#texas is the next hellscape
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I am not surprised at all, but I am hurt. Hurt more than I thought I would be. Hurt that white women would vote for their own oppression and have more children senselessly shot in schools. Hurt that ICWA (Indian Child Care Act) will have less of a chance of being protected, which will most likely be overturned today. Hurt that so many human rights are going to continually be violated, that more rights will be wiped away. Hurt that there will be less of a chance for my representives to fight for a more progressive world.
My roomates are trans, and I don't think they can fully process how their livelihood is going to be in danger.
I'm not okay and I am afraid. I am trapped here. And I deeply am infuriated over the voting suppression in US, especially Texas. I hate being trapped here
#beto lost#texas is the next hellscape#elections#voting supression#oppression#womens rights#LGBTQ rights#trans rights#abortion rights#body autonomy#women's rights#human rights#gun violence#beto#living in texas#Texas elections#beto o'rourke#greg abbott#Texas sucks
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Lift Me Up (J.Seresin)
Pairing: Jake Seresin x reader, Jake Seresin x GN!reader
Word Count: 1294
A/N: There was no prompt or request to make me write this. I wrote it to help a friend. They recently lost someone very near and dear to their heart, and I hated that I couldn't be there to help them grieve. So I decided to do the next best thing. I wrote about our favorite naval aviator helping them through this horrible time. I've never written a gender neutral reader before, so I consulted with a couple people to make sure I did it properly. Thank you so much @jobean12-blog and @nuggetynoodle!!
TW: death of a loved one, dealing with grief, angst, a little fluff (because our beloved Jake tries to lift our spirits)...
‼️⚠️I do not give permission for any of my work to be copied, translated or reposted anywhere else but on my own blog and AO3.⚠️‼️
This is for you, my dearest @buckysdollforlife.
Masterlist
You blinked yourself awake that morning, not immediately remembering what you had to do later. When the memory hit you, you almost physically recoiled, the sadness hit you like a punch to the gut. The emptiness in your chest was like nothing you’d felt up until this point.
He must’ve sensed you were awake, because you felt his arm tighten around your waist as you were assaulted by the memory of the last couple of weeks. You were so grateful to be able to lean on him during this entire thing.
“How are you feeling, darlin’?”
“Is this a nightmare, Jake?” you asked him quietly and without turning around to look at him. “Is that why everything sucks? Am I still asleep, stuck in some never ending hellscape?”
Jake pulled you back, tighter against his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder and leaving a trail of soft kisses.
“I wish I could say yes. I wish I could say this was all just a nightmare and you’ll wake up in a world where she’s still here. I’m sorry that I can’t. I’d give anything to give her back to you.”
You turned around in his arms and placed a hand on his cheek.
“I know you would. That’s why I love you.” You gave him a small smile and leaned in for a peck on his lips. “Thank you for everything you’ve done during this whole thing.”
“You don’t have to thank me”, he said with that cocky smile only Jake Seresin could give. “You’re my person.”
You were still somewhat numb to the world by the time your aunt’s funeral came around and you had intended to simply dress in black, but Jake convinced you to have a bath and surprised you with your favorite bath bomb from LUSH. As you sat soaking in the glittery blue water thanks to the Intergalactic bath bomb, Jake washed your hair and scrubbed away the tears tracks on your face.
You still dressed in black, but wore a cardigan with yellow and blue flowers, your aunt’s favorite. When you were finished getting ready, you sat on the edge of your bed to watch Jake finish getting ready.
“You don’t have to dress all fancy, you know.” Jake looks at you in the mirror and smiles.
“I know darlin’...”, he replies as he slides his belt through the loops of his dark blue pants, making sure the clip was on the correct side of the buckle. “...but your aunt always said she loved a man in uniform, so I wanted to do this for her.”
“Jake…I just fixed my face.”
“Now, sweetheart, ya know there ain’t nothin’ ‘bout that face I’d fix, right?”
“Ok, wow, Mr. Texas”, you said with a laugh. “Your accent is sometimes almost non-existent and sometimes, just super strong.”
“It happens.” He flipped his shirt collar up and turned to face you, holding his tie. “Would you mind helpin’ a guy out?”
