism would be slowish, but they fly and breathe fire, so I doubt that.

For that reason, I'm pretty sure that multiple meals per day is the normal for a fully grown dragon. And since I doubt they were using small breeds of horses for the description, we can use working breeds and war horses. So 3/4 ton to just over a ton. Which would put daily meals, assuming 2 meals a day, at 2 tons. Not 2 tons of meat, like just the muscles of a creature, but 2 tons of flesh and bone. I'd say that being dragons, the belly fire and internal heat help melt and sterilize bones and intestinal waste of a creature. Anyways, that's two horses. Or a few dozen sheep, or lots of boar, you get the picture. Now its not too bad if you only have half a dozen or fewer dragons, like the five that Aenar originally had, that's only 10 tons of meat a day. Or 20 horses.

Yeah at only five dragons, we're talking about 140 horses a week. Or to put that another way, 7,280 horses a year. Or the equivalent in meaty flesh, which comes out to 3,640 tons a year. That's absolutely monstrous......if they primarily eat off the land. Which excluding Drogon's behavior, I don't think dragons do or even prefer. I would think they prefer fish and other water creatures. What comes to mind is the scene from the first American Godzilla, where the beast was consuming entire ship fulls of fish in the movie. But I think the reason Drogon and his siblings eat like they do is that unlike the other Valyrian dragons, they were barely exposed to the open sea at all, only fishing in the ocean maybe once in their early lives, and the rest being land based and fed from land creatures.

Back to the the numbers and the intentionally false presumption for the sake of demonstration.

So literally thousands of horses, or tens of thousands of sheep and smaller animal over the course of a year. For merely five dragons. Now the dragons of the Dance of the Dragons were somewhat smaller, but for the purpose of demonstration let's assume that every named dragon eats horses by the mouthful. I believe there were 19 Dragons in the Dance? Let's go by the startling numbers.

19 dragons would consume 38 tons of flesh, daily. That's 266 tons of flesh a week. Or about 12 Semi Trucks a week. Or 532 adult horses a week. That's 13,832 tons of flesh a year, or 27,664 adult horses. To put that into perspective, 19 dragons could have eaten Genghis Khan's Mongol Army out of their horses in 3 years or less. And this is all being supplied by pre-industrial agriculture and herding. Even with the entirety of Westeros, they would be eating faster than the food could be replenished.

No wonder the Dothraki had to wait until the fall of Valyria to do anything, Valyrian Dragons could have eaten the horses into extinction if they wanted to! And of course, the most horrifying bit of all? I'm assuming that dragons are satisfied with just two mouthfuls a day. How many mouthfuls a day can you, personally, eat? Or any other animal?! DUN DUN DUUUUUN!

Luckily, GRRM seems to have thought of this. If you notice, the former shepherds don't actually expand that deeply into continental Essos and definitely don't expand that fast. They would know, the hard way, how voracious dragons are and how quickly they consume entire flocks of sheep and herds of cattle when they have the mood, thus developing an early caution regarding the power of dragons, and learning important environmental and conservation lessons. Again the hardest way. They have little desire to usurp and conquer the Rhoyne river system from the Rhoynish, a river system that appears to be nearly as powerful as the Mississippi system in terms of navigability and reach. And they didn't want possesion of it for themselves. Because it was too far away from the open sea, and thus too far away from the primary source to keeping dragons fed without everyone starving. What the Valyrian Empire did do, was establish sea ports and cities real close to the sea, all along the coasts. Their dragons are the source of their power, but also a logistical weight around their neck, because in order to meet the dietary requirements, its either consume from the bounty of the ocean or strip the lands bare of anything larger than a dog. So from the peninsula of Valyria, the old empire was more heavily bound to the sea ports and shores than the British Empire. Even more powerful in relative terms to everyone else, to the extreme, but also hobbled and restricted to that same extreme.

Their behavior in their two most notable wars demonstrate this. Against the Ghiscari Empire, after slaughtering their armies time and again, they took only a small portion of land for themselves, and were largely content with leaving Slaver's Bay cities intact and subservient. Qaath and Sarnor were left to be because they only had one port between them and were apparently non-hostile to boot. But the Valyrians did expand west and slightly up the Rhoyne, in addition to their port cities across Western Essos. An interesting note is that during this time, they were trading, and may have in fact founded, Old Town. Either way, Old Town and what would become Dorne are no strangers to dragons and Dragonlords.

However, while they didn't actually want to bountiful Rhoyne and all its lands, bringing and feeding dragons so far from the sea would be intensely devastating to the local ecology. Even just a few of them. The Rhoyne river system looks to be nearly as widespread and navigable as the Mississippi River System, so it would provide the water for massive amounts of food and trade from top to bottom, and with Rhoynish Water Wizards, it may have been engineered here and there for irrigation and fish farming. I would suspect that the Rhoyne valleys at the time were replete with artificial lakes and ponds for fish farming and such, with dams and berths everywhere. But a few millennia without maintenance and time would have drained and reshaped the entire system to something more natural, but still fertile. Without the Valyrians, the Rhoynish would have been a super power, based a vast and fertile continental heartland, supplying an endless source of manpower and riches. Similar to the Reach. But bigger. Way fucking bigger and with a deeper pool of manpower to boot. The 250,000 men raised was less likely an upper limit of how many were available, and more likely a limit based on transportation. And while it is portrayed as genocidally devastating to the point of forcing a mass migration, its not the numbers that really mattered. Its who was lost and how many. I'd guess they brought the majority of the most powerful and skilled water wizards with them to the battle, possibly all but a few in the entire empire, and their loss combined with the loss of all the others, would have been irreplaceable to a civilization dependent on them. Oh and the implied threat of extinction if they don't get stepping. Fast.

Shame that they thought they could use war as a diplomatic tool against a Valyrian colony. But what choice did they have with the dragons fucking shit up for the Southern most outpost of the Rhoynish?

The Valyrians were a brutal Slavocracy, conservationist tendencies aside, and I doubt they were particularly discriminating about where the slaves came from and had an endless thirst for them, for they were few in number and had an atrocious birth rate. I mean holy shit, several thousand years, and not a single colony majority Valyrian. Not a one, so in order for their port cities to even function, they needed slaves. An endless supply of them, from the planters of the field, even down to middle managers, the Valyrians at their height would have had a slave to free man ratio closer to Haiti than Rome, and with their dragons largely feeding from the seas, this vast number of slaves required feeding. The Volantenes moving up the Rhoyne would have rang massive alarm bells among the Rhoynish, who had most likely been supplying food to the ports and outpost of the Empire. Were they next for the yoke?

The Valyrian Freehold is perhaps the most brutally efficient and invincible Slavocracy of fiction. Dragons supplying the vast majority of military might that only those with particular genetics can even use, so they have no need for a large foot contingent. Endless amounts slaves supplying all essential labor that an ethnic Valyrian doesn't care to do, not a drop of pity for the enslaved among those who could do anything about it, which means no society upending war over it. No rival capable of fighting the full might of the Valyrian host, so no outside force can intervene effectively. The only weakness they had was keeping their dragons fed, which is the only thing, aside from their own conservationist tendencies, that prevented them from over-running Westeros and Essos a mere millennia into their reign. They had no choice in establishing a mostly by the sea empire if they wanted to keep using their dragons.

#westeros.org #dragons #meta #food

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2dtacokit-blog · 6 years

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oh jeez. Coming Back and I guess, Coming Out?

Well it has been over a few years I think since I was last on here and boy has things changed, myself included. I wasn’t planning on coming back on here as it was a horrendous triggering mess, couldn’t stand the bitchiness and toddlers... But my best buddy dragged my sorry ass back. My blog was an unmitigated disaster, I cringed for the longest time and was furious with myself. Mass deleting spree. It’s a long old read, maybe the longest post in the entire universe, but I cannot put this concisely. If you make it to the end, I thank you for witnessing this.

TW for CSA, SA, R, Su, Si. Just tread carefully. Crude, explicit and uncensored.

If you know me in real life, please please do not reveal this information.

Some things are the same, still parenting, still confused, still in therapy, still fighting the same old demons but a lot has changed. I have grown up for a start, wizened up a bit, got some of my shit together and I am now single. I gave two fingers up to the NHS mental health service after the complete closure of therapeutic services in my area and sought private medical care. I am in private analytic psychotherapy weekly, getting to know myselves. I have now been formally/clinically diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder, which has been a tough nut to get my teeth around. An old me, unsure who, used to write about it on here with complete assurance that it was the case and I didn’t recognise that attitude when I came back on. I will now be a lot more cautious with what I write with relation to my mental health because it puts me at great risk. I do not want the whole perimeter for my existence to be based on my mental health anymore... Even though it still governs my existence.

So yes, we are a “system” working towards consolidation of trauma and experiences in therapy and with private specialists, but we are primarily Aly.

Another biggie to cover, and this will be the first place other than the survivors forum I will post this on, is that I am having serious issues with gender dysphoria. Now this is gonna sound very strange, for most that have known me I have seemed someone who sexualized their female body continually, putting it on display and clinging to it. Well... It came as a shock to me as to anyone I haven’t already come out to (literally 5 people I know in real life?). I will do what I can to explain and make sense of what is an ongoing discovery with my therapist.

Trauma fucks with people in many ways. Sexual and psychological trauma is an insidious beast that disguises themselves in many forms. Now as I have already covered, I have DID. A condition caused by having to adapt to survive severe and repeated complex trauma in childhood. I still have not much of an idea what that is but other me’s do. That is neither here or there for now, that is my business, but what it does is erase chunks of my memory of things I have been unable to process/deal with.

As a kid, I was abnormal to say the least. A large chunk of that was due to trauma, switching continually and just casually failing my way through anything other than academics. One thing I didn’t understand was how the heck I couldn’t connect to the girls around me. I didn’t understand them, couldn’t get my head around how they worked or how they looked. I was tall, scrawny, long haired boyish thing that was torn between doing what they loved (getting muddy, trashing shit, buying the most ridiculous jeans you can imagine, pummelling people in rugby, pummelling people in the playground ((not proud of it)), studying, hanging out with boys, being silly) and who I felt I should be (cute, girly, into pink, dancers, sweet, gentle).

That conflict tore my little primary school brain apart. What used to happen at home is a mystery but school was agony. I would go in a dishevelled mess and was a freak, as all and sundry used to make clear. Girls didn’t want me as their friend because I wasn’t like them, and my attempts to emulate them came across desperate, copycat, attention seeking behaviour. But dammit I still tried. Tried the pink, tried the cute stuff, but they were my sisters stuff... Not for me. I loved them but they didn’t look right on me, made me feel worse. My younger sister was an alien to me; a proper real life girl and that highlighted my freakishness. I was being rejected by everyone. Experiencing massive emotional and physical neglect at home, bullied at school, turned away by counsellors and tutors, ofc rejected by the boys and girls I fancied.

ENTER FROM THE LEFT MY MAGICALLY SHIT DISSOCIATIVE POWERS.

