#trump isn’t normal

[nachtare]

succession worm au. is this anything

#Logan is a cauldron cape who made it big #Kendall Shiv and Roman are all buds (natural triggers) #they all think Logan also had a natural trigger and he isn’t saying shit cause he’s a fucking asshole #Connor is normal. #Logan probably would’ve bought a vial for any of his other kids but Connor? #Connor’s too much like his mother. #send him off to the funny farm (horse ranch) #Tom is a guy who made being a capewife (gender neutral) his ENTIRE identity. natural trigger of his own #some kind of Trump #maybe he was being held hostage and the villain was like I’ll kill him! and shiv was like so? #and she was bluffing. but for a moment tom Believed her #and that + the cheating + the knowledge that he’s deeply insignificant #boar on the floor etc etc. #Cousin Greg is normal.

[sweetercalypso]

What Takes the Edge Off || Joel Miller

Word Count: 2.0k

Summary: Now that Joel is living in Jackson, he’s picked up a few bad habits. When he comes home smelling like cigarettes, you punish him for his choice of vices

Notes: smoking, lap sitting, hair pulling, semi-public sex, grinding over clothes, edging, dom reader, sub(ish) Joel, no reader pronouns; smoking is gross unless you’re hot <3

joel miller masterlist main masterlist

Joel’s problem started with a crushed pack of Camels he’d found just a few short months after settling down in Jackson.

Truthfully, his problem had started when he was nineteen and naïve about the habit he was forming with the hand-rolled cigarettes stashed in his glovebox. They’d belonged to Tommy before Joel had quickly confiscated them with a lengthy lecture about the dangers of smoking.

Tommy was still a kid, but Joel was old enough to choose his own vices.

Everyone in Texas smoked; pipes, cigars, cigarettes – it was all commonplace in the rural heat of the South. Even after the world fell apart, there were plenty of people in QZs willing to trade a week’s worth of ration cards for a single carton of cigarettes, a stale taste of the life they’d left behind.

Joel had been more than happy to meet their demand, only occasionally skimming a few from his and Tess’s supplies. He didn’t crave the relief of nicotine any more than he craved a bottle of old whiskey or a quick, drunken fuck – it was just a way to cope with the life he’d been given.

Living in Jackson is different. The air is cleaner, the streets aren’t littered with soggy cigarette butts, and the weight of Joel’s bad habits has finally caught up to him.

The first pack he found, he’d shared with Tommy. The pair stood outside a crumbling house on their patrol route and chain-smoked what was left in the half-crushed box, reminiscing about the time Tommy stole an imported cigar from their father’s nightstand and had gotten sick from the first puff. Twenty years since they’d seen home, their Southern upbringing still kept them from smoking indoors.

The smell of tobacco had worn off by the time they returned to the city gates, and you were none the wiser about their indulgence. Even when you threw your arms around Joel and buried your face in his chest, you’d greeted him like nothing was out of the ordinary.

A couple days after he’d finished the first pack, Joel realized how much he enjoyed smoking. He found himself missing the bitter taste in his mouth, fingers twitching at his sides like he’s flicking loose ashes from a phantom burning tip.

There’d been a gun in his hand for as long as he could remember, and now that his days are spent in protected leisure, Joel feels like a crucial piece of himself is missing.

He’s constantly searching for the sleek steel of a pistol, the pressure of a trigger responding to his unabating command. The weight of a cigarette balanced between his fingers had eased the grief of being still.

A sealed pack of Marlboro’s was Joel’s next find, left behind on a coffee table in a house just beyond his normal patrol route. His habit had never been routine enough to pick a favorite brand, but the familiar red and white emblem is a welcomed sight, a promise of earthy tobacco and a good, slow burn.

The matchbook in his pocket is a heavy burden on Joel’s conscience as he picks up the cigarettes and quietly slips them into his supply bag. This time, he isn’t sharing with Tommy or anyone else who feels they have a claim over a portion of his findings.

Jackson might be a commune, but just this once, Joel’s nicotine-fueled prerogative trumps his commitment to sacrifice.

He waits until he’s past the city gates to unwrap the crisp plastic and slide the first cigarette out of the pack. It’s nearly midnight when he returns his horse to the stable and begins the short walk home, unlit cigarette dangling between his teeth as he attempts to light a match under the warm embrace of the streetlamps.

The initial thrum of nicotine flooding his lungs is bittersweet, a slight burn that dulls his senses with each deep breath. He walks with his cigarette pulled up to his mouth, the weak orange glow of lit tobacco burning a crude effigy into the shadows of his face.

You’re sitting on the porch when he rounds the corner, lazed in a rocking chair that Joel had built the previous summer – his attempt at adjusting to the slow life.

When he realizes that you’re still awake, he flicks the half-finished cigarette onto the ground and crushes it with the toe of his boot, waving a hand to clear the lazy smoke lingering in the air. He grumbles under his breath and pulls the front of his jacket to his nose to gauge how long it would take the smell of tobacco to fade, but he realizes too late that the sickly-sweet aroma is already woven into the material – still clinging to his breath.

He makes his way up the sidewalk with a guilty look on his face and a hand tucked in his pocket, thumb rubbing soothingly over the side of the cigarette pack as if the feel of the box was enough to bring him relief.

It wasn’t that he expected to be chastised for his nasty habit – you knew better than anyone that Joel preferred to take care of himself. But he distinctly remembers a conversation you’d shared some time ago about old-world vices and your distaste for smoking.

He didn’t think it was worth mentioning his habit at the time; smoking was a luxury he doubted he’d ever have again, so why ruin his image of calloused self-restraint?

The sound of the porch steps creaking under Joel’s boots grabs your attention from whatever book you’d been reading, now abandoned face-down on the arm of the rocking chair as you turn to greet him.

“You’re home,” you drawl, the tired lilt in your voice betraying your content expression.

His chin dips in a bashful acknowledgement, tucked to his chest as he leans down to press a kiss to the side of your face. He still isn’t used to having someone waiting up for him; the thought only adds to the weight of his self-reproach.

“How was patrol?” you ask as Joel pulls away, though your eyes rake over him with another question in mind.

Before he can answer, you reach out and grab the front of his jacket, bringing the material to your nose to confirm what Joel already knew. “You smell like smoke.”

He swallows the sandpaper feeling in his mouth and shrugs. “Got a little cold out tonight, we stopped to make a fire on our way back.”

He cringes internally at his halfhearted attempt at avoiding the matter, but it doesn’t seem to deter you from putting the pieces together anyway.

“No,” you interject, brows pulled together in confusion. “You smell like cigarettes.”

He’s silent for a moment, unable to think of an honest way out of this conversation. “Huh.”

“Joel,” you drawl, standing and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. A teasing grin pulls at the corners of your mouth, a scandalized amusement that makes his cheeks burn. “Have you been smoking?”

Your fingers weave through the dark curls at the nape of his neck, tugging softly until his head rolls back.

His eyes flutter shut and he shudders as he pulls the offending pack from his pocket. “Found ‘em on patrol,” he pants, his free hand gently squeezing your hip. “People leave all sorts of useful things behind when the world’s endin’.”

You offer only a simpering tsk in response, not quite the reaction Joel was expecting.

The night air is silent beyond the quiet lull of Jackson and the floorboards shifting under your feet as you shuffle closer together, sharing an intimate moment in the dim light seeping through the front room windows. Joel’s hands are a firm presence on your waist, separated from your skin by only the thin flannel shirt you’d stolen from his closet. 

Eventually, you pull away, ushering him into the seat you’d abandoned upon his arrival. He drops into the rocking chair with a grunt and drags you into his lap.

“Missed you, baby” he murmurs, admiring the way you fit perfectly into the hollow of his frame, the way you balance yourself overtop him with practiced ease.

He knows he should be more concerned about your indifferent reaction, more worried about the possibility of someone walking by. But his sensibility is swept away by the heave of your chest and the little sound you make when his hand presses against the base of your spine.

Your hips drag slowly over his and for a moment, Joel thinks you’ve forgotten about the cigarettes. Or maybe you won’t mind his indulgence as long as he makes up for it. The warmth of your body pressed against his makes Joel ache for more, ready to offer an apology with more than just his words.

Just as he leans in to press his mouth to yours, you pull away far enough that he misses.

“Ah-” you stop him with a raised hand, fingertips pressed to his pouted lips. “You can kiss me when you don’t smell like cigarettes.”

The warm, hazy feeling is suddenly ripped from the air. Joel’s head jerks back in a look of disbelief, mouth hung open and brows pulled together as if he’d been scorned. “You’re serious?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, running a hand over his chest to soothe his trampled ego. “Can’t stand the smell, baby. You know that.”

The rocking chair dips forward as Joel drops his head onto your shoulder with a groan. “That’s just cruel.”

“It’s not cruel,” you laugh, pushing back the mess of curls falling into his face. “When you come home from patrol, I wanna taste you, not smoke.”

Your hips stir over his once again and Joel swears under his breath. His cock twitches in interest and he begrudgingly accepts the torment of your slow pace. This isn’t the time to take charge and chase his high; he’ll let you take the reins until you decide that he’s forgiven.

He picks his head up to glance around the empty streets, assuring himself that there’s no one here to witness his weak-willed acquiescence.

“I wanna touch you, make you feel good,” you continue, ghosting your fingers over the front of his jeans. “But how can I do that when all I can think about is those nasty cigarettes? Hmm?”

Your hands travel back to his chest, but your hips continue to roll over his, trapping his stiff cock beneath the comfortable pressure of your thighs. His eyes flutter shut once more as he leans back into his seat and lets you have your fun.