You stood and took the tie from him, placing it under the collar, and tied it in a Windsor knot. When you finished, you carefully took his coat from the hangar and held it open for him. After he slid his arms in, you smoothed the shoulders out and helped him adjust the lapels.
“Thanks sweetheart.” You unzipped the protective cover of Jake’s white service cap and handed it to him.
“Lookin’ good lieutenant.”
“You ready to go?”
“Do we have to?
“We do.”
“Let’s do this.”
The funeral had been lovely, a lot of the parts of the ceremony had been chosen by your aunt, like the music and flowers.
She’d also asked for the reception following the funeral to be held at the Hard Deck, as she’d fallen in love with the place after you took her there to meet the Daggers a few years ago. Penny was more than happy to oblige.
After thanking everyone for coming, and having a few bites, you wandered outside and sat in the sand to watch the waves crash. You felt the tears start to fall as you remembered the last time you were here with your aunt…
It was a gorgeous day. Your aunt was perched in her beach chair, you next to her, as you both watched the Daggers play their weekly scheduled game of Dogfight Football. Jake screamed out as he scored a touchdown, pointing at you with the ball and a smile.
“Hold on to that one, Sweet Pea.” You turned to look at your aunt with a smile.
“I plan on it.” You both smiled as you continued to watch them all play.
“He’s going to be the one you’ll need to lean on when I’m gone.”
“Please, don’t remind me”, you replied, trying to hold back tears. “I don’t want to think about that right now.”
Your aunt took your hand in hers and pulled it towards her, placing a kiss on the knuckles. The Daggers cheered loudly as Coyote ran down the beach and scored a touchdown. Jake jumped up and down next to his friend as he celebrated.
“Oof, that boy sure is something”, your aunt said, with a bite of her lip.
“Nah”, you replied, smiling at Jake’s cheers with his team. “He’s everything.”
Jake watched you sitting in the sand from the back deck of the Hard Deck.
“How’re they doing?” Startled out of his thoughts, Jake turned to see Rooster, Coyote, Bob, Fanboy, Payback, and Phoenix standing around him.
“Not well, but that’s to be expected. Their aunt meant a lot to ‘em”, Jake replied. He looked back over at you and saw your shoulders shaking. “Excuse me guys, it seems I’m needed.”
He hopped off the back and headed towards you. When he made it to you, he sat behind you, a leg on either side, pulling you back towards him.
“Let it out sweetheart, I’ve got ya.”
“It’s not fair Jake! She didn’t deserve what happened to her! She’s going to miss everything, like if we get married or have kids or when you get promoted and all the awesome places I promised to take her if you happened to get stationed somewhere exotic.”
“You wanna marry me and have kids?” You smacked him on the leg.
“That’s what you got from all that?”
“I’m sorry darlin’”, he said as he squeezed you tight. ���Please continue.”
“I just miss her so much. She was so special to me.”
“I understand, I felt the same way when my grandma passed. I didn’t think I’d ever be okay. I don’t think I’m okay now, and it’s been years! If I talk about Nana Seresin, I will start crying.” He kissed you on your temple. “I am by no means an expert in grief, but what I know is that it will get better, no matter how cliché that sounds. One day, that stabbing pain you feel will dull, and it’ll be just like a bruise. You’ll be able to think of her and all the memories you’ve got of her without crying and look back on them with happiness.”
“When will that happen Jake?”
“I don’t know sweetheart. It’s different for everyone.”
“What if I forget her?”
“You won’t. You know why?” You shook your head. “You’ll never forget her because a part of her will always live on in you, and everyone’s hearts she touched. The squad will never let you forget because they loved your aunt too. We’ll help remind you every day.”
You sat up straight and turned to look at him and placed your hands on his cheeks, running your thumbs over them.
“When did you get so smart, Lieutenant?”
“I’ve always been this smart sweetheart.”
“Cocky bastard.”
“And don’t you forget.”
PS: I'm real sorry if I made you cry my friend!
#Jake Seresin#Jake Seresin x you#Jake Seresin x reader#Jake Seresin x gn!reader#Jake Seresin angst#Jake Seresin fanfiction
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bloody kiss, with Joel and Ellie (platonic of course)
Thank you @lertiasworld, for your awesome prompt here it is.