I had a few angry boy personalities about by this time, I didn’t know they were boys until like September last year. I had a mass emergence of parts, all male, that stored these memories like time capsules. Memories I had forgotten due to my dissociative amnesia. Anyway, similarly to how these parts formed and were there early, so came a female personality. One that could preform girl where the rest of us couldn’t. Not very well at this stage, she was a young girl, but she dutifully tried to copy the girls we grew up around. Camouflaging what I guess was early stage dysphoria from myself and those around me. This part felt terror at appearing anything like a boy, because looking like a boy when we should be a girl would get us bullied and rejected again. And we were alone enough.

Around this time, I think between 9-11, I was visibly changing a lot in photos. Sometimes I would be incredibly tomboyish, othertimes... painfully... a mismatched attempt at what we felt a girl should be. Combine that with the elusive sexual abuse we aren’t clear of yet, we prioritised being sexually attractive over all else. Boys liked girls that had tits. Boys liked girls that liked their tits. My family liked girls that were girls, and tits were a thing girls had, make up were what girls wore. Girls liked girls that looked like girls, and were jealous of girls who looked sexy. Well that is who we will be, couldn’t be cute, so let’s be sexy instead. I wore miniskirts that were obscene, tank tops saying “sexy kitty” on it, and stuffed my croptop to make sure my tiny prepubescent body looked that little bit more adult. That didn’t go how we wanted it to. We looked more like a freak than ever because parts were still clinging desperately to their boyhood, and we looked like a clusterfuck to be honest. A sad one though. Desperately sad and my heart breaks to look back at that confused person in the photos.To be clear though, we were not at this point attaching any of this to gender, boyhood wasn't at this point me saying “LOOK I AM A BOY” but kinda what we really were without connecting the word boy to it. I wasn’t afforded an opinion of my own at this age, raised in the church, within a violent and abusive household in literally one of the whitest, hetero-normative, conservative towns in the UK erases ones ability to discover themselves.

In a final act of madness to solidify that i was a normal girl we went to an all girls school.

Mistake.

Before we even got to that dam school we watched The Matrix. For the first time we saw someone that looked like a girl but also looked like a boy. We were mystified. We bypassed Trinity, she was a she and we didn’t connect at all, but the blonde one (who died very early on) has short boyish spiky hair. So we took our smol ass to the hairdressers and insisted we got our past shoulder length hair cut completely off. That did not go the way we planned. We looked older, looked somehow more like a freak girl/boy thing, and it was horrifying. We also looked like our mum, which was another problem related to the abuse stuff. We cried for ages because we felt like a freak, didn’t understand why we did it, couldn’t change it and we were about to start at the new, All Girls Grammar school. Shit.

The first two years at that school was hell. My mum finally kicked my dad out, but we were still having to see him weekly. I was at this point dissociating all the time. I would have three loads of school stuff with me all the time, for reasons i couldn’t understand. I didn’t understand why the other girls had one pencil case when I had 3, had to have 3! How in the heck did these girls carry their stuff not in a bag or a giant tray like I had to?! Well I was catering to the parts that were present without knowing it. Either way I was bait man, freaking bait.

Skinny, tall, covered head to toe in excoriation marks, short tufty hair, looked like a boy, but so desperate to fit in I wore my dam mums make up. I got lost all the time, was crying all the time or having fits where i would smash stuff, steal things, yell for no reason or be very sexually overt. I was torn apart. A website was set up by my old so called friends called The Aly Fan Club, where they took photos of me around school, uploaded them to the net and commented on them, with people (usually men) commenting what they wanted to do to me. I took all this in silence because when i got home, my amnesia would wipe that shit clean from my brain for ages. From one hell to another.

Coming out as what I thought was gay at this time was another huge problem, like any emo nerd I drew all this trash and put it on dA. In no time at all, most of the school knew I liked girls and there was now something NEW to bully me for. I tried to see this as punishment for my bullying behaviour in primary school to justify it but there was no justification. So much at this point was about punishment.

Punishment for being a freak, for being a loser, for not being like anyone else in this entire dam school. Punishment for looking so gross, for wanting these awful, naughty things, for liking the wrong people, for drawing how i felt... I needed to be punished. So I let it continue. I was an awful person and i needed to be punished.

But here is a thing. Breasts. When mine came in they came in suddenly. It felt like all my prayers had been answered and my ticket to being a girl like all these other girls had been called. I was One Of Them. I hated my body so much because of the hatred I got from others and my own discomfort that when these babies came in I adored them. Not what I anticipate anyone expects to here from someone suspecting they are a trans guy? “if you were truly dysphoric you would have hated them, that would have made it worse!” well for most cases probably. What these fatty parts gave me was attention, which i had been starved from in almost all aspects of my life, family included. What’s more, this attention was positive. I had never experienced such a thing for my body before that wasn’t... locked in another trauma pocket.

For someone who was ready to kill themselves at age 12 because they were such an unforgivable, wretched, disgusting, freak, that wasn't even a girl, that couldn't stop biting themselves till they bled... The power my newly sexualised and definitely female body gave me was sorely needed. People fancied me now. They wanted to touch me rather than just hit me, or throw things at me. They wanted to pull me not swear at me or spit at me. Survival Aly adapts, it is what we do, so we adapted. But things were still not right. Self harm was a massive problem, so were suicide attempts because we were still... not quite there yet. We ventured online a lot, where older men from across the world would ask for photos, videos and meets. I had no idea this was sexual grooming, but we were also dependant on that to survive. Somehow though, the impact of that, some bullying that was still happening, my everpresent self hatred, confusion and discomfort and increase in abuse in the home led us to attempt suicide in the school toilet when i was 14.

We tried to cut our neck open this time.

A teacher found us and dragged us to student services. My mum as usual was angry as heck and embarrassed. Apologising for my behaviour and the inconvenience. My dad was cloying like molasses creeping into my head. I remember because i bled all over the blouse of Ms Ginsberg, a tutor i fancied since forever. It wasn’t that severe, it was considered a superficial wound, but the amount we were doing and the continual attempts were serious cause for concern. Then my step mom found photos of me being sexually active at 14 and before, my mom found a load of the video files for the other men and I was hospitalised. Something miraculous occurred during this time though, another part came out. One that was confident and proudly female, one that was overtly sexualised but more cunning. She was a chav, an incredible cheemo (idk if anyone remembers this fashion disaster movement thing). She could adapt and fit in to any social situation and essentially helped us waltz out of hospital with no memory of being there for years.

All memory of confused tomboy/greyspace/whatever the fuck i was me was gone. This me didn’t give a dam and was in it for themselves and to survive, to be adored. And sex was their weapon, they just had to be cunning about it. By this point I was 15 and didn’t really think more about what I was. We were screwing guys now, guys and girls, thought this was something to be proud of. Dismissed the old small group of friends i had for the guys that hung around at the park and girls that used to go out and get drunk. We took naked photos of ourselves and put them online, and paraded ourselves around scantily clad because it made us feel powerful and loved.

At 16 i was raped. I was again at 17 twice, and this pattern continued beyond being hospitalised for the second time at 20 (the worst 21st birthday ever), beyond getting pregnant which was also conceived through rape. I had been sexually abused and raped a lot during this time, but my dissociative amnesia would wipe the memory. So I would know something bad was happening but was denied processing it by my inbuilt survival mechanisms that kept me alive as a kid. I was unable to get out of the loop or register any danger because the switching would be so automatic, so ingrained, it basically was not up to me to get us out of the situation because another part was there in brace position having dissociated fully. All during this time I preformed female because it was necessary. I didn't have room to question my gender because i was too busy surviving and trying to literally not die.

Then the pregnancy. I cant relive any of this trauma stuff too much, that isn't the point of this post but during this time, my gender was more apparent than ever before. Drawings we used to do of parts that had male appendages but still looked female started to change. Become more male. The internal distress was so monumental for many reasons; rape pregnancy, the gen father not leaving us alone, fear of my dad, still loosing my mind, desperately trying to be loved my my partner at the time. But there was another distress there.

I cant be a mum. Women become mums. I cant hold this child in me. This shouldn't be there.

Everyone was hammering home how much of a glowing woman I was and each time they said it I wanted to die. I tortured my body, got others to torture it too. Despised it, loathed it. It wasn't right to any of my parts. Three parts got us through that pregnancy but we dont know who gave birth. I dont remember it. We destroyed almost every pregnant photo of us. What were we disgusted by aside from the feeling of being broken, used and bred? How undeniably, unquestionably female we were.

Even so things were happening inside my head and body that made us feel insane. We started feeling like we had a penis, like felt like we could touch it, could feel stimulated by holding an appendage there (tmi i know). We tried in secret without thinking about it, moving our breasts up, down, flat, out of the way (fairly impossible by this point i was a lactating G cup *vomits*). We had glimmers of feeling male... which... felt good. First time we pegged we cried in the toilet with the door locked because it felt real, felt right though we couldn't explain it. So we were too scared to do it again, tried to force feminise ourselves again because that is WHO WE SHOULD BE. I mean look? I have a kid now, i am “mom”. Stopped drawing these mysterious genderconfused parts and forcefully only drew accurately what our body was. Which was agony.

Until September 2017.

Ploughing through therapy, maturing, making milestones in recovery when we started to talk about childhood trauma, my dad, the first and only time i drew myself fully as a man for my friend, and BAM! Bam! is not overrated it was literally a Bam! moment, because the part emergence I mentioned earlier occurred. And with these male parts came the bloody nail bat of gender dysphoria hitting me in the head over and over till I self harmed for the first time in years. The male parts were terrified and disoriented at first, they had a lot of growing up and catching up to do, some more so than others. They remembered being 15, 13, 10. Remembered the first pegging experience, remembered... things we had no connection to. Now they are mostly my age, helping each other to mature and grow as needed due to being a parent.

The first used to cry and scream in the mirror, punching walls because the body was wrong. Attacking our breasts like i had done subconsciously for years but this time, because they knew their breasts were wrong. They drew themselves over and over to solidify their gender identity when all else was screaming they were female. We pulled away from our partner, couldn't be touched, couldn't be interacted with because it would be a reminder of our gender. We flinched at being called a woman, a girl, female, and with that came memories of feeling like that as a kid. Fuck me, we were dysphoric as a kid. The first proper realisation.

Up until this point we had NO idea we had ever experienced gender dysphoria. But this is how DID works. It erases traumatic information and stores it in the parts that dealt with it. When the parts properly emerge, this information is leaked out over time. So great. Dysphoria.

Another part came out to implement what I am now starting to think is their cure for this, to ultimately feminise us. Because we needed to be female. Erase the dysphoria and with it that other male part. Nothing feminises me quicker than one of my most terrifying abusers. So guess what bellend got back in contact and re-traumatised the system, this one *points to self in dismay*. Long story short, shit went down, not un consensual shit as before but still shit. That part would routinely draw the male part being hurt by this guy over and over again till they freaked out.