It doesn’t take long for Joel to near his end, subtly bucking his own hips to help himself along. He’s right there, right at the edge of his release, knuckles turning white as his grip tightens on the arm rests and—

The weight in his lap is gone, replaced with an empty chill that makes Joel’s hips stutter. His eyes snap open as he struggles to focus in his blissed-out state, but a hand on his shoulder brings him back to reality.

You’re standing in front of him now, no longer providing the friction that’d been fueling the fire in his belly. “Sorry, baby. You don’t get off that easy.”

He groans when you crawl back into his lap and you’re flooded with a sense of empowerment. It shouldn’t feel this good to see Joel suffer. You know it’s not fair to tease him like this, but maybe he deserves a little punishment.

“Maybe if you hadn’t been smoking, I’d let you enjoy this. Let you use your mouth to make me come, let you fuck me the way you want to.”

Joel stays silent, obedient. He swallows around shallow gasps of air that make his chest rise and fall with the labor of his breaths, thighs tensing as he struggles not to chase that feeling dangling just out of reach.

“I could do this all night,” you note, settling your weight in his lap again, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “And I think you’d let me.”

#joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller one shot #the last of us smut #the last of us x reader #the last of us fic #tlou #tlou x reader #tlou x y/n #sub!joel #sub!joel miller

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Conservatives are fringe outliers - and leftists could learn from them

The Republican Party, a coalition between Big Business farmers and turkeys who’ll vote for Christmas (Red Scare obsessed cowards, apocalyptic white nationalists, religious fanatics, etc) has fallen to its bizarre, violent, noisy radical wing, who are obsessed with policies that are completely irrelevant to the majority of Americans.

As Oliver Willis writes, the views of the radical right — which are also the policies of the GOP — are wildly out of step with the US political view:

https://www.oliverexplains.com/p/conservatives-arent-like-normal-americans

The press likes to frame American politics as “narrowly divided,” but the reality is that Republicans’ electoral victories are due to voter suppression and antimajoritarian institutions (the Senate and Electoral College, etc), not popularity. Democrats consistently outperform the GOP in national races. Dems won majorities in 1992/6, and beat the GOP in 2000, 2008, 2012, 2016 and 2020. The only presidential race the GOP won on popular votes since 1988 was 2004, when GW Bush eked out a plurality (not a majority).

But, as Willis says, Dems “act like it is 1984 and that they are outliers in a nation of Reagan voters,” echoing a stilted media narrative. The GOP’s platform just isn’t popular. Take the groomer panic: 71% of Americans approve of same-sex marriage. The people losing their shit about queer people are a strange, tiny minority.

Every one of the GOP’s tentpole issues is wildly unpopular: expanding access to assault rifles, banning immigration, lowering taxes on the rich, cutting social programs, forcing pregnant people to bear unwanted children, etc. This is true all the way up to the GOP’s coalescing support for Trump as their 2024 candidate. Trump has lost every popular vote he’s ever stood for, and owes his term in the Oval Office to the antimajoritarian Electoral College system, gerrymandering, and massive voter suppression.

Willis correctly points out that Dem leaders are basically “normal” center-right politicians, not radicals. And, unlike their GOP counterparts, politicians like Clinton, Obama and Biden don’t hide their disdain for the radical wing of their party. Even never-Trumper Republicans are afraid of their base. Romney declared himself “severely conservative” and McCain “put scare quotes around ‘health of the mother’ provisions for abortion rights.”

The GOP fringe imposes incredible discipline on their leaders. Take all the nonsense about “woke capitalism”: on the one hand, it’s absurd to call union-busting, tax-dodging, worker-screwing companies “woke” (even if they sell Pride flags for a couple of weeks every year).

But on the other hand? The GOP leadership have actually declared war on the biggest corporations in America, to the point that the WSJ says that “Republicans and Big Business broke up”:

https://www.wsj.com/articles/republicans-corporations-donations-pacs-9b5b202b

But America is a two-party system and there are plenty of people who’ll pull the lever for any Republican. This means that when the GOP comes under the control of its swivel-eyed loon wing, the swivel-eyed loons wield power far beyond the number of people who agree with them.

There’s an important lesson there for Dems, whose establishment is volubly proud of its independence from its voters. The Biden administration is a weirdly perfect illustration of this “independence.” The Biden admin is a kind of referee, doling out policies and appointments to its competing wings, without any coherence or consistency.

That’s how you get incredible appointments like Lina Khan at the FTC and Jonathan Kanter at the DoJ Antitrust Division and Rohit Chopra at the Consumer Finance Protection Bureat — the progressive wing of the party bargained for these key appointments and then played their cards very well, getting incredible, hard-charging, hyper-competent fighters in those roles.

Likewise, Jared Bernstein, finally confirmed as Council of Economic Advisers chair after an interminable wrangle:

https://prospect.org/blogs-and-newsletters/tap/2023-06-16-team-biden/

And Julie Su, acting labor secretary, who just delivered a six-year contract to west coast dockworkers with 8–10% raises in the first year, paid retroactively for the year they worked without a contract:

https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/statements-releases/2023/06/14/statement-from-president-biden-on-labor-agreement-at-west-coast-ports/

But the Biden admin’s unwillingness to side with one wing of the party also produces catastrophic failures, like the martyrdom of Gigi Sohn, who was subjected to years of vicious personal attacks while awaiting confirmation to the FCC, undefended by the Biden admin, left to twist in the wind until she gave it up as a bad job:

https://doctorow.medium.com/culture-war-bullshit-stole-your-broadband-4ce1ffb16dc5

It’s how we get key roles filled by do-nothing seatwarmers like Pete Buttigieg, who has the same sweeping powers that Lina Khan is wielding so deftly at the FTC, but who lacks either the will or the skill to wield those same powers at the Department of Transport:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/11/dinah-wont-you-blow/#ecp

By refusing to stand for anything except a fair division of powers among different Democratic Party blocs, the Biden admin ends up undercutting itself. Take right to repair, a centerpiece of the administration’s agenda, subject of a historic executive order and FTC regulation:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

Right to Repair fights have been carried out at the state level for years, with the biggest victory coming in Massachusetts, where an automotive R2R ballot initiative won overwhelming support in 2020:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/13/said-no-one-ever/#r2r

But despite the massive support for automotive right to repair in the Bay State, Big Car has managed to delay the implementation of the new law for years, tying up the state in expensive, time-consuming litigation:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/26/nixing-the-fix/#r2r

But eventually, even the most expensive delaying tactic fails. Car manufacturers were set to come under the state right to repair rule this month, but they got a last minute reprieve, from Biden’s own National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, who sent urgent letters to every major car manufacturer, telling them to ignore the Massachusetts repair law:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/m7bbkv/biden-administration-tells-car-companies-to-ignore-right-to-repair-law-people-overwhelmingly-voted-for

The NHTSA repeats the car lobby’s own scare stories about “cybersecurity” that they blitzed to Massachusetts voters in the runup to the ballot initiative:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms

The idea that cybersecurity is best maintained by letting powerful corporations gouge you on service and parts is belied by independent experts, like SecuRepairs, who do important work countering the FUD thrown off by the industry (and parroted by Biden’s NHTSA):

https://securepairs.org/

Independent security experts are clear that letting owners of high-tech devices decide who fixes them, what software they run, etc, makes us safer:

https://www.schneier.com/essays/archives/2022/01/letter-to-the-us-senate-judiciary-committee-on-app-stores.html

But here we are: the Biden admin is sabotaging the Biden admin, because the Biden admin isn’t an administration, it’s a system for ensuring proportional representation of different parts of the Democratic Party coalition.

This isn’t just bad for policy, it’s bad politics, too. It presumes that if some Democratic voters want pizza, and others want hamburgers, that you can please everyone by serving up pizzaburgers. No one wants a pizzaburger:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/23/narrative-warfare/#giridharadas

The failure to deliver a coherent, muscular vision for a climate-ready, anti-Gilded Age America has left the Democrats vulnerable. Because while the radical proposals of the GOP fringe may not enjoy much support, there are large majorities of Americans who have lost faith in the status quo and are totally uninterested in the Pizzaburger Party.

Nowhere is this better explained than in Naomi Klein’s superb long-form article on RFK Jr’s presidential bid in The Guardian:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2023/jun/14/ignoring-robert-f-kennedy-jr-not-an-option

Don’t get me wrong, RFK Jr is a Very Bad Politician, for all the reasons that Klein lays out. He’s an anti-vaxxer, a conspiracist, and his support for ending American military aggression, defending human rights, and addressing the climate emergency is laughably thin.

But as Klein points out, RFK Jr is not peddling pizzaburgers. He is tapping into a legitimate rage:

a great many voters are hurting and rightfully angry: about powerful corporations controlling their democracy and profiting off disease and poverty. About endless wars draining national coffers and maiming their kids. About stagnating wages and soaring costs. This is the world — inflamed on every level — that the two-party duopoly has knowingly created.

RFK Jr is campaigning against “the corrupt merger between state and corporate power,” against drug monopolies setting our national health agenda, and polluters capturing environmental regulators.

As Klein says, despite RFK Jr’s willing to say the unsayable, and tap into the yearning among the majority of American voters for something different, he’s not running a campaign rooted in finally telling the American public “the truth.” Rather, “public discourse filled with unsayable and unspeakable subjects is fertile territory for all manner of hucksters positioning themselves as uniquely courageous truth tellers.”

We’ve been here before. Remember Trump campaigning against a “rigged system” and promising to “make America great again?” Remember Clinton’s rejoinder that “America was already great?” It’s hard to imagine a worse response to legitimate outrage — over corporate capture, declining wages and living conditions; and spiraling health, education and shelter costs.