The cabin had to be over 50 or 60 years old, looking at how the logs were fit together and what was used to seal the joins. Joel’s thankful means it’s sturdy, well made. None of the shit builds put together in the late 90’s early 20’s. The kitchen and bath had been updated at some point, but everything else looks like it was original to the build. Fine craftsmanship. Joel wishes he could thank whoever took the time and effort to build this place out in the middle of nowhere, but they were probably long since dead, just like everyone else.
Joel shuffles to the small camp stove he has set up on the counter and checks the water inside. It’s almost where he needs it to be, just a few more minutes. He bends to pick up a piece of flannel that has fallen to the floor and hisses as pain spikes through his abdomen. He presses a flat palm to his side against the stab wound and finishes picking up the cloth. Once he has it safely pilled with the others, he allows himself to fall back into the kitchen chair behind him. It’s sturdy like the rest of the structure, made with loving hands to withstand the test of time. Someone had made this cabin and the things inside of it as a legacy, a place for a family to come for generations and generations. Perhaps somewhere out there in the hellscape that this world currently is, someone still lives and knows about this place intimately. Had come here with family members on vacations and holidays. Had played boradgames in the living room around the large stone fireplace. Ate dinner at the finely crafted kitchen table, lovingly sanded and finished. Maybe someone still walked this earth and dreamed about this cabin and the memories it held. Joel doubts it, but who really knows, the world can be funny sometimes.
Just look at himself—he’s a great example. A man far past his prime, traversing the earth for the past 20 years as little more than a ghost, failing everyone he ever cared for, suddenly finding himself alive again—pretty funny if you ask him.
It only took one little girl with a messy ponytail, ratty-ass Converse sneakers, shitty puns, and a generally annoying personality to get his ass out of the grave he’d buried himself in all those years ago in Texas. One girl who was unwilling to give him up even after he told her ‘she wasn’t his daughter and he sure as hell wasn’t her dad’, failed her by getting stabbed and leaving her to fend for herself, shoved her away when she was trying to save his sorry carcass.
All it took was for her small, shaking, blood covered fingers to curl into his own for Joel to finally see that this girl owned him now. That she had carved his broken heart out of his chest, put all the pieces back together with spit and pure stubbornness, and now carried it around in her delicate, precious, grasping hands. There was no going back for Joel now.
Joel sighs and lifts his shirt. The wound is still red and sore, but the creeping lines of infection are slowly receding thanks to the medicine Ellie somehow got for him. He isn’t going to die today.
He grabbed the bottle of alcohol and gauze waiting on the table and quickly and efficiently cleaned the wound. Once he’s done, he peels off his shirts stained beyond repair, and replaces them with the clothing he found sitting in one of the cedar chests upstairs. The fabric smells faintly of cedar and lilac and is soft to the touch, washed and rewashed over the years, cared for in the same way that everything in this cabin had been.
He stands and turns off the camp stove the water now warm enough for his purposes. He tucks the pieces of ripped-up flannel under his arm and carries the pot into the next room. Ellie sits in the chair he left her in, sleeping bag securely wrapped around her and pulled up to just under her chin. Her eyes follow him when he enters the room, but it seems more like an animal taking account of movement in the room than her actually being aware of his presence.
“Hey there kiddo, got some water all warmed up here so we can get you all cleaned up.” He holds up the pot for her to see and waits for a response. When she just continues to stare at him, eyes wide and vacant, he sighs and shuffles the rest of the way over. He drops the pot onto the side table next to the recliner and pulls over the kitchen chair he’d brought in earlier. He lowers himself slowly into the chair's embrace with a groan and puts his elbows on his knees so he can cup Ellie’s face and turn it from side to side, trying to decide where he should start.
She’s been like a doll since they’d left Silver Lake. The most reaction he’d gotten from her was when he first found her, and she’d screamed, yelled, and bucked against his hold. It had scared him those first few moments, the desperate nature of her screams, the frantic visceral response to his touch. It had left him with a pit of dread deep in his gut. It had only started to loosen when he’d put her face in his hands and she’d recognized him, her eyes taking him in like he was an apparition come to life.
Her lips had parted, and a single word had escaped: “He…” And then she’d fallen into him, collapsed into his hold like a puppet with its strings cut, her arms wrapping around his neck, garbled words mumbled into his chest. He’d felt his whole world falling back into place, crashing down on him like a tidal wave in the ocean, filling him and leaving him adrift in the same breath. He held her to him. Baby girl so effortlessly said as he soothed her trembling form. Then he’d needed to lay eyes on her again, so he’d pulled her away and it was this girl who he now cradled in the palm of his hands who stared back at him.