But wait! The hellscape is not over. From stage right we have another destructive part, hyper-masculine, angry and unempathetic. Grateful to him because his presence pulled us away from that guy (he viewed him as pathetic and beneath him), but now we are just... drinking. Getting wasted in the park, hitting things, smoking up at night again. My specialist had told me to get to know these parts as they are vital for my recovery so we drew what they needed us to draw and goddam these guys are hurt. These are protective parts. They took the shit we couldn’t. And this one, swearing at my partner, exploding all over the place, trying to run away, self harming, kicking the shit out of the wheely bin outside survives threat of physical violence. The one that went to my old abuser survives some of the more extreme sexual violence and torture and the first male part deals with psychological abuse. I can see it in their drawings, their confessions and in our therapy sessions. We have other parts but they dont want to be discussed.

All of these parts are heavily dysphoric because they are all male. Unquestionably so. Their rage at this body is because it isn’t the right one. So where do I come into it, me being the primary/fronting part, or leader of the twisted UN committee that is my brain? That has taken longer to figure out, and has been a more agonising journey.

I am dysphoric too.

I cannot erase now i have them, the memories of my childhood spent dysphoric. The memories of trying at any cost to be a girl. Which shouldn’t be hard considering genetically I am one. I have had to fight within myself my transphobia i didn't even know was present. We aren’t talking bigotry here, but the genuine terror that i could be transgender. When most of the make up of who I am, and my survival to this day has been formulated by trying to accepted, loved, normal (though i failed at that horribly), not rejected and safe from physical, sexual and psychological abuse... Coming to terms with the fact you are transgender is not a comfortable thought. Not one I welcomed, and one that terrified us.

The fear of being transgender was so great it made us sick, sent us into crisis, started us self harming again. Trying everything we can to not be transgender because I have been through enough and survival brain is screaming as loud as it can that this will cause serious problems. But we couldn’t. Cant draw myself as a girl at all without wanting to cry or wretch. Cant wear girls clothes because i feel like i am crossdressing?! Cant wear bras, cant do feminine make up, cant do anything I used to do to be accepted anymore. Cant be a girlfriend anymore.

We started without realising it trying to make ourselves masculine. We would zone out and be drawing on facial hair with eyebrow pencil, tried using vetwrap to bind my chest, do not do this, it bruised us for days. We bought a mans top and a guys jeans and we lived in them exclusively unless family was over. We started wearing boxers, packing (though going to the loo and watching a dam sock fall out your pants makes your dysphoria worse and left us feeling humiliated so stopped doing this). I started drawing me not my parts but me and that me was always always male unless we were trying to force ourselves to draw a female us.

We reached out eventually to my best friend Ruth, and they encouraged us to get a binder. This provoked fear again. Self harm, self medicating, the usual destructive bs. But now the distress levels were triggering depersonalisation and derealisation; both symptoms of DID survival patterns. We stopped being able to recognise ourselves in mirrors because the damn amnesia was wiping it in an instant. My hands would feel male then flick to female, my body was glitching continually and I tried to get out of buying a binder by talking about my “genuine transgender friends” saying how I couldn't be trans because of their experience, that I am so obviously taking the piss, that I cannot be trans this must all be trauma. But Ruth stuck with me, as did a few other people, and still pushed for me to get a binder just to see how it felt.

I did and when it arrived and i tried it on the reaction was... well... overwhelming. Much like looking in the mirror seeing what is a very female face with a drawn on beard, i was looking at a body i hated being crammed into something that kinda hurt to put on, and making me look like i had a deformed ribcage. I cried. I dont know what i expected in that moment. Maybe that all the dysphoria will go away and it would be fixed and that would be that. All okay. But no. I felt sad that I was punishing my body for not being right, angry at myself for not being able to just be a dam woman. I MADE A BABY WITH MY BODY THIS SHIT SHOULD BE EASY.

Standing in a mirror, with a binder on, boxers on and socks stuffed in them trying my best to look like a man, I felt like a freak.

But then i put a shirt on. And holy heck i could see my feet. I was small, the first time i have ever looked at myself and seen a small body rather than something deformed that i see when i see my breasts. I looked smart, I looked beautiful in that shirt. The tears were still rolling down my dam cheeks, and i was a snotty wreck but I for the first time in 4-5 years I also didn't feel rage at being fat. Because I wasn't fat, not in the slightest. Standing there in shirt and boxers with flat chest, masc make up on, i looked like a guy... just about. And i smiled. I smiled so much.

I urgently facetimed Ruth and was like “come see how good I look” something I hadn’t genuinely felt in a very long time unless a man thought I was sexy. But here, in my tip of a room, almost dancing on cam for my best friend, showing her how i could bend over and no udders were just dangling there, how i could type and see my hands move... I looked at myself and felt good. I didn't care if anyone else thought i looked good because I felt on top of the world

This was my first introduction to gender euphoria, that wasn’t related to some obscure masturbatory habits and pegging. That feeling made things liveable for a while. I wanted to chase that feeling because it felt incredible. I was working out before but now I did it to not get thin, to not starve myself but to love myself. I started taking weight training seriously, and whilst the gym was a trigger for my dysphoria (room full of massive dudes who all see you and talk to you as a girl in your skimpy ass gym kit will do that to you) I pushed on. My shoulders are getting broader now, muscle definition starting and i love each of these changes. I eat more than I ever have done but I eat healthily because this male me, this real me that i seem to love I want to treasure, look after and care for.

I am not gonna wear baggy clothes and cut my hair off to look like a passable cis guy because that feels like punishment, and I have done that enough in my life and been punished by people in ways that have left me unable to walk and bleeding. I want to see my body when i work out because i love seeing the muscle definition, I wince at my breasts but try to imagine it being different. I love my long floppy hair, and I am not gonna change that because men with long hair are stunning. People talk about “the cut”, and I get the feeling of shame that i must be making this all up because i dont want to cut my hair off, but I am not a boy, I am almost 25. I have lived through some shit, I am not a boy. I am... a man. And I like how my hair feels like a lions mane. I associate cutting my hair off with my own lack of control and desperation so i dont want to return to that ever.

My therapist has been exceptional. He wants me to embrace this because he has seen massive improvement. Yes I am in and out of crisis a lot, there is a lot on my plate and dysphoria is a c*nt when you are already struggling, but here is the dam thing.

For the first time in my miserable fucking life I don’t want to be hurt or punished. I don’t want to be beaten, spat on, assaulted or killed. I don’t want to starve, I don’t want to be anywhere near any of my old abusers or rapists. I don’t want to submit to be liked. I don’t want to preform as a character to be accepted. I don’t want to be dependant on anyone to survive. I don’t want to sexualise myself to be loved.

The dysphoria will challenge this, oh man it does. My depersonalisation and fear of being trans challenges this.

Little voices going “you are not really a man. you have tits. you have a baby. you are a mom. you are doing this for attention, all this because you have to be somehow sicker than you already are. It is just trauma. You are making all of this up. You are trying to just not be the snivelling wretch that they made you into. You make a mockery of a very real cause. You are not trying hard enough, a real trans guy would cut their hair. You like your appearance sometimes which means you must not be trans. You are not a man, you are just like literally any of those cases of confused survivors of abuse that you see all over the internet, that is you. You just cant admit it because you are scum. It’s the same as everything, none of this is real, none of this is true. You are nothing like a man. You are a nothing, A NOTHING”.

Those are the voices that send me into crisis. That have me self harming, suicidal, terrified, self hating. Not when I pass as a guy, not when I draw myself as a guy or just... am a guy. The doubt and pull back to my assigned gender is what is killing me. Well alongside the actual traumas and parenting a toddler, alone, with over £2000 in debt. I never want to lie, but unpicking the truth when you are multiple people and have amnesic survival programming to prevent you from uncovering traumatic realities is very hard.

What is amazing though.... which I will cling to when my binder is crushing, when Instagram is full of BS about what is True Transgenderism, when FB is full of trans hate and I am still annoyingly in the closet with my family and most of the universe is this... When my BFF Maddy calls me an amazing, perfect boy, I blush and well up with tears and feel seen. I felt visible. When she sends me gifs of someone snuggling the death out of a tired proud lion, ruffling his mane, I feel seen again I cry with happy relief feels. When she or my friend Ruth says i look handsome, or masculine and I am blushing again forever, that is precious. When I look in the mirror after working out and see my shoulders broader and chest almost flat from the binder, hair swept back, I look strong, i look male, i look right. well almost. When i complete a drawing of how i wish i looked and i get it correct, i feel ready to punch the goddamn sun in its stupid face like LOOK! I EXIST! When I dream of being a guy and being touched by another person as if i am a guy, i feel like i am gonna take off from this planet and leave it in my dust... because not only do they see me, but they accept me and love me for who I am, who I want to be rather than who they want me to be or who i need to be... It makes me put that blade down and walk away. Make a hot chocolate or draw something.

So... I guess this is it. I am a guy.

A closeted guy for my safety for now. But a guy.

A guy with a shit tonne of trauma. But a guy.

A guy with DID, and female personalities. But I am a guy.

A guy who has a 2 year waiting list before he can talk to a gender clinic about this but still. I am a guy.

A guy that yes, despite all my best efforts, looks androgynous at best, and uses feminine appearance for protection because they are still too scared to present fully as male. But still a guy.

If this changes in future, well then... whilst living without dysphoria would be just the best... I dont want to loose who I am now i have finally caught a glimpse of them for the first time. It has made me a better person, a better parent, a better friend... Why would I ever give that up? It is gonna be a long old road, it may all change, I may change again, I may legitimately forget all about this. I may be too scared to ever come out to my family. The doubt, fear and dysphoria may actually win the next time I am in crisis. I may just delete this post out of shame but fuck it.

My name is Aly and I am a fucking guy.

#return #did #dissociativeidentitydisorder #d.i.d #dissociation #trauma #coming out #like wtf #realisation #tw #confession #long post

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megacircuit9universe · 4 years

Text

Electro College

THU SEP 25 2020

Well, here I am on another Thursday night... Thursday being the day of the week where the big story of the week hit’s it’s terrifying apex before dying off over the weekend, and giving way to the next big story that starts as a whisper on Monday, and builds steam over Tuesday and Wednesday.

What was last Thursday? Suckers and Losers? What was it the week before that? Trump telling Woodward he knew the virus was airborne and deadly back in February and deliberately lied about it? Don’t cite me on that timeline, because the point is, every week it’s something that makes you forget what you were freaking out about last Thursday... which I guess is why I’m here?

Before we get to this week’s big story, I need to circle back to the last entry, on a Friday, when the TikTok ban was an absolute certainty... which was to take effect on Sunday.

Well... everybody on TikTok was very sad and angry about that, but then news came on Saturday afternoon that... surprise... the deal somehow went through and TikTok is here to stay... (?) (!) (?) (!)