Sure, it was obvious that Trump was a beneficiary of the rigged system, and that he would rig it further, but at least he admitted it was rigged, not “already great.”

The Democratic Party is not in thrall to labor unions, or racial equality activists, or people who care about gender justice or the climate emergency. Unlike the GOP, the Dem establishment has figured out how to keep a grip on power within their own party — at the expense of exercising power in America, even when they hold office.

But unlike culture war nonsense, shared prosperity, fairness, care, and sound environmental policies are very popular in America. Some people have been poisoned against politics altogether and sunk into nihilism, while others have been duped into thinking that America can’t afford to look after its people.

In this regard, winning the American electorate is a macrocosm for the way labor activists win union majorities in the workplaces they organize. In her memoir A Collective Bargain, Jane McAlevey describes how union organizers contend with everything that progressive politicians must overcome. A union drive takes place in the teeth of unfair laws, on a tilted playing field that allows bosses to gerrymander some workers’ votes and suppress others’ altogether. These bosses have far more resources than the workers, and they spend millions on disinformation campaigns, forcing workers to attend long propaganda sessions on pain of dismissal.

https://doctorow.medium.com/a-collective-bargain-a48925f944fe

But despite all this, labor organizers win union elections and strike votes, and they do so with stupendous majorities — 95% or higher. This is how the most important labor victories of our day were won: the 2019 LA teachers’ strike won everything. Not just higher wages, but consellors in schools, mandatory greenspace for every school in LA, an end to ICE shakedowns of immigrant parents at the school-gate, and immigration law help for students and their families. What’s more, the teachers used their unity, their connection to the community, and their numbers to get out the vote in the next election, winning the marginal seats that delivered 2020’s Democratic Congressional majority.

As I wrote in my review of MacAlevey’s book:

For McAlevey, saving America is just a scaled up version of the union organizer’s day-job. First, we fix the corrupt union, firing its sellout leaders and replacing them with fighters. Then, we organize supermajorities, person-to-person, in a methodical, organized fashion. Then we win votes, using those supermajorities to overpower the dirty tricks that rig the elections against us. Then we stay activated, because winning the vote is just the start of the fight.

It’s a far cry from the Democratic Party consultant’s “data-driven” microtargeting strategy based on eking out tiny, fragile majorities with Facebook ads. That’s a strategy that fails in the face of even a small and disorganized voter-suppression campaign — it it’s doomed in today’s all-out assault on fair elections.

What’s more, the consultants’ microtargeting strategy treats people as if the only thing they have to contribute is casting a ballot every couple years. A sleeping electorate will never win the fights that matter — the fight to save our planet, and to abolish billionaires.

If only the Democratic Party was as scared of its base as the Republicans are of their own.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/16/that-boy-aint-right/#dinos-rinos-and-dunnos

[Image ID: The title page of Richard Hofstadter's 'Paranoid Style in American Politics' from the November, 1964 issue of Harper's Magazine. A John Birch Society pin reading 'This is REPUBLIC not a DEMOCRACY: let's keep it that way' sits atop the page, obscuring the introductory paragraph.]

#pluralistic #tgop #politics #centrism #centrism kills #qgop #democrats in disarray #trumpism #conservatives #robert f kennedy #Massachusetts #climate emergency #naomi klein #oliver willis #right to repair #pizzaburgers

[mightyflamethrower]

15 Facts About E. Jean Carroll’s Allegations Against Trump the Media Don’t Want You to Know

1.  Bergdorf Goodman has no surveillance video of the alleged incident.

2.  There are zero witnesses to the alleged sexual attack.

3.  Carroll first came forward — conveniently — with the allegations while promoting her book What Do We Need Men For? in 2019, which featured a list of “The Most Hideous Men of My Life.”

4.  Carroll was unable to remember when this alleged attack even occurred. She told her lawyer in 2023, “This question, the when, the when, the date, has been something I’ve [been] constantly trying to pin down.” She has jumped years — originally beginning with 1994, then moving to 1995, and even floating to 1996. She cannot remember the season in which the alleged attack occurred either.

5.  The Donna Karan blazer dress she claims to have worn during the alleged incident was not even available at the time of her claims. Trump Attorney Boris Epshteyn told reporters, “She said, ‘This is the dress I wore in 1994.’ They went back, they checked. The dress wasn’t even made in 1994.”

“And that’s why the date’s moved around. This is the 80s. Is it the 90s? Is it the 2000s? President Trump has consistently stated that he was falsely accused, and he has the right to defend himself,” he added.

6.  She never came forward with these allegations over the years despite constantly being open about sexuality, posting things that were very sexual in nature on social media — many of which Trump has shared. They include remarks such as “How do you know your ‘unwanted sexual advance’ is unwanted, until you advance it?” and “Sex Tip I Learned From My Dog: When in heat, chase the male until he collapses with exhaustion … then jump him!”

7.  She said she was never raped, telling the New York Times’ podcast, The Daily,“Every woman gets to choose her word. Every woman gets to choose how she describes it. This is my way of saying it. This is my word. My word is ‘fight.’ My word is not the ‘victim’ word. I have not — I have not been raped,” she continued. “I have — something has not been done to me. I fought. That’s the thing.”

8.  She named her cat “Vagina.” “Her dog, or her cat, was named ‘Vagina.’ The judge wouldn’t allow us to put that in — all of these things — but with her, they could put in anything: Access Hollywood,” Trump told CNN.

9.  Joe Tacopina, an attorney for Trump, pointed out in May 2023 that Carroll’s entire story has incredible similarities to a 2012 episode of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit. In that episode, titled “Theatre and Tricks,” an individual talks about a rape fantasy in Bergdorf Goodman — the same department store where Carroll claims the incident took place.

10.  Speaking of shows, Carroll loved Trump’s show The Apprentice.

“I was a big fan of the show. Very impressed by it,” Carroll said on the witness stand, adding that she “had never seen such a witty competition on TV, and it was about something worthwhile, competing.”

11.  Carroll made a joke associating sex with Bergdorf Goodman in a November 1993 edition of Elle, which was before the alleged Trump attack took place. As Breitbart News detailed:

Carroll was responding to a letter from a female reader concerned that she was having trouble achieving orgasm through sexual intercourse alone while the reader said that she could climax through foreplay. “Is there any way I could learn to reach orgasm through sex?” asked the reader in the November 1993 edition. “Maybe books I could read?” Carroll replied with the following advice (emphasis added): Dear Snowed Under: Stop flagellating yourself. Gadzooks! At least you have orgasms. And if that isn’t spontaneous sex I don’t know what is. Most women (about 70 percent) experience difficulties climaxing through intercourse alone. So you’re perfectly normal. Begin by reading For Yourself by Dr. Lonnie Barbach. She’ll give you excellent instructions on how to have an orgasm during intercourse. Then after 313 queenhell love-wiggles, move on to Gretta Garbo’s favorite love position – the top. (In erotic scenes, Garbo is always above the man. So are Sharon Stone, Bette Midler and Katherine Hepburn). Indeed, this location works better for women than the fourth floor of Bergdorf’s.

12.  Carroll is financially backed by anti-Trump Democrat megadonor Reid Hoffman, who has openly admitted to visiting convicted sex offender Jeffrey Epstein’s private island.

13.  Democrat party activists back her as well, as Breitbart News detailed:

Indeed, one of Carroll’s attorneys is Roberta Kaplan — a Democrat Party activist who led the group Time’s Up. She left the activist group after it was revealed she was aiding former New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo in attempting to discredit the Democrat’s accusers. It served as a great irony as Time’s Up seeks to defend women from what it claims is discrimination and harassment. This fact has led to mounting speculation that Kaplan only gets involved in cases that she views as politically expedient. Further, Federal District Judge Lewis Kaplan is overseeing the process and has connections to Carroll’s other attorney, Shawn Crowley. She was actually a law clerk for Judge Kaplan, and he officiated her wedding. That aside, Trump has denied knowing the left-wing activist as the only evidence of any contact is a single picture with Carroll greeting Trump and his ex-wife Ivana at an event greeting line over 35 years ago. Carroll has yet to provide solid evidence of this alleged encounter and will not use the dress that she claims had DNA on it from this alleged incident. Even Trump publicly said the dress should be part of the case. Further, there are no eyewitnesses of this alleged incident, which supposedly occurred at the popular New York City department store.

14.  The lawsuit was only able to proceed after Democrats created the Adult Survivors Act in 2022. She conveniently pursued this suit in November following the law going into effect, which allowed her to avoid the statute of limitations for this case.

15.  Carroll once said, “Most people think of rape as sexy.”

Donald Trump Jr. also retweeted a list of facts about Carroll, urging others to take a look:

- She couldn't recall the date, month, season, or year the incident happened -

She never told anyone about it, despite being publicly obsessed with her own sexuality -

The dress she claims to have been wearing didn't exist at the time -

Her description of the dressing room at Bergdorf Goodman was inaccurate, making her sequence of events impossible -

Her lawsuit was bankrolled by Jeffrey Epstein pal and Democrat (and Nikki Haley) mega-donor Reid Hoffman -

Democrats created a law (The Adult Survivors Act in 2022) to enable her lawsuit to proceed - Her accusation is the exact plotline of an episode of Law & Order (one of her "favorite shows") -

Trump's Apprentice was also one of her favorite shows -

She has a history of falsely accusing men of r*pe, including Les Moonves - She told Anderson Cooper, "most people think of r*pe as being sexy. Think of the fantasies." -

She made a career promoting promiscuity, even writing glowingly of sexual assault and naming her cat Vagina

We owe Stalin and Hitler a huge apology. We are ever so bad as they ever were. This isn't Justice. Its punishment for for disobeying the deep state elites.