He’d covered her with his coat and handed her her bag. She took it easy enough, but all emotion, all awareness, was gone, and he knew why. He’d seen it time and again in others who had experienced great fear, stress, and trauma. Whatever had happened to her, the stress of all she had to do to stay alive had finally been lifted from her with his arrival. She finally felt safe enough to let it all go and disappear inside of herself for a time so her body and brain could recover. She trusted him so implicitly that she let herself go, let him take over, guide her through hours of trudging through snow, and lead her to this cabin with its sturdy walls and lovingly built interior. She hid inside her mind because she knew it was finally safe for her to do so.
He dips one of the soft pieces of flannel into the warm water and brings it to her brow. With slow, gentle swipes, he first softens then wipes the blood from her skin. As he works, he comes to a spot where Ellie hisses, and he looks down at her face in surprise. “Darlin’, you okay?” Her eyes look up to him slowly, but she doesn’t respond, “That hurt?” She blinks, and he purses his lips, thinking.
“Blink twice if it hurts and once if it doesn’t,” Joel says softly. Her eyes suddenly wet, blink once, then again, and a single fat tear squeezes past her waterline and crawls down her cheek, leaving a clear track behind. Joel's know forms in his throat so large he can barely swallow around it, and he can feel his own tears building behind his eyes
“Oh, baby.” Without thought, he reaches a trembling hand out to cup the back of her head and leans forward, placing a lingering delicate kiss on her bruised and broken skin. She leans into his touch, her body suddenly sagging against him, and like a floodgate opening, a great shuddering sob coming from deep in her chest breaks loose from her lips. Joel carefully gathers her into his lap, sleeping bag and all, and places kiss after kiss upon her bloody hair, brow, and cheeks as he slowly rocks her and whispers tenderly into her skin, “Oh, my baby girl. I got you, I got you.”
Joel sits with her as she pours all her pain, fear, and anger into the stale, dust-filled air of the cabin. The taste of iron lingers in his mouth as he continues to press his lips to all the multitudes of hurts that litter her skin. He prays to whatever god may be listening that he can somehow ease her pain in this way as he once did with another little girl whose hurts, while not as grave, had felt just as real. He holds her in the safety and comfort of his arms until she finds her peace, tears spent, she finally drifts to sleep.
Joel thinks that he is not unlike this old but sturdy cabin. For 20 years, it has sat empty, devoid of love, just as he has. Filled with memories of the past that they will never see again, they both lingered on this earth, useless. But now they have both found a purpose again. They can once again open themselves up to love and give safety and strength as they were always meant to do.
With a grunt, Joel lifts himself and Ellie from the chair and shifts down into the recliner. With care, he settles her more comfortably in his arms and allows his eyes to close. He can heat the water again tomorrow. For tonight, they will sleep in comfort and peace.
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15 questions meme
Tagged by @saiditallbefore :)
Are you named after anyone? Not really. I choose my name and I picked names that weren't emotionally connected. I considered using my grandfather's name but it is pretty common and a somewhat famous trans guy I can't stand has it.
When was the last time you cried? While watching the graveside flowers being left at Alexei Navalny's grave, seeing the crowds in the streets of Moscow risking their lives to pay their respects. Devastating. I struggled to write for a week after he died. Nalvany was four years older than me and I'd watched him work for a long time. His death felt like the destruction of something so irreplaceable and beautiful. But in the darkness of it, there were people finding themselves and the fortitude to keep going. Navalny's dream for the beautiful future of Russia will not die with his body.
Do you have kids? No. I have never wanted to be a parent. The moment I learned about pregnancy and what was possible when I was around 9-10 years old, I immediately began planning to get sterilized as soon as possible.
What sports do you play/have you played? None. I was not athletically gifted as a kid and opportunities/money were not something I had. I took fencing at university and loved it, but it's an expensive hobby.
Do you use sarcasm? I do, but I like to think I achieve a better balance of sarcasm and earnestness these days. Like a lot of people, I went through that very grim/sarcastic phase. But I value genuine enjoyment more. Death to cringe culture and people afraid to just enjoy things/let other people enjoy things.