The other big thing that happend on Friday, of course was the death of RGB, and since then, the GOP has been in lockstep about confirming a new justice as soon as humanly possible... in bald disregard for all the arguments they made in 2016 about how voters MUST have a say in such things... even while their noses have been rubbed harder in that pile of shit, by the media, than a dog belonging to the most proactive house trainer on Earth.

But, just because 100% of the GOP from the highest offices to the lowest, have their faces covered in feces right now in defense of this move to swing the court at the 11th hour... it doesn’t mean they are all slavishly loyal to Trump.

I’d hazzard a guess that 60% of them are only on board with this, because of the dream to overturn Roe V Wade, which goes back thirty years.

They’d sooner kill themselves than turn down this once in a lifetime, fleeting chance to so unbalance the court, that the dream can finally come true.

But...

This urgency... from the top to the bottom... this frantic scramble... in which their faces are covered in poop, and their shoes are flying off, shirts coming untucked, tupees taking flight in the political wind... this desperation, in which they do not care what they look like to observers...

...betrays one fact.

And that is, all of them know Trump will not be reelected.

Many of them know the whole Republican Party is on the verge of losing power... for at least a generation, if not forever... thanks to Trump.

But if they can tip that Supreme Court!.. well conservatism may be able to live on for another thirty years... long enough for hyper conservatism to stage a comeback.

It’s not about saving babies, by the way. It’s never been. The anti-abortion movement has always been about controlling women, just as all other conservative passion projects are about controlling minorities and the poor, and gatekeeping access to status, wealth, and power.

A conservative court could keep that all rolling for them as they struggle to brainwash a new generation of their own kids to win back seats of power in the other branches of government... or so they hope! But it’s a gamble they just have to take in this desperate hour.

Now, it is true that the slavishly loyal cabal of Trump loyalists in the Senate and a few other places do want this Supreme Court nomination rammed through for... la la la.. save the babies or whatever.. but in their heads it’s very much more about saving the coup!

These guys, McConnell, Graham, and friends, saw a different dream within their grasp after Trump won in 2016...

...the dream of bringing all three branches of Federal government under the control of a single Republican strong man... for good. It was a bold vision, but... four years wasn’t gonna be enough time.

Tearing down an entire democracy is hard guys!

It takes time!

They worked as hard as they could though! You have to give them that!

They know just as well as the rest of the GOP, that Trump will not get reelected. Not after Covid19. Not with Biden still ahead by seven points this long after the conventions, and this close to November 3rd.

So for them, ramming through a replacement for RGB is seen as a Hail Mary play, to outright reject the election results. And they’ve said as much this week, as has Trump. They’re laying the flimsy foundations for this final bid to hold power, as best they can.

Flimsy because it’s both very last minute, and also... relies on people believing their word has any value...

Sure, we’ll support a peaceful transition of power if Trump loses, we promise! But we just want to make sure elections are fair!

...in a political moment where they’re also saying out loud, FUCK WHAT I SAID RECENTLY I’M DOING A 180 AND FUCK YOU!

The idea is... the results will probably be close enough in a couple key states, that they can contest the results and take it to a pre-packed Supreme Court who will grant Trump the victory.

There was even talk of pressuring states to send Republican electors to vote for Trump, even if the popular vote totals in the imagined key states was heavily in favor of Biden.

Again, that might trigger a Supreme Court case, cuz you can’t get on a state ballot in the first place, unless you agree not to try a stunt like that, but... their packed court would rule in Trump’s favor and... American democracy as we knew it would be over.

Maybe not the most ideal way to stay in power, but... still a workable plan... or so they think.

But this plan hinges on the so-called, “red mirage,” to materlialize on election night... which is itself, a delusional theory.

It’s based on the idea that all Democratic voters will vote by mail, while all Republican voters will vote in person. Thus, election night results will see most states turning red, and Democrats will be in a position where they’re calling for time, for the mail in votes to slowly trickle in and be counted over the next couple weeks... promising that Biden really won it, once the final count is done.

But that’s not reality.

What is reality?

Well, first of all, states that are too close to call don’t get colored either red or blue, so in this scenario, it’d just be a bunch of gray states that were not called either way, pending more data.

But setting that to one side, let’s look at what the reality is likely to be, and then let’s look at how things would play out... even if Red Mirage was a reality on November 3rd...

REALITY: Trumps only path to squeak out 270 electoral votes is if he wins both Wisconsin and Nevada... along with... all the states that normally turn red, such as Texas, Florida, etc.

The problem is, Biden is ahead by two to three points in both Wisconsin and Nevada... along with several of the states that normally turn red, such as Texas, Florida, etc.

This means that all Biden has to do is win either Wisconsin or Nevada, and he’s to 270... and any other normally red states he wins (and there are several which are leaning his direction right now) will only solidify that win.

But Trump has already pulled adds in Wisconsin, and Nevada... because his campaign is running out of money... which is astonishing, given how much they had to start with but... criminals like to pocket huge sums of donation money so... now they’re feeling the hurt from that, because they can’t even fight in the two states they definitely need... that Biden is winning.

Meanwhile, Biden’s got massive inflows of donation money, as have all the rest of the Democrats down ballot... thanks to what the GOPs been doing in the wake of RGB, and thanks to, “loser and suckers,” and lying to the public about Covid, etc.

Millenials, and GenZ have also not forgotten about the TikTok ban, even if they’ve gotten yet another reprieve from it, and do still very much plan to storm the polls on November 3rd, along with GenX, who elected Obama/Biden all by themselves before either of these newer, much larger gens were old enough to vote.

Trump already spooked everybody out of voting by mail several weeks ago with his assault on the USPS, and so everybody who can is already early voting... and facing resistance from illicit and illegal militia groups in some states on the early voting fronts which... in this year of bravery in the face of fascism in the streets... means only more storming of polls in every way possible to guarantee a landslide for Biden on election night, before bedtime.

Keep in mind that right now, Trump supporters are also being successfully brainwashed into thinking theres no way Trump can lose. They have to be brainwashed to think this, so that they’ll go along with the argument (after he does lose) that it was all rigged.

But this brainwashing beforehand means... they, are gonna stay home and be complacent, just as Hillary voters did in 2016.

The election map is, thus, gonna be so blue, on election night, that Trump’s only recourse will be this:

“ITS OBVIOUSLY RIGGED, BECAUSE THERES NO WAY ALL THOSE STATES TURNED SO BLUE BY SUCH HUGE MARGINS!”

In effect... he will be crying about a blue mirage, on November 4th.

And while that may play with his stunned supporters... it’s NOT gonna play with the Supreme Court, or the military, or the destroyed GOP Senate, or even Fox News.

RED MIRAGE SCENARIO: Okay, but what about the other scenario where there IS a red mirage, just for the sake of argument, and Trump immediately moves to block the counting of any absentee votes still out there in the mail?

Well... the only hope of stopping such ballots from being counted, would be to get the Supreme Court on board. BUT... even with more conservatives than liberals on the nine person court... they, the Justices, would know, for a certainty, that to rule in his favor... to not count valid votes on the flimsy, proof-free argument that mail in ballots are inherently fraudulent... during a pandemic... would result in a fucking civil war the same day as the ruling.

In other words... Trump would be leaving it on their shoulders, to destroy the Constitution... which is the exact opposite of what the Supreme Court is all about, and the exact opposite of how they maintain their hold on one third of he power in this three-branch democracy.

And even a grade school child knows, if they did that, in this political climate, civil war would begin the next hour... and we’re a nuclear power so... a civil war here could well lead to the end of the world.

They’re not gonna do that, and they don’t have to.

The whole stupid strategy by the right, of packing the Supreme Court with conservative Justices has always been idiotic, because once you’re on the Supreme Court, you’re beholden to nobody.

Not only are you beholden to nobody... but your power to stay beholden to nobody is all about showing your beholden to nobody, by upholding the sacred reputation of the Supreme Court as a body of untouchables who only care about the Constitution, and the correctitude of all the previous rulings by the Supreme Court.

This is why my father, a life long conservative, has been so butt-hurt, all his life, every time the new conservative Supreme Court justice rules in favor of the liberal thing! Why? How? Where is their party loyalty???

Sorry dude, but that’s how the founding fathers designed it. They get life long appointments without needing to run for reelection, so... they’re free to actually follow their conscience once in a while.

Thanks Trump, for nominating me. Thanks Mitch, for ramming me through. Now... fuck you both! I’m not starting your fucking civil war, go to hell!

The Supreme Court was already doing this to Trump very recently, so... what?... is the death of RGB supposed to make them suddenly fall in line? More likely, it will make them more determined to respect her legacy, and show the planet that they do not bow to would be dictators.

Trump is toast... stuck in the toaster... getting burnt, and setting off the smoke alarm, because he refuses to eject. And the GOP senate... is sticking a butter knife in there, to try and help him... just before the sprinklers go off.

And with that, it is time for bed.

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victoriousscarf · 6 years

Note

1920-1930's AU fic vs 1940-1950's AU fic. Pros and cons on writing it?

Oh man. Oh man.

Well, it really depends on what you want from the fic. I’d be hands down willing to go for any decade there (as well as 1900, 1910s, and the 1960s). But each offers a bit of a different setting. (Which I’m gonna be focusing on the USA here unless otherwise specified)

Like, the 1920s are great for a glittering elite, for the razzle and dazzle of art deco contrasted sharply with the race riots, growing immigrant community organization and discontent, corrupt police forces being even more obviously corrupt, the highest watermark of the KKK based on numbers and political influence, and the influences of WWI being felt throughout society alongside prohibition. So you have so much potential there, you have the early days of Hollywood where women were scriptwriters and directors, you have massive class differences and worlds, you have the start of truly organized crime and federal responses to it. You have African Americans who went to war (if they stayed in the US military chances are they were used exclusively as support in segregated units, but to get around that some enlisted in other armies like the French and became fighter pilots and if you don’t think I’m gonna use exactly that for Sam Wilson at some point you don’t know me at all) and who are being murdered in their uniforms after returning home. You have Harlem producing amazing works for white artists to appropriate. There’s so many axis’ of conflict and disunion, and so many cracks for illegal activities.

Then there’s the 1930s, a time where that glittering, insane facade crashes down like so many beautiful cards. You have the dust bowl sweeping the middle of the country and covering it in dust and hopelessness. You have the government new deal programs, be they the civilian conservation corps or sending authors to gather oral histories from former slaves. You have the growing threat of facism here and abroad. You have a decade coming down from a high and heading straight into war, when people lost their entire life’s savings and sometimes had to uproot entirely to make a living for themselves. In the meantime there’s increasing radio use in everyone’s homes, and Hollywood is still full of glitz and glamour and the rich are still rich but briefly cowed. It’s not quite the same obvious divisions and conflicts you see in the 20s but most of those are still there. The great migration is in full swing, as black people move out of the South and up North, often in the dead of night or without packing or telling anyone where they were going. You have camps of the poor and camps of young men trying to build new dreams and new hope around the country (honestly why aren’t there like more CCC aus? Isn’t it perfect for that first stirring of love, thrust together in the middle of nowhere? Building what you hope is gonna help that better tomorrow to come?)