[gretavanlace]

Sugar II (part 8)

Jake Kizska x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: adult content, language, brief illusions to sex, angst, jealousy, etc.

Only two chapters to go and an epilogue, everyone. I’m so grateful that you have taken this little journey with me. Thank you so much for all your kind words, support, and care. You’re all so wonderful ❤️

“Oh my god, Jake,” your eyes are darting around the room like a mouse with a rabid alley cat slinking, famished and cruel, into its path.

Your unease trumps his delighted gloating instantly, “What do you want me to do, sugar? Tell me and I’ll do it.”

When you steal a glance at the window, longing to climb out and disappear, he hops on the train of your thought process right away, “You want me to duck out?”

You know Jake through and through, and staring into his eyes as your heart drums paranoid vibrations into your rib cage, you’re stunned to watch him offer to give up this chance to square off with whom he has come to see as his most bitter rival. That he would do that for you? That all you would have to do is ask and he would crawl out and wander off into the golden afternoon sunshine like an afterthought…

You really do own his whole heart, you realize at the most inopportune of moments. Your grip on his soul is just as tight as his fingers have always clawed down inside yours…fierce and beautiful in their unrelenting grip.

But haven’t you always known? Hasn’t it always been written across his skin? Etched in his gaze? Sculpted into the bow of his lips when he whispers your name? Evident in his touch?

“No,” you shake your head, willing the mess inside of it to go away, rejecting the thought of him leaving. You want him near, you need him near. To let him go right now, even for a second, seems an agonizing punishment that you cannot bear to suffer. No matter the consequences.

“Stay. But please…” you rush over to him, helping him to his feet while stealing glances at the doorway, “Please just behave and follow my lead, okay? Please?”

”Normally, I like it when you use your manners,” he sighs, smoothing out his clothes, as well as a lock of your hair that has fluttered out of place, “But that’s too many pleases and you look petrified. Why?” His voice is suddenly intense yet careful, as is his grip on your arm, “Does he hurt you?”

They idea is entirely laughable, but there’s no time for that, so you brush him off with a swipe of your hand and a flippant, “Don’t be stupid, Jake.”

Without allowing yourself to think it through, you begin ushering him down the hall towards the front room, but what will you find there? Doom or salvation?

How will these pieces fall together? Something solid and heavy in your heart tells you Jake will do as you have asked and play nice, but another facet buried even deeper inside is rocked with anxiety and screaming that it’s only wishful thinking to believe such a fairytale.

”Hey hon,” jovially rings out as he steps in through the garage, “I saw your car! We’re both home early? Looks like the universe knew how much I missed you!”

Jake turns to catch your eye as you shove him along, but you refuse to meet his gaze. You're unsure of what you’ll find there and this isn’t the time for uncertainties.

Would you find sadness threatening to roll hot tears down his cheeks? Anger threatening to boil over in his fiery chocolate irises? Accusation and resentment for what you’re about to subject him to?

Oh god, you can’t do this! Suddenly, and absurdly, you wish you could fade into the gentle, lush, green paint that you had once rolled upon the hallway walls, paying meticulous attention to detail. Build this home, had been the plan…bury him away under paint and sanded cabinets. Art perched on the walls and throw pillows piled on the bed.

You’d love to disappear and leave them perplexed and confused, wondering what became of you. To vanish into nothing like a dust mote blown away upon the lightest, softest breeze.

You’re a coward.

While your thoughts are busy with that, Jake’s are grappling with each other. Tangled up and struggling. He’d very much like to stomp into the front room and shut this man up. With his booming voice calling out how much he’s missed you like he has some claim over you. Like you’re his. Like he doesn’t understand that you could never really be anyone’s because you’re much too good for this whole goddamn world. That you’re precious, like the rarest of stones and anyone who is lucky enough to hold you in their palm should fall on their knees in thanks.

He sounds so fucking common. Does he think you’re common as well? Jake can’t stomach the thought.

So, yes, he’d like to stroll into the room, casual as you please, and announce that he is taking you away from this ridiculous illusion where you play house and pretend to be satisfied. He longs to tell him how he’s made love to you, how he’s fucked you. How you’ve begged for him and swore no one could ever be him. Jake wants to tell him that the ring he put on your finger has been in his mouth, that he spat it out and you didn’t even care. That you hardly even noticed. Jake would almost kill to watch Mr. Wonderful’s face crumple in defeat and loss…

But he loves you far too much, and to say all those things would hurt you, too.

Scar your heart he will not.

He’s shrugging off his suit blazer when you both appear. It’s a mundane action, one that repeats itself nearly every evening, but you stand still and shellshocked, unable to jolt yourself into some semblance of normalcy until Jake subtly nudges you with a ginger elbow.

“Hi,” you begin, a touch too loudly, “Yeah, you’re early! I actually didn’t end up going to work today. Old friend in town. We went to the movies. And then we came here. He wanted to see the house. I…I told him about it. I was just giving him the tour.”

You sound robotic and ridiculous, but he doesn’t appear to notice. Rather, he looks delighted when his eyes land on Jake and recognition settles in.

”Ah, I know you!” He laughs, marching forward with an outstretched hand. “The almost brother in law. Good to finally meet you.”

His grasp on Jake’s hand is strong and sure as he pumps it up and down. The genuine gladness in his gesture makes you want to tear your own hair out in penance.

Or is it the ‘almost brother in law’ moniker that has made you nauseous?

Yes, that’s what you boiled Jacob down to. You had held nothing back about your relationship with Josh…but Jake? You just couldn’t. To speak of him, to share him that way…it had seemed incomprehensible. And how could you ever put it into words, anyway? How could anyone ever understand what he was to you? What he is to you? No, it had seemed best to keep him locked away, silent and safe in your memories. Tucked away in your heart. The boy in the bubble.

Jake’s face is unreadable as he sizes up this opponent before him. This rival who has just unknowingly stepped into the ring. This blissfully unaware adversary. He is a doe who has wandered idly into the path of a dangerously ravenous mountain lion, and he doesn’t even know it. Ignorance really does seem like bliss in this moment, and you long for it.

“Yes, the almost brother in law,” his tone is slightly clipped, but no one, aside from you - and perhaps his brothers - would ever notice. “That’s me. And you are?”

Here we go. He’s going to love this.

They drop hands and a friendly clap lands on Jake’s shoulder. “I’m Jake, too. What are the odds?”

A sharp, satisfied laugh bursts out of Jake, head tipped back, adam’s apple bobbing gleefully, and you long to tell the smug bastard to just shut the hell up, but it’s over quickly enough.

”Yes,” he sighs, with a shake of his head that ends in his eyes blazing holes into your soul, “What are the odds?”

”’Course this one over here calls me by my middle name, James. Says it fits me. No one else does, though, so choice is yours. Man, it’s so great to finally meet you.” He’s prattling on now, never having met a stranger, “You know we’ve got all your work over there in the case. You’re a hell of a guitar player. I tried to learn in high school, mostly to impress girls…never could get it. Anyway…”

Jake is eyeing him like he doesn’t know what to make of this man standing there, cordial and warm, tossing out compliments and bids for conversation.

His eyes are traveling over this unfamiliar being, now so tangible and real, who has had his hands all over you. Who has had his mouth pressed to your precious body, who has whispered against your skin, who has made love to you in the still of the night, and held you, and rested beside you, breathing in tandem. Who has gotten down on one knee and asked you to be his wife.

And you said yes...you said yes.

He wants to hurt him. Both physically and emotionally. He wants to level him. To crush him into nothing. And though this Jake, James, or whatever his name is, isn’t to blame, he wants it all the same. He wishes he could lure him into his palm like a revolting insect and squeeze until he was no more than something vile to be wiped away with a Kleenex.

Instead, he tilts his head in the direction of the vinyls and shrugs off the accolades, “Fuckin’ Zeppelin cover band.”

James laughs uproariously and gestures into the room welcomingly, “Why are we all standing around like this? Have a seat…please. Make yourself at home. Can I get you something to drink? Water? A beer? Whiskey? I know it’s early, but special occasions call for special circumstances, I always say.”

Eyes on you, he shrugs out a response that would be lost on anybody but you, “I’ll have what you’re having.”

Once you’re alone for a moment, he shakes his head with a gorgeous, if not self-satisfied, smirk sparking to life upon his face. “His name is Jake? Oh, sugar…” he’s laughing softly now, and sinking down into the cushions of the couch, “creature of habit, aren’t you, pretty girl?”

”Shut up!” You hiss, eyes flickering towards the kitchen doorway, “Coincidence. That’s all. Don’t be so fucking full of yourself. Now, please just be nice.”

He quiets down, drawing the back of his forefinger beneath his eye dramatically as if he has laughed himself to tears, “I’m being very nice and you know it. Don’t push it.”

You sit, as far away from him as the couch will allow, but instantly he’s leaned in close. “What do you think he would do if I got down on my knees right here and buried my face in that gorgeous little cunt of yours? Showed him how it’s really done.”

”Jacob!” You barely make a sound as you admonish him with a clipped shove to settle him.

He slinks back into his seat with another laughing shake of his head, “This is perfect.”

”I hate you.” You lie.

”Sure you do, sugar,” he winks, crossing his legs to get comfy, “Sure you do. Almost brother in law, huh? Is that what I’ve been reduced to?”

He’s still chuckling quietly to himself while a strange mix of panic and tears begins to churn around inside of you like a slow moving summer storm. He’s gearing up, you can feel it, and the thought of it all is too much, your metaphorical knees are beginning to shake. This could end so, so badly.

“Later, Jake…” you’re beseeching without shame, pleading with your watery gaze. “We’ll talk about it later. Please just stop.”