What is the first thing you notice about people? Probably their clothes. If they have interesting accessories.
What is your eye color? Green, very green. Possibly the one thing about my physical form that has never disappointed me.
Scary movies or happy endings? Are we meant to think these things are mutually exclusive? Because I think they go together. Look on the very basic level I'm more likely to watch a scary movie just because most happy ending movies are relentlessly heterosexual and I find that boring.
What are your talents? I'm a good cook and baker. I can follow a recipe and improvise as needed. My particular traumas mean when someone needs emergency services I know how to get things done in a crisis and can save the freak out for later. I can spin endless stories.
Where were you born? In the Panhandle Plains of Texas, where the sky goes on forever. You can see a storm coming for miles. It was land that the Comanche roamed for generations, traversing the seas of grass and the Caprock. The second largest canyon in America is there and it is beautiful. They've reintroduced bison and they roam. It is stark and empty and terrible in some ways but also beautiful.
What are your hobbies? Reading, writing, gardening, doing the occasional fidgety crafty sort of thing. Casual bird watching from my windows. I like to try different things and I'm going to try weightlifting next.
Do you have any pets? A cat who is 21+ years old named Jasmine. She is pretty deaf and has two heated beds plus a heating blanket on the couch for her comfort.
How tall are you? Five foot four inches as I have been for about 30 years. Disappointing to me but probably ultimately irrelevant.
Dream job/career? I have now, which is to say I do not have a job. I'm a house husband and a writer. Work is a scam and we live in a capitalist hellscape. My dad spent his entire life doing a job he hated because it was wrapped up in the idea that a Man did certain things. The longest I ever stayed at a job was seven years, the shortest was one week. Quitting is always my favorite part.
Tagging a couple of people if you want to play the meme game @balconyskeletons @yourstrulyknits @by-ilmater @udunie @sineala
#personal#I tried to make my answers interesting#because what are these random questions for#if not to try to make something beautiful
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Fic Writers for Reproductive Rights Fundraising Drive!
Hi! What an absolute hellscape of a timeline we're living in, right? Let's take a gorgeous opportunity to create a love story in response to this trash moment in history, and raise some money so that our fellow humans with a uterus can make decisions for themselves.
I’m writing a Euphoria/Fexi fic to raise money for organizations that protect reproductive rights. Send me a screenshot of your donation (careful to remove any personal details!) and tell me which idea you would like me to write. You can message me with proof of your donation or use this google form to vote! The prompt with the most votes wins!
Prompts:
1. Tami Knows Best (A Euphoria/Friday Night Lights Mashup!!): Tami and Eric Taylor have packed up their lives in Texas to take on new jobs in Southern California as East Highland High's guidance counselor and football coach, respectively. Tami and Eric have their work cut out for them with the wild antics of the student body, and take a special shine to the talented young playwright Lexi Howard and heart-of-gold drug dealer Fezco.
2. Urban Farmer Fexi: Newlyweds Fez and Lexi buy an old Victorian house in the city next to a vacant, overgrown lot and have the idea to turn it into a farm. Unfortunately, the owner is a cranky elderly woman in the neighborhood who refuses to sell or lease the land. The couple goes to great lengths, albeit using different strategies, to convince her over the years. Domesticity, light angst, mild smut.
3. Fexi Finds A Unicorn: A threesome fic. Extreme smut. Insatiable bisexual Lexi. With an original character who you will loooovvee (I think). This one will be moody and explore themes of non-monogamy.
NOTE: All of these will be 2 chapter fics.
You can donate to an organization you trust on this issue, but if you’re not sure, here are some suggestions. Any donation of at least $1 gets you a vote!
Sign up here if you’re a writer who would like to take part.
Follow on twitter and tumblr to keep track of how much money we raise. @ficwritersforreproductiverights
I'll be taking votes until 11:59 PM PST on Sunday, August 21st.
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IMPORTANT: MENSTRUAL LITERACY POST-ROE
A few things to consider as we delve further into this dystopian hellscape:
Pregnancy is counted from the last menstrual period, not the missed menstrual period. If a woman has a perfect 28 day cycle, she is considered four weeks pregnant by the time she misses her period. So if she is in a state with a six-week abortion ban, such as Texas, she has two weeks to get an abortion, not six weeks.