Then there’s the 40s. A decade obviously of war and the immediate boom of the post war world (at least in America). (In Europe you obviously have the potential for a truly devestating au, especially immediately post war where for two years Europe was in a state of total chaos and desolation as about 50% of homes and the vast majority of roads had been destroyed in many countries during the war, let alone the lack of communication and displacement so many people underwent and then the expansion of communism that sometimes separated other families) And for a war sure it’s a “good war” but you have an awful lot of death and destruction and lost worlds along the way. There’s the Holocaust and concentration camps and while I personally am leery of tackling that doesn’t mean one shouldnt–carefully of course. And you have the vast mobilization of many different countries to support the war. I mean there’s obviously a lot of war stories so people find this fertile land. It’s a time when divisions were shoved under the carpet but didn’t disappear. Again, the African American men who came home for the war and were lynched in their uniforms. Conflict never really disappeared. And after the war there’s the boom, completely shaking off the depression and the start of what we culturally consider the 1950s.

And the 50s! The decade where I spend so much freaking time. The decade of abundance for many Americans who had never had so much before. But also the decade of the civil Rights movement, where in 1954 Brown v Board was decided after years and years of careful groundwork. Where one Virginian county closed all their public schools rather than comply. Where the rhetoric of prosperity was only for some. But also when the “good neighbor” policy with Latin America (which was always bullshit) completely went batshit and collapsed with the coup in Guatemala. The decade that ended with Castro in power in Cuba but not yet a dedicated Communist. When the Cold War is shimmering and the Soviets have their own nukes. It’s hard for me to describe the feel I have for the 50s, the hope and prosperity and the violence and the fear and the race riots.

So like… Obviously all decades are fun to write aus for, you just gotta figure out what corner of history you want to hunker down in and pry open. Obviously I write an excessive number of 1920s aus so there’s something about that I love. But each offers their own unique circumstance and perspective.

Edit: the con I can think of is that its certainly worth it to research whatever you're going to write about. I tend to over research in some ways because i study history and so have a broad range of research. I also like watching movies and listening to music from a time period and look at a lot of photographs.

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hrrytomlinson · 7 years

Photo

Unique AUs I’ve Read

I have a list of fics on my phone that are so unique, so different, so specific to a certain theme/genre, that you could literally find nothing else like it on ao3 (in my opinion). When authors deep dive into a universe, the reader falls in love with the characters and plot. These plots are some of the most unique ones I’ve ever come across. Enjoy.

No Matter Where You Are (No Matter How Far) by @ceaseand-exist, 35k

An Everest AU where Louis sets out to climb the tallest mountain on the world and meets a curly-haired guy named Harry who worms his way into Louis's life. It's not long before reaching the summit becomes the least of Louis's worries.

Behavioural Ecology by @turtlekz, 81k

Louis Tomlinson is a primatologist working with the Jane Goodall Institute for primate conservation; and Harry Styles is the photojournalist sent from National Geographic to write a piece promoting awareness about the endangered species. They meet, and love is never, ever simple, as we know.

Featuring Eli the chimpanzee, bickering humans, storytelling, and five men who come to gain an understanding of what it means to be human; all stationed in the Republic of the Congo.

Coax the Cold by @mediawhorefics, 86k

England, 1897.

English Professor Louis Tomlinson’s passion for the occult has been a source of mockery and derision for most of his life. When he hears whispers of a travelling freak show newly established in London claiming the existence of a monstrous sea hybrid, half-man, half-fish, Louis sees it as his ticket to credibility amongst his peers. The summer he spends undercover working on the show, however, gives him much more than that.

Run Away Home by @hattalove, 106k

Louis stands, in the middle of a clearing with his hands in his pockets, and stares. This boy—God, this gorgeous, gorgeous boy. He seems so clumsy, confused at the best of times, but there’s a wisdom about him as he speaks, a maturity that belies his age.

Louis is hopelessly, wildly attracted to him.

Or, Louis is a successful jockey down on his luck, struggling to get his life back on track after an injury. Harry has a horse, a house fit for a prince, and a broken heart.

It takes them a while to figure out that they need each other.

Above Your Head by @heypopstar, 57k

What happens when an unstoppable object meets an immovable force?

Space AU. Louis is an astronaut. Harry works for Mission Control. They don't get along.

Paint The Sky With Stars by @icanhazzalou, 62k

On 10 April 1912, Harry Styles boards the finest ship the world has ever seen. Still grieving the death of their mother, he and his sister are being sent to America to live with a callous uncle who cares more about his business connections than family. Harry prepares himself for a long, disappointing voyage alone in his stateroom.

Louis Tomlinson has borrowed and saved, and finally has enough to purchase a Third Class ticket to America. With all of his belongings in a single ruck sack, he boards the Titanic filled with hope for a brighter future. Never one to sit still, he can’t resist exploring the massive ship, and soon goes sneaking into First Class in a stolen steward’s uniform.

By a twist of fate, Louis finds himself in Harry’s stateroom, entranced by the most attractive man he’s ever laid eyes on. He keeps returning day after day, even if he doesn’t understand what it is about Harry that continues pulling him in. That’s all right; Louis has a week to figure it out, and Harry is plenty willing to help.

Except they don’t have a week. They have four days. Because on 15 April, their entire world will be turned upside down.

Or, the historically accurate Titanic AU with a happy ending.

Outwit, Outplay, Outlast by @lookatyourchoices & @winingandcrying, 60k

“Tommo and Harry are gonna do it. I don’t know when, but they’re gonna do it. They’ve got the mattress, the pillows, everything’s in place, and they’re gonna do it. I really wish those two the best of luck.” – Taylor Swift, "Chapera"

Or a Survivor All-Stars AU in which Harry and Louis are just in this game to win the million dollars, but they end up with something better.

Featuring Harry's yellow swim shorts, Louis in snapbacks, and OT5 shenanigans.

Love Is A Rebellious Bird by @100percentsassy & @gloriaandrews, 134k

AU in which the boys still make music. Louis is the concertmaster of the London Symphony Orchestra, Harry is the New! and Exciting! interim conductor/ex-cello prodigy who "has made Mozart cool again" according to Esquire Magazine (Louis hates him immediately, which is definitely why he internet stalked him in his dark bedroom late at night that one time), and Niall is the best. Zayn and Liam are around too.

Don't hum Bolero.

7 Up by @cherrystreet, 51k

Very loosely based on the British TV show "The Up Series" and somewhat inspired by the song “Something I Need” by Onerepublic, we follow the lives of Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson in an interview setting every seven years. They fall apart and come together, their lives and emotions recorded. Harry calls it a time capsule. Louis calls it a pain in the are.

Take My Breath Away by @realitybetterthanfiction, 153k

There is a prestigious school in the British Royal Navy classified as Premier Delta - or as it is known by its flyers, 1D. These select pilots are an elite set of Naval lieutenants who are trained in the skill of aggressive aerial combat. They are instruments of war, trained in times of peace. They are dogfighters, relentless and fearless in their mission to protect their beloved country. From their lofty vantage, they are always watching, waiting, and ready to lay it all on the line.

Lt. Harry Styles, call sign Sparrow, is a prodigy when it comes to flying. The owner of an unrivaled Naval pedigree, being a pilot was always written in the stars for Harry. With his trusty RIO, Lt. Niall Horan, Harry has made an unprecedented ascension in the ranks of the Naval aerial combat elite, and has been recruited to the esteemed Premier Delta flight school, carrying on his family’s legacy. What he finds there are unexpected friendships, perilous challenges, and something beyond what he ever thought possible. Because as his father had always told him, before the great Captain Styles went tragically missing in combat, you don’t fall in love with the sky, you fall in love with what keeps you on the ground.

Be With Me So Happily by @briannamarguerite, 42k

Harry Styles may have had his doubts at first, but by the time the gates to the elephant sanctuary came into view he was one hundred percent positive. Louis Tomlinson hated his guts. Like hated, hated. Like loathed-him-on-sight hated.

From what Harry could tell, he hadn’t even done anything close to insulting enough to warrant the disdain that was Louis Tomlinson’s default expression whenever he looked at Harry. It really wasn’t fair. Especially since he’d been lusting after the man from the second he’d laid eyes on that pretty, pretty face with those pretty, pretty eyes.

Or ... the one where Harry Styles has a bad reputation and a heart of gold, and Louis Tomlinson wishes he wasn't so enchanted by boys who looked like Disney characters and wore shirts with bumble bees on them.

Aka Louis is the director of the Styles Elephant Sanctuary and really doesn't want to babysit his funder's spoiled lay-about son for two months.

All I Wish Not to Remember by @avocadolouie, 71k

What happens when all you had, all you loved, all you held dear is viciously ripped away from you? When your inner core, once filled with love and hope and light, blackens to raw, dark hatred?

What happens when your soul is hopelessly consumed and no matter how hard you try, no matter how hard you attempt to shake yourself out, to rid your tormented mind of the opaque feelings that plague you, all you can see, all you can feel, all you can want is...

Revenge.

A modern adaption of The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. A tragic tale of timeless undying love, merciless revenge, and selfless sacrifice.

Love Endless (The Road to Recollection) by @wubwubnparmaham, 171k

The year is groovy 1973, and eighteen-year-old Louis Tomlinson is perhaps the gayest teen to ever grace the gloomy, hateful town of Fortwright. Would be fine if he wasn't so viciously bullied at both home and school for such a "harmful" sexual preference.

Yeah, yeah, we've all heard this story, haven't we? Believe him, Louis didn't think he was anything special either.

Until he found the mansion. The notoriously haunted mansion hidden deep within the forests of his tiny blip of a town in Bumfuck Nowhere, Idaho. No one with a brain ever goes near it, but Louis could use a little excitement in his life...and possibly a Band-Aid or two.

After discovering the mansion was less abandoned than he'd thought, he's now left with the most riveting mystery of a lifetime; every new finding leaving him with more questions. Who is this elusive owner, and why won't they show themselves? Why is there a set of journals in the same handwriting that span over centuries? Why in the world is there a padlock on the refrigerator...and who the hell is Alexander?

When We Were Younger by @waytoomanypeopleintheaddisonlee, 76k

About a week after Harry started visiting this particular chat room, he was watching some kid argue with the whole room about football, personally disinterested as he tipped a bag of crisps into his mouth. He happily chomped on the crumbs, taking a swig from a glass of Ribena to wash them down, glancing at the screen and very nearly spat the squash back out again. His heart was pounding wildly. The display icon of the argumentative newcomer had caught his eye, and not in a good way. He gulped as he clicked the picture, and when it popped up in full resolution, his heart nearly fell right out of his arse. Sixteen year old Harry Styles’ world turns upside down when he logs on to gay teen chat to discover somebody has stolen his photos and used them as their own.

