sometimes i just sit and think about that how good descendants story could be. how it could be about that not everything is black or white, that there are multiple shades of grey when it comes to morality. but then, i'm getting hit by the fact that descendants is just another classist story
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something The Discourse is missing is that in tandem with the benefits that the imperial core gains, in the view of democratic socialists, is the demsoc acceptance of who counts as the working class - which is evident in, for example, the work of Robert Reich, who says that expansion of the middle class should be the goal of democratic socialism, and that this relies on poverty to still exist. Western economics account for this! This is an acceptable cause for democratic socialism, even if demsocs themselves are oblivious to the ideology that underpins their work. Internationalism will always be at odds with something already deliberately disinterested in class consciousness.
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people are so addicted to misusing the words "medieval" and "victorian" to indicate an ambiguously historical setting and then immediately demonstrating the fact that they have no idea what those terms actually mean
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that art you reblogged made me remember how i was reading the cp77 wiki a while back to get info that isn't strictly in the games and i read how it mentions johnny lied about his age to join the military early and not like at 17 he wAS 15. FIFTEEN. FIFTEEN WHEN HE JOINED THE MILITARY AND NOT MUCH OLDER WHEN HE LOST HIS ARM I'M SO FUCKED UP OVER THIS
YEAH… god that fucks me up. If u read the cyberpunk timeline on the wiki or some of the shards in-game about the times he grew up in (the collapse, Gang of Four) i can only imagine what drove him to join… if you think about the johnny silverhand we know (from cyberpunk 2077, even the ttrpg stories) that man, i dont think anything could make him so desperate as a boy to yoke himself like that. what was he trying to escape? was it a cocky mistake of youth that cost him more than he could have ever anticipated?
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Over explaining yourself is a trauma response that comes from a deep fear of abandonment and rejection. Process it, don’t just forget it.
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there’s never been a childhood home to return to.
the walls that were carved so lovingly with our growth are scattered across the pacific northwest, wet with its mildew and humidity. i haven’t been back in a decade.
“in a way she’s still there,” someone online tells me in earnest. but she isn’t and i know she isn’t. no one has seen her since her back and heels were tucked tight against a banister she’d know for 2 years at most.
when the landlords used our security deposits to renovate the spaces we once lived in; when they caulked the seams, spackled the holes in the drywall and painted it over neat and orderly—
did they paint over her as well?
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i wake up and first thing i think of is: during marias search esp in that first week or two, i wonder how many of the search parties were volunteers considering that civilians can help cover more ground etc rather than the travis or newt sheriffs ( esp since canonically in the remakes, travis countys dept is severely understaffed )
and i wonder, too, just how many of said volunteers were extended sawyers & hewitts ensuring all potential evidence or suspicions that could point to their family ( not just in marias case but all of them in general ) is covered / fucked with / etc.
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I get along really well with adults. Not because I'm good at socializing but because if I give them a small detail about my childhood/homelife, they are always nice and start offering me free stuff. Shy traumatized kid wins again 😈😈😈
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People only like the vintage farmhouse style cause they’ve never lived in a farm house with no indoor plumbing with only a wood stove for heating, a box tv with rabbit ear antennas and three channels, vintage cars parked all over the yard, at least four dogs and two cats that disappear for two weeks at regular intervals, a hoarded barn, and a legend that your grandaddy hid the family fortune under the floorboards.
⬆️My childhood in Upstate New York. Well, during the summers between the ages of 2-7 and it was really my grandaddy’s brother-in-law. And the barn wasn’t the only place hoarded. Ngl I have a hard time believing this is my life sometimes. Shit sounds like a Southern gothic novel. Smh.
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