His palm cradles your cheek so softly you wonder if anyone has ever touched someone as gently as he touches you, “Settle down, baby. I won’t make trouble for you.”

How laughable that he can’t seem to recognize that you’ve brought this trouble on all by yourself. No help needed.

He has moved to create a respectable distance between the two of you by the time James is sweeping back into the room bearing a tray flush with drinks and snacks.

”Here, sweetie,” he drops a kiss upon the top of your head, presenting a glass. “Made you a mimosa…I know you like to keep it light through the week.”

You somehow manage a thank you and sip at the sweet, bubbly mix, praying it calms your frayed nerves.

”For us,” he extends the tray and you watch as Jake plucks a low ball glass from it, “bourbon. Unless you’d rather browse the bar. Plenty to choose from.”

”Bourbon is fantastic,” Jake nips at his glass. “Thank you.”

There is a palpable disdain hovering around Jake like a murky aura, but there is heartbreak there too. Aching and black. Heavy and weighing down the light that normally follows him around like a strange shadow…and you’d give anything to take it away.

For just a breath, you intend to do just that. To rise to your feet and stomp all over James’ open, trusting heart. To tell him the truth. To tell him you’re leaving. You nearly take Jake by the hand and drag him towards the door and leave everything else behind without explanation…simply to end his suffering.

Your lips nearly part to say the words when you’re cut off.

“Oh. I almost forgot,” James leans forward in his chair and grabs for your hand, absently running his thumb against your own, “Erin called. She said you guys had a great time the other day, said you’d planned something for this weekend? Wedding planning?”

Erin. His sister. You’ve grown close but it wouldn’t hurt to leave her behind. It wouldn’t even sting…not for Jake.

You squeeze his hand with a tiny smile and fight rolling nausea at the mere mention of the wedding in Jake’s presence. From the corner of your eye, you watch him tense, but he recovers quickly and drains his glass to the dredges in one pull.

”Well,” suddenly, he’s on his feet. “I’ve taken enough of your time today. It was good to see you.” His eyes are unreadable and shift quickly away from your own. “James, good to meet you and thank you for the hospitality.”

”Don’t run off on my account,” James is on his feet now as well, “We’d love to have you stay for dinner. I make a mean chicken Kiev, and…”

”No,” Jake interrupts, gaze jumping towards the door as if he can’t get away fast enough. “I’ve got a flight to catch in just a few hours, need to head back…you know how it goes.”

He sounds ineloquent and so unlike himself… and you can feel it - his heartbreak - in your bones as though you’ve crawled inside his body and curled up beside it like a clinging lover.

“Jake,” you can’t seem to move from your seat, your body uncooperative and rebellious, “Your car is still at the theater, let me drive you…”

”Drive me?” He is staring at you, white hot and desperate…the mask is finally slipping. He has played pretend all he can for the day. “And then what?”

”And then…” again, you are a coward. A fucking coward. “I don’t know. What do you mean, and then?”

The room is silent for a beat - with words unspoken crashing into the space between yourself and Jake, and James struggling to understand this strange exchange.

With the slightest nod of his head, Jacob silently encourages you. Urges you. Come with me, sugar…it seems to say, come home.

But still you sit, frozen and paralyzed. A horrified doe staring down the hunter’s muzzle.

Another nod, clipped and more obvious this time, responds to your inaction. “I’ll walk. Again, thank you for having me.”

The door closes behind him in a blink, and he is gone. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve imagined him completely…

Looking down at your shaking hands in your lap, you realize you never even made it to your feet. You sat, unmoving, and watched him go.

~

Hours later, you’re standing outside an unfamiliar door, anxiously clutching at the straps of the bag tossed over your shoulder.

And when that unfamiliar door swings open, your heart unclenches, for there he stands. Showered, smelling of soap and warmth, hair curled into dampened, loose ringlets, beat to hell jeans riding low on his hips.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “If it isn’t Mrs. Wonderful…”

“Hi,” it comes out meek and small, but flush full of the comfort that is being near him.

”How’d you find me?” His arms cross loosely, with a faded smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

”Were you hiding?” Why hasn’t he turned to lead you in?

”From you, pretty girl?” He scoffs as if the very idea is preposterous. “Never.”

Yet, on he stands as though barring your entrance…as though he intends to send you on your way any moment.

”I called Josh,” you offer, wringing at your bag’s handles idly, simply for something to do with your hands. “He told me where you were staying.” Your gaze skitters over the house. “It’s nice. Cozy.”

He nods, “Airbnb. You mentioned something about us always being in hotels, before. I thought, if there was a chance I’d be hosting you, you might like something a little more…domestic. Though, I see now that you have plenty of that going for you already, right? Domesticity?”

“Do I deserve that?”

His shoulders hunch inwardly slightly, he knows you’re right, and he knows he’s being a bit of an asshole as well. “No, I suppose you don’t.”

”Are you going to invite me in? I feel a little stupid standing out here.” Vulnerability seems of such insignificance when it is Jacob in question. He knows your bare soul so well anyway.

Still, he allows you to dangle on his string, twisting languidly in the soft, evening breeze. “Why’d you call Josh to find me? Why not just call me? Missing my better half now that you’ve had a bit of fun with me?”

Now there’s a slight irritation traipsing along your nerves, and damned if you’re going to mask it. “Alright, either let me in or tell me to go to hell. I’m not going to beg for your good graces.”

”Are you coming in to stay? Or are you here to say goodbye? Because my heart has had enough for one day.”

”Oh, fuck off, Jacob.” You huff, pushing past him into the house. You slump your bag off your shoulder and onto the floor and then turn on him. “Sorry to have interrupted your pity party, but what did you think was going to happen today? Did you think it was going to be spectacular and wonderful to walk around in the life that I live with someone else? You practically fucked me in the bedroom I share with him. You lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree when you realized he was home. You wanted this, and you know what I think your problem is? I think you liked him.”

”Fuck you!” He slams the door closed and looks you over like you’ve lost your mind entirely. “You think I liked him? I couldn’t give a fuck less about him. He made my skin crawl. Do you know what it was like for me to watch him touch you? The way he looked at you…”

He falls silent and suddenly refuses to meet your eyes, and your heart breaks right alongside his.

Tentatively, you reach out and rest your palm against his cheek, “The way he looked at me doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It never really has.”

His hand floats up to meet yours, “He looked at you with so much love. Like he would give you the entire world. It made me feel not good enough. It made me feel like I should leave and let it be. Like I was wrong for showing up and rattling your whole life around.”

You’re backing him up against the door now, his gorgeous, stricken face held fast in your sure and gentle hands. “Not good enough? You? Oh, Jakey…” you pet at his face worshipfully, “We have a garden, remember? And you help me harvest, and I know you feed me those tiny tomatoes I like. You know? The little yellow ones? And they’re all gone before we even get inside.”

He’s nodding along as you pepper kisses upon his cheeks and forehead.

“And we have a porch swing, and a piano, and beautiful babies, and a cat…and you sing to us, and love us hard every single minute of every single day. And you make us so, so happy. And I wake up every morning with a smile on my face because I packed this stupid bag,” your foot darts out and kicks it, “and shoved my way inside when you refused to invite me in.”

”Don't say things you don’t mean, sugar…” his hands are in your hair now, guiding your mouth to his own so that he can lick inside it. He needs to taste you - needs to feel the silken velvet of your tongue, “I can’t take it, baby.”

You’re breathing each other's breath, lips like feathers dancing together soft and sweet, holding on to one another as if you might both just vanish into nothing in an instant, “I mean it, Jake…” you promise, “I mean it. You are everything,”

You can almost hear the pounding of his heart as the heat of his need begins to radiate and warm you, “Because I can’t stand the thought of leaving, of thinking you’ll follow, only for you to change your mind. It would kill me, sugar. So, please don’t say these things to me if you—“

You silence him with a deep, feverish kiss and then break away, forehead to forehead, “I’m not following later. I’m coming with you. This is where I am now…with you.”

Tears well in his eyes and spill over, hot and saline, as you lick and kiss them away. “I love you, pretty girl…” it chokes out of him, rasping as he swallows thickly, “I love you so fucking much. I’ve imagined this moment in so many different ways, but it was never as perfect as this. Tell me you know how much I love you.”

”I know, and I—“ it is he who interrupts with a desperate kiss this time.

And you know that later he will ask, and when he asks you will tell him what was said back at that house that broke his heart in two - how you ended things with the one who really never mattered at all…

…but for now all that matters is the taste of him on your lips. His air-drying hair looped through your searching fingers. Your hearts and lungs syncing, with his tears like brackish diamonds in your stomach because you have finally swallowed his sorrow and unburdened him from it.

He seems lighter in your arms already…closer now to the sun than he had ever been to the moon before.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @thelvnternskeeper @paintmyhouse @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @calumspretty @sad1lynn @demolitionndann @gvfpal @starcatcher-jake @gretavangroupie @hugorobinson @jaketlove @josh-iamyour-mama

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[sizzleissues]

Criticise the atla live action all you want but stay away from the casting because I’ve not seen a single person be normal about it.

1. PORTRAYAL OVER APPEARANCE. Once an actor reaches the bare minimum of physical characteristics (ahem, the lack of Asian actors in the movie versions, ahem), they’re ability to capture the mannerisms and character of the character trumps looking like they were ripped from the drawing. It’s a happy coincidence if they also match the appearance exactly but if your only gripe is the actor isn’t pretty/soft/sharp/attractive enough to you, then you don’t have a solid foundation.

There’s too many people being weird over azula’s casting, clearly wanting her to be more attractive in their eyes. (Though they hide behind ‘accuracy’) She’s portraying a 14 yo. You do not need her to be hot in any other way than her fire bending.