These Bountiful Silences by tommoandbambi, 123k

They live in a world where they can only say four words per day. Harry meets some people that don't want to live that way.

Once Upon A Dream by @louehvolution, 33k

Louis is psychic and gets caught in the middle of a murder investigation led by FBI Special Agent Harry Styles.

Aka, the Medium/Criminal Minds-inspired AU no one ever asked for.

In the Clear by @thedarkestlarrie, 80k

After Princess Gemma and her fiance Niall are captured by the witch from across the land, Harry and Louis are forced on a journey together to save them.

Featuring Lumberjack Liam, Magical Zayn, unsolicited tattoos, and untangling the past.

Also known as The Larrietale.

Down the Backs of Table Tops (and Ticket Stubs in the Attic) by @londonfoginacup, 7k

There's only two of them stuck to the house now, two souls tied to the walls and floor and pipes and appliances. Two souls stuck in a world that's moved on without them. Well, two souls and a cat.

He holds up the red fabric for Harry to get a good look at."We're going to decorate!"

Harry thinks this might be an odd shut-ins version of retail therapy, and he looks to Grimmy for guidance on how to explain to Louis that this will not at all help his cause.

The World Turned Upside Down by @dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram, 71k

In September 1984, Harry Styles starts at Manchester Polytechnic with two goals: to take pictures and to join the Lesbian and Gay Society. He’s never paid much attention to the news, but everyone he meets in Manchester supports the miners. He realises how right they are when he meets Louis Tomlinson, a striking miner who flirts with him. A month later they are both at the founding meeting of Manchester Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners, trying to bring down the government. Through letters and visits they build a relationship, in a world very much not of their own choosing.

Manchester and Doncaster in the 1980s are grim, hopeful and alive. Niall is president of the Young Labour club, Nick Grimshaw is in love with the singer of an up and coming band, Fizzy wants to know more about the women of Greenham Common and Harry and Louis are brave.

A Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners/Pride AU.

Through Eerie Chaos by @mediawhorefics, 102k

For as long as anyone can remember, Old Hillsbridge Manor has always been believed to be haunted. Everyone in the village agrees and keeps a respectful, fearful, distance. New in town after a bad breakup and an internship that led to disappointment rather than a permanent job, Harry Styles figures taking pictures of the decrepit building could be a great new creative project. Or at least a much-needed distraction while he searches for a job and crashes at his parents’ new house. No one warned him about the apparitions though; about the music, the laughter, the people who flicker and vanish when you call after them, the echoes of a past that should be long gone… Harry has never believed in spirits but even he can admit that there’s something weird going on. What starts as mere curiosity evolves into a full-blown investigation and soon enough, Harry finds himself making friends with an aristocrat from the 1920s and struggling with finding the best way to tell him that he’s dead.

The Ghost Hunter AU where Niall lives to prove ghosts are real, Zayn is a skeptical librarian and Harry gets caught up in a century-old mystery and catches feeling in the process.

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itsthefishdoctor-blog · 7 years

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The United States of Delusion

I don’t even know what to say today y'all.

There has been just a massive amount of mind-boggling nonsense inundating us for the past week that I can’t feel anything other than overwhelmed. I’m overwhelmed by the outrageous comments the president has made. I’m overwhelmed by the bold-faced LIES that he has spewed; overwhelmed by the hypocrisy of every single thing he has done and said.

I knew this was coming. I knew it when I cast my ballot for a woman I didn’t think was the best choice but wasn’t an absolute psychopath. I knew it when y'all told us to give him a chance because even though he hadn’t taken office, his hateful rhetoric had already changed the tone of our nation. To be honest, I’ve know it every single time the carrot has opened his mouth. I knew this was coming and I am STILL blown away.

And of course, I’m blown away by this clown. His presidency literally exceeds my comprehension. But what blows me away even more than his bullshit, is the lack of outrage from those of you who voted for him.

Y'all. This. Dude. Lied. To. You.

Not that this a new thing for him. He lied multiple times on the campaign trail (“lock her up” is still ringing particularly loud) and has continued to lie since he was elected. It literally is the most unreal sort of lying I’ve ever seen. It’s bold-faced and its over INSANE things. Like, who actually lies about doing/saying something they are well documented to have done/said? Seriously? WHO DOES THAT?

We’ve had politicians who lie before. That is not at all new, in fact its basically a requirement. But every single time we’ve caught them in a lie, they have to make a big public apology (which you wont accept) and then we hold it against them and call them a liar for the rest of their career. Example: Bill Clinton was not impeached because he had an affair. Bill Clinton was impeached because he LIED about having the affair. Which in comparison to the lies our new fearless leader is spewing, seem like child’s play. I won’t even begin to discuss the ridiculousness of that entire process (especially Trump’s use of it to undermine Bill’s wife and her run for president) but the hypocrisy is, once-again, mind blowing.

SO ANYWAYS.

I’ve posted a nice article on my facebook page choked full of the lies Donald Trump has spewed in the past week vs. the facts that actually happened here in the real world. Seriously, this blows my mind that these are things being debated. Read it or don’t, but I promise there is actual evidence that contradicts the crap the president has tried to make into facts. But that, again isn’t really the point of all this.

What we need to talk about right now, is the state of my country.

Because I am not entirely sure what is happening or who’s country this is anymore. If I’ve seen anything in the past week, it’s that Donald Trump is very well set on making this HIS country and he doesn’t give a flying fuck what he has to do or who he has to throw under the bus to get there.

And I don’t know why there are so many of my fellow citizens who voted for him who are not scared or downright pissed about this. Because y'all are the ones who trusted him. You chose to put your faith in a man and in the span of a week he has completely overhauled your country. I don’t know if you just don’t understand what all these executive orders mean (to be fair, there have been an exorbitant amount) or just don’t care because somehow they don’t apply to you. Because I’ve defended y'all. I have allowed you to justify your vote for other things but I’m done now. Because I’m not entirely sure there’s anything that man can say or do to make some of you even question him, let alone denounce his actions.

When you have a man in charge of the greatest free nation in the world telling the press what they can and cannot report, you are no longer a part of a free nation. When you have a president silencing SCIENTISTS and evidence-based facts, you no longer live in a safe nation. When you have a president using religion to decide who can and cannot enter our country, you no longer live in America (a nation literally founded by men running away from the nationalized Church of England).

The point is we have entered some sort of insane alternate universe where we call lies alternate facts. A world where we ignore hypocrisy unless its directed against our opponent. A place where we look the other way when something unjust happens that doesn’t apply to us. A nation that doesn’t make any damn sense and pretty much defies every single principle it was founded on.

So I’m gonna talk about hypocrisy for a second because its about damn time we start holding each other accountable.

You DO NOT get to criticize pro-life women at your women’s march. You DO NOT get to yell at people afraid to let in refugees when it took you five years to pay attention to the crisis in Syria. You DO NOT get to remain silent when a SNL writer says horrible things about Baron Trump because of who his father is. You DO NOT get to say Trump is not a “legitimate president”. You DO NOT get to remain silent when protesters destroy property or attack police. You DO NOT get to support the women’s march but stay silent to the Black Lives Matter movement. You DO NOT get to freak out about Republicans racism and make fun of Melania’s broken English. You DO NOT get to criticize the people who felt like they had no choice to vote for Trump when your party nominated a lackluster candidate through some pretty sketchy tactics. You DO NOT get to act like the ACA is affordable for most people or the best option for healthcare for our nation. You DO NOT get to remain silent when Madonna threatens to blow up the white house. You DO NOT get to act like illegal immigrants didn’t break the law.

You DO NOT get to preach to me about how you voted for Trump because he was financially conservative and then not lose your damn mind when he essentially forces you to pay for an utterly useless wall. You DO NOT get to tell me healthcare is too expensive to be a universal right but a billion dollar wall isn’t. You DO NOT get to talk to me about the Democrats ridiculous spending when the GOP wasted $7 million to investigate Hilary in Benghazi TWICE and who knows how much investigating Trump’s newest bullshit voter fraud claim. You DO NOT get to tell me you are pro-life and refuse to allow Syrian refugees into our country. You DO NOT get to say “what would Jesus do” to defend fetuses but not actual, fully formed humans. You DO NOT get to tell me radical Muslims pose more of a threat domestically than mentally ill white guys like Dylan Roof or Adam Lanza. You DO NOT get to get your panties in a wad about how we’ve become a “politically correct” country where you can’t say what you want and not BE UTTERLY TERRIFIED that the president has essentially put a gag order on the EPA, NASA, the National Park Service, etc. You DO NOT get to chant “drain the swamp” at your terrifying rallies and then remain silent when Trump builds a cabinet overflowing with the most under-qualified and swampiest, swamp monsters. You DO NOT get to demand to see President Obama’s birth certificate but not Trump’s tax returns. You DO NOT get to criticize peaceful protests against Trump’s low-class behavior when y'all protested Obama’s election because of his skin color. And you DEFINITELY DO NOT get to say celebrities need to stay out of politics when you fools elected one.

Y'all are afraid of ISIS and don’t understand how banning immigrants from ISIS’ stomping grounds feeds directly into their recruiters hands. How banning people from Muslim predominate countries (but not the most Muslim predominate countries and not the countries who have a history of attacking us) shows all the people who ISIS recruit just how horrible the Americans are. Y'all THREW THE BIGGEST FREAKING FIT EVER about Hilary’s freaking email server (even though most of us don’t even know what the heck a private email server is) and then are silent when Donald Trump’s administration has done the EXACT SAME THING. Y'all were up in arms about the Clinton Foundations international connections but look the other way when your president makes a bullshit executive order to ban Muslims only from countries he is convenient enough not to have financial ties to (and then believe the nonsense that Obama did the same thing in 2011: https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/fact-checker/wp/2017/01/29/trumps-facile-claim-that-his-refugee-policy-is-similar-to-obama-in-2011/?utm_term=.328b3f2a974d). You DO NOT get to highlight a portion of that executive order and claim our president refuses to support countries that oppress the LGBTQ community when he openly supports Putin.

Here’s the thing y'all. We need to figure out just what it is we stand for. Because I really don’t think anyone has any clue anymore. We’ve warped our views and beliefs to fit into certain political parties who have their own conflicting views. Republicans are conservative unless its something they want (like a wall). They want the government to stay out of their wallets but are okay with it in women’s reproductive organs. Democrats want everyone to be respected and then call every single Trump supporter a bigot/racist/oppressor. They want the government to stay out of their reproductive organs but provide them free birth control. These labels are only further examples of the division that has broken our country. We are so divided over words that don’t even represent well-organized ideas.

We’ve got to stop y'all. We have to come back to the ideas we were founded on. We weren’t meant to have a national religion. We weren’t meant to have just two political parties; as if that could possibly represent every single American adequately. We weren’t meant to deny immigrants when the founders themselves were immigrants.