This is because we don't know how to track conception, so the math for how we determine how long a woman has been pregnant is based on menstrual cycles—not conception. Let’s say I have my period the 1st of every month. I had sex on the 15th of the month, and not before. If I miss my period the next month, I am considered four weeks pregnant even though I know the intercourse where I conceived was only two weeks ago.
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Code of Ethics - Ch. 3 - Trigger Warning
My outline had the events of this chapter spanning three chapters. I was honestly surprised how quickly the details needed hit the page and how smoothly one thing flowed to the next. The first scene was intended for a much later chapter in part 1, so I shuffled a few things around and it works MUCH better than my initial outline.
Dylan learns more about the assignment and the new VR tech and some inner demons come out to play
Preview below the cut:
Dylan sighed as he let the door to his flat close behind him. He rather liked the term ‘flat,’ he felt it suited his home better than calling it ‘an apartment.’ He grew up in apartments, and while there was nothing wrong, per se, with apartments, they did serve to remind him of the struggles of growing up in a poor home in the post-war years. Rationing had been harsh, resources scarce and getting more so by the day, and people weren’t sure if they’d have jobs to go to the next day. Then the riots started, followed by the epidemics that wiped out a good portion of some communities. Rumor was the epidemics were coordinated by the CDC to thin the population at the behest of the President, but nobody in the intelligence community wanted to dig too deep into those kinds of rumor. That’s how you got disappeared or suffered ‘heart attacks’ at a young, healthy 32.
Like John.
Tossing his keys in the dish on the end table and taking off his coat, Dylan gave a thought to the man who was his boss and might have been a friend if the power dynamic hadn’t been one of boss-and-employee. He was smart and kind, carrying a sense of justice that had been untarnished even after a decade in the agency. Never married and, as John had confided over drinks one Friday night when it had just been the two of them without plans, never would have even if he’d lived to be 100. “The world has enough couples who struggle to manage making it through another day in this hellscape we live in. I’m not going to shackle someone else to me if it means I might ‘go missing’ one day and some poor woman has to carry on after me.”
Dylan looked out through the panoramic picture windows that lined the western wall of his flat. The waters of Galviston Bay sparkling as the evening drew on. The building had once belonged to some tech company that was based out in California, one of the many that had intended on using Texas’ extremely lenient tax rates for corporations to establish a foothold in the local economy, but then the war had fractured the United States into the Republic of California, The American Republic, and the shattered Eastern seaboard that was, effectively, a no-man’s-land. The California based company had to relinquish their ownership of the building when the wall was built and had gone under during California’s reconstruction. The American government had seized the building and converted it from the towering office structure it had been intended for into luxury apartments meant for whomever the government found favor with at the time. Not many chose to live in the building long-term. Simply having one of the suites as your address often painted a target on your back, so frequently the place was a stepping-stone. Earn a spot in the building, stay long enough to establish your success, then move out to the Houston suburbs as quickly as possible, mostly for the protection of your family.
Like John, Dylan had no plans to ‘settle down’ with someone. He was well aware of his issues with intimacy. In spite of his pastor reassuring him that he’d one day find the girl he’d want to start a family with, he didn’t want to saddle any woman with his presence in their life. He was attracted to women (on a bone-deep level, if his dreams were any indication), and it was this very attraction that he found off-putting. He could imagine just about any woman he knew with a bright, wonderful future…without him. The moment he added himself into the vague visions of familial or career success down the line, those dreams seemed to crash and burn, Dylan’s mere presence acting as the catalyst for disaster.
Of course, he knew this was catastrophizing. He just couldn't seem to imagine any woman ever being happy and successful with him hanging off her arm.
He glanced at the wall clock, noticing the date and scowled. Happy birthday to me, I guess, he grumbled to himself as he stalked over to the kitchen and opened his alcohol cabinet. Not bothering with any of the wine, he went straight for the vodka. As he poured himself a drink, he considered turning on streaming video, but realized anything like the news or a live broadcast channel would have memorial stories. He did not need more reminders that his birthday shared the date with a nuclear bomb wiping out Washington D.C. His birthday was always a litany of replays of the event and commentators debating the woulda-shoulda-coulda of America’s response to the event. Then there were the ‘truthers,’ the people who claimed The Second had ordered the detonation Himself. Dylan didn’t know, didn’t care to know, and did his best to either work overtime or get plastered whenever his birthday rolled around. It was easier to tune out the mausoleum to tragedy the rest of the country made of the day than pretend to be one tiny voice trying to celebrate another trip around the sun.