2. PORTRAYALS DOES NOT EQUAL WRITING. The actors do not write the show — if they say something the character wouldn’t say it isn’t bad casting, it’s bad writing.

#sizzle rambles #atla #avatar the last airbender #avatar netflix

[qqueenofhades]

Do you have any idea why people are so fixated on Biden’s age but not Trumps? I know he’s 81, but Trump isn’t exactly far behind at 77: in fact he’s the second oldest. This keeps stumping me: it’s not a big gap in age

There are a few reasons for this, yes. As you might imagine, all of them are very stupid.

First and most critically is the way Trump's violent extremism has been completely neutered, mainlined, and normalized by the mainstream media. That's why we still have said media largely treating this as a normal presidential election, instead of that of a successful incumbent against literally the most deranged, unfit, treasonous, criminally and civilly liable, already-led-an-attempted-coup, deep-in-hock-to-Russia, adjudicated rapist, 91-felony-counts-indicted career cheater, grifter, and failed businessman who nonetheless appeals to the still-very-powerful isolationist, racist, white supremacist, and Christian nationalist elements in this country. Crucially, he also appeals to the billionaire class that owns the media and who will benefit from Trumpian tax, economic, and labor policies (especially now that Biden used the SOTU to once more call for a minimum 25% corporate/billionaire tax rate). The media also openly wants Trump back in office, as all the shitass insane things he did (and will do) are good for ratings, and allows them to act like the Principled Truth Tellers, instead of shilling so hard for a greasy orange fascist that we may well lose our 250+ year old democratic republic if he, God forbid, is elected again. Profit is more, well, profitable than truthful reporting, so the media has been completely disincentivized to cover this in any accurate way. We presume they will all wake up with shocked Pikachu faces when Trump packs them off to concentration camps with everyone else he hates, as he has openly promised to do.

Because we're also starting from an underlying premise that everything is the Democrats' fault, this means the party should be blamed for running said successful incumbent for reelection, even if he has low poll numbers which have in fact largely been produced by the media's relentlessly stupid and dishonest coverage. I was reading an article in the AP today about how 15 major student/youth groups have endorsed Biden and plan to work for his reelection; even so, the author could.not.stop going on and on about how Zomgz Old Biden was and how supposedly most Americans thought he was mentally unfit for the job (which is a straight-up lie produced by the endless "Zomgz Biden Old!!!!" handwringing have been subjected to without end. Weird how that works). That is also why we have all those idiotic "Biden should step down!!!" opinion pieces by Very Smart Pundits, notwithstanding the fact that a) it would be completely insane, b) it would be completely insane, and c) somehow nobody seems to think that hey, maybe the Republicans shouldn't nominate an openly seditionist generally god-awful fascist shitweasel who has already been the worst thing to happen to American politics in the twenty-first century (I'd say also the twentieth century, but unfortunately that was when we had Reagan).

In other words, Trump is just taken as a given, while the media spends all its time attacking Biden, calling on Biden to step down, amplifying "concerns" about Biden's age, producing idiotic narratives about Biden, distorting or ignoring the things Biden has done, and then writing concern-troll navel-gazing pieces earnestly wondering why people don't like Biden. (Apparently people's opinion of Biden drastically improves when they learn what he's actually accomplished, but the relentless parade of lies somehow makes it difficult for them to learn what those actually are. Again, weird.) Likewise the endless coverage we get of Biden's smallest slips or stumbles, while the media resolutely ignores Trump's full-on recent descent into absolute raving dementia. Hello, double standards!

This is also fueled by a heaping helping of racism and misogyny, because if God forbid Biden does die in office, what happens? The vice president takes over! We have a clear and constitutionally established precedent for this that has happened many times before! Except, oh no scary!!!, Biden's vice president is a brown woman, and that means SHE WOULD BE IN CHARGE!!!! TERRIFYING!!! So all the scaremongering around Biden's age, aside from being generally dishonest and stupid, has as its implicit message that sure, maybe you're fine voting for an old white man, but are you really comfortable doing that if it means a brown woman might also have the chance to be president?? I DON'T THINK YOU SHOULD BE!!!!!

Anyway, yes. It's a complete straw man argument, it's fueled by bad faith and stupidity, and as with most things in the current American media environment, it's geared toward helping Trump win. Because you know. Something something BUT HER EEEEEEEEEEEEMAILS BUT BIDEN WAS OOOOOOOOOOOOLD.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts

[broflovski-brah]

it’s kinda funny how almost every character with albinism in media is always portrayed as a villain. as if that isn’t feeding into every stereotype out there.

the only protagonist i’ve found with albinism in media was in a book where the girl turns out to be a witch. which is arguably on the level of bad as the evil albino stereotype.

idk why this bothers me so much. nobody knows about albinism and it’s not like it’s actively discriminated against. but i wish there was more media where more normal people had albinism instead of the PWA turning out to be an evil villain or a witch, they turn out to be a normal person with normal struggles. like give me a story about a character with albinism trying to navigate the world on their own terms, trying to fit in and such WITHOUT using stereotypes.

like yes. i know people being ignorant towards a certain condition isn’t the worst thing in the world. maybe i have no right to complain about it given the other tings that are happening in the world that kinda trump issues like this. but it’s still an issue. the fact that people believe these things is just sad to me tbh.

another thing that bugs me is when people refer to us as ‘albinos’. like not everyone hates that word. some PWAs are okay with it. i just say it because it’s shorter and easier to type out than ‘person with albinism’ but even in media seeing the character being referred to as ‘the albino’ makes my stomach turn. people use the word ‘albino’ to refer to animals; most of the time. the word itself can feel dehumanizing sometimes, in certain contexts. for me it’s better to say person with albinism. it’s putting the person before the disability and it doesn’t feel as degrading.

anyway. my inbox is always open if you have questions for me about how to write a character with albinism. i know nobody is gonna see this or care but i just thought i’d say smth.

#skipper speaks #albinism #slbino #albinism awareness #writing help #this is really important to me #any reblogs would help tramensously #visual impairment #visual disability #disability #ableism #stereotypes #i know in this day and age u can’t even be complaining about people saying hurtful things about people like me in media #and spreading said stereotypes given that there are actual groups dealing with a lot worse #and i feel bad complaining about it #but it needs to be said #i guess #idk

[txtmetonight]

Garlicky Revenge ✆

call summary ⋆ ★ Jungwon hates your new punishment

pairing *. * Vampire! Yang Jungwon x Fem! Reader

genre⋆ ★ Fluff

warnings *. crude language, it's just really fluffy lol, grammar mistakes

call duration⋆ ★ 824

a/n*. * I loved this one but please tell me why it took me forever to find a pic for the banner oml and he's so cute i'm gonna cry help me

taglist ⋆ ★ @kflixnet

“(Y/n), you’re not serious, are you?”

“As serious as I can be, Jungwon!” You scoff, turning away to withhold a growing smile on your face, yet it slowly diminishes when your eyes water from the intense smell, strung upon your neck.

“You can’t refuse me like this, love! You… you don’t even like it either, I can see it on your face!” He points an accusatory finger at you, making you burst into loud chuckles before you shake your head.

“You told me that you would stop sneaking behind me like that when I was in the bathroom. I almost had a fucking heart attack because of you yesterday. This is what you get now.”

Jungwon cringes at the way garlic moves when you sway back and forth, waiting for him to take a step closer, a rather smug grin on your face when his lips quirk down into a nastier grin. “This isn’t fair!” He whines, sounding like a petulant toddler. “I’ve missed you so much and you won’t even let me hug you?! I think I might actually die.”

“You’re not going to die, Wonnie. Plus, you’ve lived without me for like… 400 years before. What’s another week?” You’re teasing; the stench was already giving you a well-deserved headache, so it wouldn’t be long before you took the odd neckwear off. But it was still amusing to see the way that he freezes completely, going paler than he was before.

“You–you’re kidding? A week?! I’m not waiting for that long!” He cries, and before you know it, a small black cat appears just where Jungwon stands, its eyes already pulled to mimic great sorrow.

It meows and wails pitifully, pawing the living room carpet, knowing well enough that cats were preferably your biggest weakness. A trump card played well by your boyfriend whenever times become desperate.

“Oh, you can’t do that to me!? That’s so not fair!”

The cat (Jungwon) rolls over in despair and raises a furry paw over its head to mimic death, letting out a shrill cry. Rounding the island countertop, you finally sigh and give in by taking off the garlic and wiping your neck and hands with a wet washcloth while you try to trap some of the anger you were feeling before.

But how could you even be furious at him, even when he transforms back into his normal self, sharp canines glinting while he happily smiles at you, his back on the ground? Your heart swells at the sight, and butterflies skim your stomach. “I fucking hate you, Yang Jungwon,” you grumble, yet you couldn’t help but scoot a little closer to him sheepishly.

Perhaps you did miss him more than you wanted to admit.

“Really? Well, that’s a shame because I really love you, pretty girl.” Jungwon pats next to him, and when you point at your neck, where the spice left its odor on your skin, he waves it off dismissively. “A really big shame,” you giggle when he slightly gags at your arm touching his cheek. Nevertheless, he pulls you closer and pretends to chomp on your hand, your cheeks turning red as he puts a soft kiss to where he bit you.

“I wasn’t lying when I said that I was going to die if you weren't in my life anymore.”

You shake your head and press a chaste kiss to his jaw. “Me too. I don’t think I can imagine my future without you.”

“Yeah, but would you drive a stake through your heart for me?” He jokes but then goes silent when you just stare at him, eyes swirling with so much love, his non-beating heart thrumming alive for a few moments, just under your gaze.