But more than that, we need to be good humans. We need to help those who’s homelands have been destroyed because we refused to get involved until it was too late. We need to speak up about injustice in the world and demand action. We need to be kind and fair and generous and compassionate. We need to acknowledge when those we disagree with do the right thing. We need to call out the people we support when they do the wrong thing. We need to respect our fellow humans no matter who they are because, duh. Seriously, duh.

I say all of that knowing full well that even if all of that happens, we may not be any better off. I know that change is a hard thing for people to do and that a few people have a very difficult time changing the world. I know that President Trump will continue to do whatever he wants to do regardless of who it upsets. I know that most of us are too proud to admit, our “opponent” has some valid points.

But I have to say something and I have to try something. Because I feel SO FREAKING HOPELESS. Even though I have watched amazing things unfold in the past week to counter this monster of a president, I feel defeated.

I don’t know what is going to happen next and I’m truly terrified to find out. I can’t even begin to imagine how those of you are who aren’t a privileged white woman are feeling. I’m sorry for you. I really, really am. I want you to know that I’ve got your back and I will fight for you with every fiber of my being because I am grateful for your existence. And you matter. We, the people are the best part of this country and we are what makes America great. I will defend your right to be treated with respect and dignity no matter what. And I can only hope that enough people will do the same. I hope enough people can be as bold as Judge Ann Donnelly or the 3 million women who marched or John McCain who opposed Trump’s latest executive order.

I guess really all I can do right now is continue to hope. I hope we continue to stand up for each other even if its for people who are totally different than us or people we will never meet. I hope that we can all figure out what really matters is the type of people we are and the values we hold and act on. I hope we can be the type of people who inspire others to overcome hate and can bring the generation behind us into a better, more respectful world.

I know this is all very Mean Girls-esque but I sincerely wish I had a big ass plastic crown to break apart and throw at everyone. Because really, y'all are beautiful and if Cady Heron can figure out how to apologize for being a bitch and try to make amends for it in a two hour film, I think our country can probably get through the next four years without pushing anyone in front of a bus.

(That’s a crappy Mean Girls reference; please don’t push people in front of busses)

-Be kind to one another-

also a friendly reminder this blog is for me and possible future nuggets who I want to remember that their mom was definitely not cool with all this bullshit they’ll have to learn in history class. And also for anyone who feels as shitty as I do and needs some love ✌️️

#isthisreallife #unitedstatesoffelusion #whatishappening #donaldtrump #strongertogether #bekindtooneanother

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psychotherapyconsultants · 5 years

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Does America Need Therapy? Our Nation’s Curious Resistance to Gun Reform

Does America need therapy? I don’t know about you, but I am perplexed by the millions of Americans who each and every day, continue to disregard facts, reject scientific proof, obstruct progress and deny the truth about a lot of things. This massive group also includes many of our supposedly best educated and well-informed politicians. What’s going on here?

The popular wave of anti-intellectualism rolling through Washington is no longer merely pervasive — it’s aggressive. And lately it has overtaken the usual rhetoric we’ve come to expect from the conservative side of the chamber. Especially in the last few years we have seen open-mindedness and critical thinking be replaced by a fanatical embrace of ignorance.

Trading reason for dogma and irrational emotion for learned facts threatens to unravel not only who we are as a society, but the fate of our entire nation and our planet. Am I exaggerating? No, I am not.

How is it that we are headed in this direction? Is it anxiety? Is it something more serious?

Let’s take a closer look: People who suffer from anxiety worry excessively; they are emotionally reactive and have a low threshold for distress tolerance. As a result, anxiety compels sufferers to resist change and avoid imagined threats. The reason? It’s because the underlying component of anxiety is: FEAR.

Fear is the strongest emotion we as human beings experience. Left unchecked, it can control us and bring us to our knees. Accordingly, fear of the unknown often completely freaks us out. It doesn’t matter what your IQ is or what Ivy League school you attended. Fear does not discriminate. So, it’s not necessarily facts that scare people into denying reason, it’s their emotional reactivity.

Let’s take the head-scratching position that climate change is a hoax, and that fact-based science is just plain wrong. Why the denial in the face of proof? Perhaps it’s fear of depleting the economy? Fear of losing jobs? Or is it a subversive liberal plot intended to overthrow our government? Regardless of motivation, science, facts, and rational thought provoke, not only anxiety, but hostility as well. This results in an angry and illogical reflex to stay closed-minded and stop learning.

In anxiety treatment we call these reactions cognitive distortions. They’re maladaptive thinking patterns that are baseless and unreasonable. They are knee-jerk responses that are automatic and often unconscious.

For example, denying the science of climate change is called mental filtering. When the mind focuses exclusively on a self-chosen reality, it filters out all other frames of reference, even one’s that are proven and true. In this instance, forward-thinking about the future and the kind of world we will leave our children is easily disregarded and completely overlooked. Perhaps people aren’t ignorant after all? Maybe it’s just a case of the heebie-jeebies.

Granted, since 9/11 the world as most Americans knew it turned completely upside down, and it has remained an unsteady time for all of us. Some Americans have become so desensitized to fear they don’t realize their lives are tightly wound in a chronic state of panic.

Another example of how we turn a blind eye to reason is the gun violence that has literally riddled our society, not just with bullets, but with terror.

Consider this: In the United States, every time a plane goes down or a train derails and crashes and American lives are lost, our transportation and safety authority’s act very quickly. They launch full investigations and do everything in their power to prevent the accident from happening again. They leave no stone unturned, and the search for answers often goes on for months, or even years.

But when yet another mass shooting occurs — at a school, a theater, a concert, a synagogue — rather than taking action, we freeze and remain paralyzed in shock. Instead of applying concrete solutions, we send our thoughts and prayers. Of course condolences are kind, but they are also too easy to accomplish than applying intelligence and data to systematically minimize the chances of similar tragedies occurring in the future.

We also make the choice — another easy out — to place responsibility of these tragedies on the mentally ill, including the recent mass shootings in Thousand Oaks, California, and Pittsburg, Pennsylvania. We conveniently scapegoat the mentally ill, further stigmatizing an entire population who are already at a societal disadvantage. We put a Band-Aid over the problem for a few days until the wound disappears, and time and time again, we refuse to recognize the obvious: That this is no surface wound. It’s an open, oozing infection that remains and grows. But, at least it appears that we have taken some action to solve the problem.

It’s also ironic that we, as a nation that largely ignores, delegitimizes and under-funds mental illness, conveniently draw it into the national spotlight when it’s time to find someone or something to blame other than ourselves and our outdated laws.

Let’s look at how fear makes us respond in this case: Obviously, the fear of losing our 2nd Amendment rights is problematic and palpable to many. But the real reason we are so terrified to face facts is that if we let our guard down just a bit, other rights will be taken from us. This cognitive distortion is called catastrophic thinking — jumping to conclusions and assuming you know the outcome of something without relevant and solid facts to support it. It’s another standard, habitual human defense mechanism motivated by panic, and it’s the reason why the rational pleas for gun reform are consistently ignored.

But despite the numbers, fear continues to win and nothing changes. Maybe America needs therapy! Think about it.

from World of Psychology https://psychcentral.com/blog/does-america-need-therapy-our-nations-curious-resistance-to-gun-reform/

#World of Psychology

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braindamageforbeginners · 6 years

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On the nature of evil

Cycle 5, Day 9 I’m in the grips of an infusion hangover; it’s not the worst I’ve ever had, and I predict be back up to full-speed in a few hours, with the help of a lot of coffee and aspirin. However, recent events - combined with my fatigue (fhe coffee has’t kicked in yet) inspired me to go dig this out of the “Drafts” bin and finish rather than start from scratch. This will be long - my apologies - and have more than few typos and problems in it (for starters, I stitched it out of three or four other ideas/observations/proto-essays, and I’m all chemo hung-over now).

I’ve thought an awful lot lately about the nature of good and evil - as you do, when you face an existential threat that originates in your own body (and, because it’s me, I’m not going to get there in a straight-line path). I’m a reductionist (that’s shocking, I know), and, as a child, I wanted to know what made us us (DNA, I know, but I was hoping for more details). I once asked my high school biology teacher whether it would be more accurate to describe us as multicellular critters, or as walking colonies of specialized cells. She said the latter. Later in life, I put the same question to my biochemistry professor; his learned opinion was that we’re just walking, talking biochemical reactions that existed to provide the carbon molecules within us the best, most-stable shot in a hostile universe (that might seem dehumanizing until you realize that all life, in all its myriad forms, and all human progress and endeavors - from laying cement to composing an adagio - stem from a few basic rules of chemistry and physics, which is almost miraculous if you think about it). Which means that my tumor is the result of one or two brain cells getting very specific mutations (six or seven I think: I have the exact list of mutations written in my personal notebook, but I’m not sure it’s that interesting), and then growing, spreading, and recruiting other rogue cells. That’s not particularly evil; it’s just the horrible result of a few cells being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s just some rogue, reprogrammed bits of me; but, unlike the harmless bacteria in my gut or the fungus on my feet, it will grow and spread without constraint... until it kills me (hopefully that won’t happen, but it’s important to keep that in mind throughout the essay)..

One accusation I’ve occasionally heard leveled at atheists, agnostics, humanists, and other non-religious folk like myself is that by not having some grand villain to creation, we refuse to acknowledge the existence of evil. As a pragmatist, has always been, “Well, you have to. The bar has to be set somewhere.” Even though human morality may not exist in the vacuum of space beyond Pluto, humans have to have it - or at least pretend to (we’ll get to that very shortly). The best, most-useful definition comes from an obscure short story written by M. Shayne Bell, “Evil exists; it is intelligence in the service of entropy.”

To further pad this essay, and make it all about me; I have not mentioned my psychiatrist much (this isn’t Shrink; they’re two different people). This is both to protect her privacy, and because, despite what you might think from these writings, I do have aspects of my life I don’t spill out to the general public. But, she is - like everyone else on my health team - not above using any and all tools available to her. Which means that she’ll prescribe any medication she feels is indicated (I am indebted to her for her reviewing my meds and recommending the exotic antidepressant I’m on)(and the rather more-common anti-anxiety meds I’m on). However, despite being up-to-date on all psych meds (as far as I know, she specializes in cancer patients, so that one’s important)(she’s the doctor who noted my previous antidepressant lowers seizure threshold, so it might not be ideal for me), she’s still what I would call old-fashioned. Which she’ll listen for a few minutes, then say something deeply wounding. Or, worse, means she’ll say something innocuous that you’ll wake up at three am to think about. She was the person who told me to look at my current situation (namely, I have stay within easy driving distance of my oncology teams in SoCal and NoCal for a year) as a form of probation, rather than a sentence. I know my father hated that metaphor when I discussed it with him, but it was what I needed to hear (and, more importantly, she knows me well enough to know I despise and mistrust people who sugar-coat things) to start changing my thinking. A few months ago, when she asked how I spent most of my day, I told I wrote, went to the gym... and spent most of my time dealing with the unfortunate, bureaucratic paperwork and bills (well, as many as I can deal with) that tend to stack up when you get sick. Her response was, “That’s depressing” and it felt good initially, to hear a real grown-up say that, because it reassured me that I wasn’t just going insane. However, as I thought about it, I got angry, because she’s right - it is depressing - it should not be a full-time job to be a sick person, but that is exactly what it takes. I have access to some of the best doctors and medicine, and there is a still dangerous amount of luck involved in this project. There’s been a lot of skill on my part at gaming the insurance companies, when I can (which is rare), and I’ve had a tremendous amount of financial support from my family, but there are sick people who die by the boatload from very, very treatable diseases (yes, hospitals do throw you out; it actually happened to me). And even though there are resources available, there are not enough, and anyone who claims that we don’t have the money is clearly not familiar with the bloated military industrial complex, which even most hard-core conservatives I know admit is bloated.