“I would willingly live with you for eternity.”

Jungwon’s eyes grow wide as he gets up from his position to look at you in awe. “No, you woul–”

“I would really. For you, Wonnie… I suppose I would do anything,” you say, and before he could say anything, you pull him into a kiss, soft and sweet. His fingers cascade the side of your face gently, and your hand encases itself in his hair, tugging it lightly when he wouldn’t let you take a breath.

“I love you. I really do,” he quietly says.

“I love you too.”

And the moment goes silent for a while, your lips just ghosting over him in a tender peace you wished would last forever. With him by your side.

But then the gentle second is lost when Jungwon opens his stupid mouth, earning a hit from you.

“You said you would do anything, yeah? First off, please don’t ever punish me with garlic ever again; I was seriously going to cry!”

“Really? Next time, I’m going to move houses and never ever invite you inside!”

Jungwon gasps and clutches his shirt dramatically. It makes you roll your eyes, but you rub your cheek over his chest in affection.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

#enhypen x reader #jungwon x reader #k-labels #enhypen #enha #enhypen imagines #enhypen jungwon #enhypen x you #enhypen fluff #enhypen scenarios #jungwon #jungwon fluff #jungwon enhypen #enha x reader #enha imagines #enha fluff #enha scenarios #engene #kpop x reader #kpop ff #kpop fanfic #kpop

[syrupgirl]

Hi can I request number 26 with a female reader and Neteyam please?

“Oh look, they’re back, they’re back!” Tuk jumped up and down on the balls of her little feet. Her tail swished back and forth behind her, swishing up leaves an it’s wake.

Neteyam looked up from the herb he was grinding in time to see the scouting team return from their mission. Typically, Neteyam would join them on these types of expeditions, but his grandmother had decided he needed to start taking his role as the next Olo’eyktan seriously. He though he had been, but apparently not to Mo’at’s (high) standards.

Neteyam set down his work and jogged over to the cliffs edge. The steady beat of the Ikran’s wings got louder and louder as he got closer and he could just make out their riders. He got as close as he could to the edge without the risk of getting crushed and smiled brightly.

Lo’ak touched down first and dismounted his Ikran with ease. It was clear on the boys face that he was eager to report back to their father on his findings.

“Hey bro.” Lo’ak muttered briefly before completely breezing past his older brother and off further into the camp.

Neteyam snorted a short ‘welcome back, bro’ before turning back to the rest of the squad. Suddenly, a squealing sound erupted from somewhere in front of him. He squinted and tip toed slightly as he tried to look past the crowd of riders taking up his field of vision.

Finally, he got a good look over everyone’s heads and could finally see the spruce of all that racket. The first thing he took notice of was his youngest sister who had latched herself onto one of the scouts. And the second was who the scout was.

“Yn!” Tuktirey screamed with her little lungs, her eyes almost completely shut from the fat of her cheeks being pushed up from her big smile.

You gripped her back with equal vigor. Albeit, a little awkwardly, since she barely met your chest in height.

“Oh, my little tuktuktuk!” You gently pinched the tips of her twitching ears as she pried herself off of you and smiled when she giggled hysterically.

Neteyam watched the two of you as you continued to converse animatedly. He felt a little creepy just..watching you but he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt such a sweet moment. It warmed his heart to see the love and care you had for Tuk. You treated her like your own little sister and she soaked up every single ounce of your attention and affection that she could get.

“-ere is he? Netey- Oh! There he is! Neteyam!”

The eldest Sully was quickly snapped out of his creeping by Tuk as she trudged towards him, dragging you by the hand behind her.

“You didn’t even say ‘hi’ to her!” She mock pouted and shoved you in front of her. Truthfully, Neteyam did feel bad that he didn’t seek you out the minute you returned but that feeling didn’t trump the embarrassment creeping up his neck at this forced proximity between you two.

You snickered at the girl, “Oh hush, Tuk. He is saying ‘hello’ now isn’t he?” Turning back to him, you raised an eyebrow. As if to ask ‘are you saying hello?’

“Uh- oh um yeah. Hi- hey.” Yeah, because that sounded like a normal greeting.

You chuckled briefly before you wrapped your arms around his body and squeezing tightly.

“Hi, Neteyam.”

The boy responded with a light huff and his arms wrapping around you. He settled his head next to your and tilted his face slightly towards your hair, taking a deep breath in.

All too quickly, your head turned which forced Neteyam to move his out of the way. He was greeted by your incredulous smile and he could feel heat bleeding into his face.

“Did you just…Smell my hair?” You asked through chuckles.

Before you could blink, Neteyam was out of your embrace and vehemently denying that any smelling took place.

You and Tuk broke down in your own fit of giggles at his sputtering which made Netuam all the more flustered and desperate to clear his case, waving his arms around.

i don’t like this very much but I hope it’s okay for you💋

#neteyam is ooc #not beta'd #not beta read #avatar #avatar way of water #avatar fanfiction #avatar imagine #avatar 2 #neteyam #neteyam x reader #my mighty warrior <3 #neteyam sully #neteyam fic #neteyam x you #neteyam x y/n #neteyam sully x reader #neteyam imagine

[sorendeimos]

✮ Things Severus will never say ✮

↳ a look through his diary

The pain I feel is wholly insignificant in the face of your betrayal. Oh sure, we have fought and hurt before but this time the pain I feel at your hand is so raw, so visceral, that the only way to soothe it is understanding that you are smiling. Your happiness trumps the pain I feel… I just wish you hated him like we used to so that it didn’t hurt so much when that smile was directed at him.

—after the rejected apologies

They scream and yell today. And yesterday. And every day since. Father doesn’t like when I do magic, Mother says it’s normal for My age and to just not show Father what I can do.

—age 8, 7 months after his first accidental magic

I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM I HATE HIM

— after his father hit him for the first time, age 8

ILL KILL HIM ILL KILL HIM ILL KILL HIM ILL KILL HIM ILL KILL HIM ILL KILL HIM ILL KILL HIM ILL KILL HIM ILL KILL HIM ILL KILL HIM ILL KILL HIM ILL KILL HIM ILL KILL HIM ILL KILL HIM ILL KILL HIM ILL KILL HIM

—after his father hits his mother the first time, age 8

I met a girl today that’s just like me. She had hair like fire and eyes like spring. I want to be Her friend.

—after meeting Lily, age 9

I told Her she’s like me. She seemed relieved. I hope She isn’t like me entirely.

—after telling Lily she’s a witch, age 9

Lily and I spend almost every day together, but never at my house. She’s too good for that place.

—on spending time with Lily, age 9, almost 10.

Petunia is the worst. I hope She gets a bee caught up that horrid upturned nose of hers.

—on Petunia, age 10

Mother has told me about Hogwarts today. She says I will be sorted Ravenclaw for my mind and thirst for knowledge. I want to be in Slytherin, to follow Her footsteps.

—on going to Hogwarts, age 10

I’m unsure what hurts more. My pride or losing my first friend. The person on whom I could depend. Who I was changing for. Who looked at me and still believed I had some semblance of good inside, even when I’d proven time and again I don’t. And now I don’t have Her so what, pray tell, is the fucking point. I’ll write to Lucius in the morning.

—after the Assault

The Malfoys, while newly-wed, are gracious hosts. I find comfort in Their home unlike anywhere I’ve ever been before. The future seems promising, and Lucius intends to speak with a benefactor on my potions skill. I shall have word back before Easter on career prospects under the sponsorship of this benefactor. If all goes well, my mastery funding will be secured, a job for after lined up, and I will no longer worry about feeding myself in the off season. Things are looking up for once.

—after Christmas, age 16

Joseph Aston - 25–34 Emily Aston - 24 -35 Joseph Aston Jr - 8–36 ••• Marie LeBlanc - 12–57 Damien LeBlanc - 45–56 ••• Charity Burbage - 37–158

I wish that the love he feels for me didn’t exist some days. He smiles at me and it feels like the sun on my skin after months of winter. He touches my hand and my skin feel alight and ablaze. It will hurt when he leaves me.

—Severus on Remus, age 15

The wolf has some fucking nerve attempting to lecture me on how to teach my class. As if he isn’t a beast in a man’s clothing. As if he isn’t a predator waiting to strike me dead.

—Severus on Remus, age 35

Potter and Black hate me, and I don’t know why. They just do… just like Father then. I suppose it's par for the course.

—musing about the marauders, age 11

I miss you. God, how I miss you. It’s been several months and it still hurts so much. So very much. Harry is safe, Dumbledore will not tell me where he is, but he is safe. Cared for. I hope he is loved. I wish I had not chosen this path. The one that took you away. But I am here now and I will work harder now to fix my mistakes. There’s clean-up to be done, people to put away. Wounds to heal, I only hope that if you look down on me, it is not with scorn with which you do it. Albus thinks this war is not over. If it isn’t… I’ll protect him. I’ll protect him with my life, I swear this. I will do for him what I should have from the beginning with you. I will change. I will be better. I will keep him safe.

—6 months after the Potters’ deaths.

He is more like his father than I expected. This will be tying. I will keep my promise but it will… be a trial.

—after Harry comes to Hogwarts

Give me patience, Lily, your son is every bit your husband and I regret to say I rise to his taunts every time. Patience, for strength, will send me to Azkaban and him to an early grave.

—sometime in Harry’s third year

This is my last entry. It has been years since the war began, longer than expected, and I will likely not make it out. I only pray the souls I doomed forgive me, but I don’t blame Them if not.

—the final page, day before the Battle.

#severus snape #sordidwriting #sorendeimos #pro severus snape #severus prince #writing #pro snape #severus #remus lupin x severus snape #pro severus #severus snape's diary #harry potter fanfiction #fanfiction writer

[socialjusticeinamerica]

These MAGA “parents” have been terrorizing schools in Massachusetts for a few years now. A small handful of radicals go from community to community screaming threats and insults at school staff, school boards, and normal parents. Many teachers, administrators, librarians, and board members have had to resign or even move out of the community. In person and online threats of violence have escalated resulting in police involvement and lawsuits against MAGAts organized and funded by various MAGA groups. There a few if any after school events anymore due to violent threats and complaints of trespassing on school property and at the homes of staff are on the rise.

MAGA terrorists like Marjorie Taylor Greene have shared graphic imagery of the LGBT community that has redneck parents worked into a frenzy. It’s become an all out war against the LGBT at the local level. In the small towns and suburbs it’s become very difficult to operate public schools with any sense of calm or normalcy. In the few cities the MAGAts stay away for the most part due to their overpowering fear of urban environments.

A large number of these MAGAts have been proven to not even be parents or residents of the communities they terrorize. In one nearby town the mother and father leading the MAGAt charge are a prostitute and drug dealer being paid to crisis act. They bring in that stupid Tucker Carlson book about the penguins and rant and rave at LGBT students and staff and then go to their out of state home and perform really nasty cam shows. It’s total lunacy. If they’re pulling this crap in one of the bluest states try to imagine what a nightmare it is to be an educator in a Deep South state.

One man turned this entire country upside down. He created a radicalized cult that is now being manipulated by the Neo-Nazi oligarchs, the Christo-fascist evangelicals, and the RepubliKKKlan assholes. Dark money flowing from billionaire oligarchs has perverted this nation and has about a third of Americans planning to kill the rest of us in the name of Trump. What we’re witnessing is the beginning of the RepubliKKKlan endgame. They didn’t expect Trump to get into the presidency but once they realized his power over the masses they decided to go all in. The Republicans in Congress are not working for America and it’s citizens anymore and are plotting to rewrite the Constitution and created a fascist state. The oligarchs have already purchased the SCOTUS and a plurality of state legislatures. The militias are poised to strike and the street brawlers have been agitating at the local level. They’ve even been launching attacks on local power grids in the hopes of destabilizing the government and creating an environment suitable for a civil/race war. They’re not smart people and all this is out there in the public domain. It’s fairly easy to get into their social media groups and see the directives sent to them by oligarch backed political associations and follow their progress.

Whether they’ll be successful or fall flat on their faces remains to be seen but we’re going to see increasing political violence from the neighborhoods to the nations capital. They have funding, arms, a measure of organization, and some training. They’re biggest drawback is that they’re dumb as shit. Being stupid, poor, cowardly, and unhealthy isn’t a recipe for success in an armed political conflict. Oligarchs always hedge their bets and still have plausible deniability plans in place so they don’t have to flee the country afterwards. So if things go wrong for them on Jan 6th they’ll again sacrifice their pawns and hide behind lawyers and crooked Congressmen.

I’m not going to be ruled by Trump, Crow, Musk, Murdoch, DeVos, Prince, Mercer, Leo, and the rest of these fascist oligarchs. We must take their dark money and corporations out of politics. We must smash their political associations such as ALEC and the Federalist Society. Finally we need to jail the oligarch criminals, their Republikkkan insurrectionidts, and any MAGAt dumb enough to follow their direction.

[odinsblog]

Trump didn’t look like his normal smug self at his arraignment. None of the unwarranted cockiness, and he didn’t talk any shit until he was safely back home in Florida.

Think maybe it finally occurred to him that he might finally be held accountable for something for the very first time in his life?

I’ve been to enough arraignments with family and friends. I’ve seen that “oh shit” look before. I’ve seen it enough to recognize it when I see it. That shit hit different when you’re actually standing in front of a judge who could conceivably lock YOUR ass up. Like, you are completely powerless and nowhere near being in control. And not being in control gots to be unsettling when you were once the shot caller in charge of basically everything.

This isn’t me asking IF you think Trump will be found guilty. Maybe, maybe not. This is me recognizing the look of fear in a courtroom when I see it. If we’re truly a nation of laws, then in this case that’s a good thing, because everyone is supposed to be equal under the law. Stated differently, no one is supposed to be above the law. Not even former presidents occupants of the White House.

Trust me: Trump was humbled and skurred. I’ve heard pundits mischaracterize it as him “scowling” and “mean mugging” — but I call bullshit! He was finally humbled. Watch him sitting at that table again. That look on his face was fear.

#politics #donald trump #trump arraignment #observations #clowndictment

[jones-friend]

All you non US peeps need to know abt US politics is we have two parties, they’re two wings of the same bird. You can vote blue or red but the train heads in the same direction.

You can also vote blue and get red. In 1988 George HW Bush won the presidency and a 52.8% voter turnout rate is considered normal. That was 35 years ago, and it was the last time a republican party won the popular vote without being an incumbent wartime president. George W Bush won the 2000 election without the majority of votes with a controversy regarding Florida talked about over twenty years later. Then Trump won the 2016 election without the popular vote again. He is also poised to do well this election despite his many criminal cases proceeding.

Its why peeps get demoralized when they’re told vote blue no matter who. I agree with the sentiment but it SUCKS. Bc even in a best case scenario democrats still pass republican legislation to “reach across the aisle”, meanwhile republicans are making it illegal to serve in office as a democrat (see: the Wisconsin legislature). So you still have to vote otherwise it gets much worse. Its like having to choose do you wanna explode your house with you in it or go hungry. It sucks.

But also not voting isn’t an option otherwise blow your house up wins. Barring a few exceptions you only stand to lose fast or slow.

[boxmanhq]

If Adam falls how strong would he be?(ported from Ao3)

So Adam is pretty strong and I’m tired of people pretending otherwise. First, when we see him when he sings “Hell is Forever” He shows he can make a hologram? Astral projection? I don’t know, he makes a visual copy of himself that is incorporeal, but we then see that he can choose to make it interact with objects which is fucking terrifying as a concept, I mean look at poor Charlie’s eyes when she realizes he could have hurt her at any point.

Then we see him create these golden exorcist clone things that are pretty neat, they seem to be capable of just about everything a normal exorcist is, and this seems to have no strain on him physically or mentally as he is able to play the guitar and sing while doing this (and they are moving around and dancing while he does that).

Then he creates clouds which suggests he can just….choose to manipulate the weather(scary for several reasons). And obviously he can fly just like any other angel, although we see both him and Lute float and fly without their wings moving so maybe they are just magic bullshit??

We also see Adam is capable of spying on people(at least in hell) and apparently they just have no way of noticing that? He can also create portals which is always a fun ability (once again he can do all of this with no visible strain). He can also summon his golden guitar axe, which is a holy weapon and can also shoot a projectile slash which has decent range. And said axe wounded Alastor enough (with one slash) that he decided to leave.

But his trump card is absolutely the giant fuck off beams of light. One burst vaporized Pentious and his blimp, and while using two hands the beam was capable of slicing through the whole hotel and the hill it stood on. And once again Adam didn’t appear drained by doing ANY of that, I mean he immediately goes to attack Lucifer after that.

Adam also withstood several hits from Lucifer, who is the strongest being in hell, and Adam got back up. Even after Lucifer entered his more serious form, Adam got back up after getting hit several times in the face by said form, so clearly Adam is durable on top of all that. Hell, he even shows a pretty high pain tolerance, because Charlie stabs him through the arm and he gets up after that and his first reaction was to gesture at the wound like he was upset it stained his clothes. I mean you could chalk that up to shock but he keeps fighting after that and then fights Lucifer.

And then the cherry on top is that both Lucifer and Alastor comment on how Adam is ‘sloppy’ or has ‘let himself go’. Like, that implies this isn’t Adam at his strongest.

I don’t know if I missed anything but these are the things that came to me off the top of my head. Now, keeping all of this in mind, how powerful would Adam be as a sinner? Because we see several sinners become extremely powerful after entering hell, some seemingly just arriving with new scary powers. All of Adams talk about being the first man is NOT for show. If that’s the power he got upon entering heaven, surely entering hell would lead to similar results. Sure, he’d probably lose his divine abilities but I think he’d gain quite a bit in exchange.

Now that’s if he’s a sinner but there is another possibility. What if he were a fallen angel like Lucifer? Because we see despite Lucifer’s falling he still can summon these golden instruments, which just so happen to look an awful lot like Adams guitar. This implies that Adam should, in theory, be able to keep similar angelic abilities despite falling, hell he might even gain some more demonic ones due to this change (maybe it would result in him losing some oomph from his divine abilities? Lucifer seems to prefer fire but we don’t know what he had before).

But all of this is to ask what you guys think his abilities would be like, there are no wrong answers I just want to hear everyone’s opinion on this.

Although I should mention there is a clear division in what is just “for show” and what Adam can actually do during musical sequences, we see the abilities I’ve listed even after those scene transition bits so I’m saying those are real and the ones that happen purely for visual effect are just that, purely visual.

#hazbin hotel #sinner adam #adam hazbin hotel #fallen angel adam #hazbin hotel adam #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #archive of our own #power scaling #kind of

[fayedolan]

The cop who didn’t hold the door for Trump was literally doing what you’d normally do? Like when you walk through a doorway with a group, you assume the person behind you is gonna put their hand out to keep the door open for themselves once you’ve walked through. This isn’t the diss y’all think it is lol If anything, it shows how insular Trump’s been living, how used he’s become to people bowing to him. Don’t let your hate for Trump negate the older hate for the NYPD.

#donald trump #i say this as a lifelong new yorker #efficiency over courtesy you wipe your own nose like a big boy