If the theme of Day 47 was “How much have we, as a species, lost because we all went out of our way to stomp someone,” the theme of today is, “how many people have we unwittingly killed - how much blood is on our hands - because we never said “No” to the few dozen psychopaths who maintain a system that is addicted to death and misery. And, let’s be honest, there is a massive difference between considering how much potential we destroyed when we chased the neighbor kids off our lawn, and nobody giving Jeffrey Dahmer a damned good thrashing when he set the cat on fire (for starters, we can actually quantify Jeff’s evil based on how many people we found in the freezer; the mountains those kids never climbed are completely imaginary).

Returning to mathematics and statistics (it comforts me); just as I am a medical rarity (I’ve done the math, the word “freak” might be cruel, but it’s not inaccurate), but the vast majority of you, readers, are healthy and able-bodied - in other words, if the law of averages works, if you spread it across a population - then, just as I’m becoming aware that almost all of us are filled with madness and wonder and magic; then a few of us contain black holes from which light can not escape. Bipedal nightmares, if you will.

The point of this piece is not to frighten you, although some of you might be frightened. It’s merely to recognize that psychopaths and people with psychopathic tendencies (we’ll get there shortly) exist, and, in order to triumph, you don’t have to do much. Just don’t let them walk over you. That’s it.

Now, this is one area where I definitely am largely uneducated (I like writing, because, as long as I flash that warning up front, I feel I’ve done my duty), and I’m not going to discuss psychopaths (well, not yet, we’ll get there very shortly) inasmuch as I am going to discuss anti-social personality problems. Despite the name, it doesn’t describe people like myself who’d much rather sit at home with my dog, a beer, and the latest sci-fi series from Netflix rather than go out or meet new people (which I would, thanks). It describes people whose actions describe a lack of empathy or caring about other people; which includes psychopaths.

Here’s the thing; according to Ron Jonson’s “The Psychopath Test,” people with anti-social traits make up 1-3% of the general population, however, 30-40% of politicians, CEOs, financiers, etc. - the people at the helm of society, if you will - have anti-social personality traits. I’m sure that number is entirely inaccurate, and the wealthiest, most-powerful class of Western society is quite normal and compassionate, and we serfs are entirely responsible for the harmful, dangerous policies that govern us. I’m sure there’s some sort of long-term wisdom in the medico-legal policies governing my access to medicine I’m not aware of, and me dying or going bankrupt in the process is a minor price to pay for everyone else to benefit (and it might be, using that Law of Averages idea).

Of course, that might be a little extreme; however, law and morality are miles apart, and you confuse the two at your peril (as any racial minority who’s received an unnecessary traffic citation can attest). In my own case, at age 17, after an MRI confirmed that I had a brain tumor; my insurance company literally pulled the plug as I was being wheeled into the OR - entirely legally, I might add, using a loophole in the law in my coverage (I think it’s the hall-mark of morality to let a teen die of a preventable disease)(yes, hospitals do throw people out into the street). Thankfully, my parents were calmer and faster on their feet than I, and they were able to get things back on track - two days later.

The point is, we live in a society seemingly created by, and for, people who are unhindered by any sense of morality. Of course, I’ll admit that I’m an exceedingly small minority, and a self-solving problem, as far as society at large is concerned (literally, all it takes is stopping funding to a few programs at the FDA and NIH and I’ll be finding out if Pascalor or Marcus Aurelius was right. It’s quite possible the rules have changed (I’m sure they have, because I’ve successfully taken advantage of those changes)(and paid a lot of money for that privilege), and the faceless companies that were so eager to see me dead at various points are now fully-invested in my survival (good news, if I’m reading the FDA testing info right, I’m one of 80 people in this drug trial, and my gruesome end would represent a failure rate of 1.25%. I doubt that’s enough for them to step in and dramatically intervene on my behalf, but I’ll settle for CVS being a little more competent and generous about the Temodar).

As someone who is occasionally (okay, so more than occasionally) thoughtless or insensitive, but also horrified at the depths of human cruelty, I also feel like pointing out that we have an unhealthy fascination with anti-social personalities and anti-social personality problems. We marry them. We vote for them. We work for them. When, quite frankly, all it would take would be us - or someone else along the line - refusing to let these idiots get away with it. If we made them pay their taxes and stand at the back of the line. Now, that wouldn’t rid of us John Wayne Gacy or Ted Kaczynski, but they aren’t the problem. Adolf Eichmann is. Those of you familiar with recent history will probably have recoiled from the screen - probably rightfully; to the rest of you; Eichmann was a Colonel in the SS, and one of Hitler’s lieutenants; if there is one single person responsible for the planning and execution of the “Final Solution,” it is this man. Yes, I just broke Godwin’s Law, because the problem with Nazi Germany wasn’t actually the Nazis. Don’t get me wrong; they had to go; my point is, the relatively few Nazi zealots in power would have been completely incapacitated if their clerks and underlings had simply refused orders. Or if someone had dragged them off and told them that wasn’t cool.

Of course, this is being played in real-time with US detention of immigrant children. Again, I’ll bring up Nazis, but in this terrifying context: they didn’t have first, or even the biggest genocide; they were just the first to keep records that allowed the prosecution to build a case. So when you hear a hospital administrator say, “We’ll get back to you about that,” or a border bureaucrat say “We don’t know where the girls and toddlers are,” it should raise the hackles on the back of your neck. Once you get lost in the paperwork - in medical administration or the actual administration - that’s the first, quiet sign that someone doesn’t want to be held accountable if something bad happens (to counteract that, I’ve had good luck demanding to speak to supervisors or get employee ID numbers)(we will ignore the irony - in a few cases - that I was way too tired or in pain to really back up any threats).

At each step in this thing from July 5, 2002 until now, I’ve been lucky enough to find great doctors, surgeons, nurses, etc. who cared about their patients. Sadly, we live in a society that views Gregory House as a realistic character (there’s a fun med student drinking game where you sip whenever he inadvertently kills a patient). And the common thread throughout is that no one thinks it’s just a job or a paycheck or a way to get rich (if you want that, get MBA and become a hospital administrator - they’re usually paid way more than doctors). I think Mad Scientist and Senior Warlock would show up at the hospital tomorrow if they won the Powerball today (I could see them quitting work after finding some definitive cause of brain tumors and/or winning a Nobel Prize). In other words, the trick to finding great medical groups - is the same trick as finding someone who loves their job and would keep working even if all their financial obligations were met. In other words, you find someone who loves their job or their patients, and they’ll focus on being a better doctor. Which means fewer mistakes and/or dead patients.

To tie this all together - or attempt to, this is a Frankenstein’s Monster of writing combined with a morning head - I met, a med student a number of years ago (two neurosurgeries), who said, about my near-disastrous first-surgery (that’s the one where I was thrown out of the hospital while being wheeled into the OR, thanks to an insurance screw-up) that the medical system - such as it is, was more or less fine, dismissing me with “I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you.“ Telling someone they deserve to die due to profit margins and bureaucracy is right up with “Have you gained weight” as far as ways to promptly alienate and piss off other people. He also boasted about how many women hit on him, even though he wore a wedding ring (to be fair, I’d give it a 50-50 chance his wife was actually his mother’s corpse in a wedding dress), and how you have to be careful when providing free service because “poor people will tell their friends” - that man was not very smart (although I have no doubt he’d pass an IQ test)(BTW, there are a lot of studies showing that IQ tests are only slightly better than the MBTI or mood rings when judging intelligence; and it’s telling that whenever one of my crazy, brilliant physicians wants to assess my intelligence, they don’t use an IQ test), but, as far as I know, there are no set systems in place to ensure he didn’t graduate and go into practice (I mean, it’s possible he passed through med school and never got into a residency; I really hope some interview board looked at each afterward and said, “This is the creepiest motherfucker I’ve ever met; do we need another cadaver?”) . And, if he is practicing, I promise you - I’d bet my new lease on life on that statement (you need to understand, though, you’re betting your life on that statement if you’re one of his patients) - that he has, probably unintentionally, killed people because of his complete lack of interest in anything apart from money, sex, and self-aggrandizement - he has absolutely no interest or incentive to improve himself, or save more people, or take anything, other than his bank account to the next level. It’s possible the fear and/or wrongful death suits got to him (again, that’s assuming a lot). It’s a single case, but it’s demonstrative that our society has no real check against human evil or one person getting a dangerous amount of power. You can read into that whatever political statements you like, I’m just noting as a chronic patient a few observations about the importance of compassion (or curiosity) as a quick indicator of physician quality.

The other important lesson here regarding medical sociopathy - and I might’ve written about this previously, forgive me - is that talent attracts talent. I write a lot about the nurses and physicians, but in the chemo ward, I have never seen the orderlies not take out the trash and/or replace linens (and they recently went on strike - and I really hope they got all their demands met, because they’re making it possible to be in a hospital and not feel under a microbial threat). My point is, even the orderlies - a group no one ever thinks of, are top-level. And when that’s just the cleaning staff, everyone else is of a similar competence. I don’t know why they (the orderlies) work there - it might just be a paycheck - but they’re good, and the nurses and doctors aren’t going to outshone by the facilities. Meanwhile, think of that one great doctor in an otherwise lousy practice or hospital. Go ahead and do some research if necessary; I’ll wait. I’m guessing there aren’t a whole lot.out there.

To bring all of this back to the current medico-political situation, the White House has something of a staffing problem, to say the least. At this point, I believe we have a series of rubber stamps in office at this point (everyone familiar with my “Fall Risk” story will know how I feel about that issue), and not particularly competent ones. That’s disturbing in and of itself, but the greater problem is that it’s an endorsement of psychopathy as policy, and, as noted, psychopaths aren’t even particularly intelligent or efficient. But, more importantly, the way you’re betting - if you’re a majority member - is that you will be, personally as wealthy, healthy, and powerful as you are now, and that you will never need the help of someone else. If you don’t feel comfortable with that, then maybe just slap the bullies when you see them. I’m more-serious than you might think; they’re not all going to stand down and behave, but it’s a safer bet than that Immortan Joe will overlook you and behave charitably.

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