Finally, he decided on some music. Something from fifty or a hundred years ago, something with no words. He woke the touch screen on the wall of his living room and navigated to a radio station and hit play, the sounds of strings and synthesized percussion filling the air.
Sipping at his vodka, he scanned the walls, trying to find something he could lose himself in. Thoughts of Star Trek from earlier entered his mind, but he couldn’t seem to muster the desire to read any of the books his mother had gifted him the Christmas before she passed away. They were paper books, too, not the e-books that most people used. “Nothing wrong with reading e-books,” his mother said at one point, “But sometimes you want to hold a book in your hand, feel the weight of the words that someone put the effort to put on paper. Words on a screen can move you, but the physical sensation of a real book makes it seem real in ways a digital copy just can’t.”
Sighing at the memory, he thought about plunking away on the piano, but then he’d have to stop the music, which would allow his mind to wander. An idle mind was the devil’s playground, after all, and there were enough sinful thoughts in Dylan’s mind for the devil to have plenty to play with.
His eyes fell on a model kit he was tinkering with of the I.S.S. Voyager, neatly stored in its partially assembled state on a shelf above the parts and tools needed to build it. Nodding with satisfaction, he picked up box that held the unassembled parts and moved them to the dinner table he’d never once eaten at.
Three hours and two more shots of vodka later, he’d managed to assemble a good portion of the saucer section. This particular model was the kind with circuitry and wiring to allow for the lights to work. It also had a bridge, captain’s ready room, and open shuttle bay that you could look into through tiny viewports and see ‘functional’ workstations and a tiny little Delta Flyer Attack Craft in the shuttle bay. It was appreciably ‘fiddly,’ literally thousands of parts and included a wireless controller that allowed the builder to program the lights and what could be seen on the miniature display panels. He was somewhat disappointed when he’d read the schematics and instructions to find that you couldn’t build the small borg alcoves that Seven would call her home, but if the manufacturer had done that, then they would likely have put in the agony booths as well, and of all things Trek, the agony booths were the one thing Dylan just did not like.
God, he groused to himself mentally, I’m such a downer today. Taking a cleansing breath, he began putting the kit away for storage. Looking out the picture windows showed that night had well and truly fallen and the water in the bay was reflecting the dark night sky above. Stars were hard to see in the city, even when looking out over the bay to the ocean-filled horizon, but a few managed to pierce the light pollution, shining on them like it had for their ancestors for millenia.
What would it be like to actually fly a ship through space? He pondered, pausing to look up at the sky as he held the framework of the saucer section of Voyager. Just take command of a ship, find a star, and head out…not worry about hunting, not worry about the faces of children pasted onto soulless digital creatures…
Of course, he knew it wasn’t that easy. Even on Star Trek: Hegemony they couldn’t escape the realities of life on Earth. The Maqui that had been forced to earn the loyalty of their captain or be phasered from existence, the scarily prescient vision of an A.I. doctor that would go rogue and turn on its creators, and the treason of Chakotay in the year before Janeway had been able to crush Unimatrix Zero.
He wondered briefly why the show had never shown Mirror Janeway. Plenty of fanfics existed pondering exactly that, and there was that one torrent that still floated around the dark web that had laughable production values but was like a mirror universe version of the show he loved. He’d watched five minutes of it once when he’d been an analyst, one of the rogue A.I. he’d been hunting at the time was showing it for a ‘movie night’ for other A.I. and some humans that didn’t know they were in the middle of a nest of rogues. It was…shoddy. The production looked like it came from the late 20th century, but then if you were putting together an unauthorized version of one of the most successful science fiction franchises ever made, it was inevitable you’d have to cut corners or get some things wrong.
Like the Vulcan tactical officer and best friend of Janeway. How much did you have to screw up the character of one of the greatest human captains ever written about to have them befriend an enemy of humanity?
He realized he’d been woolgathering with the model in his hand and staring at the sky for several minutes. Shaking his head only to regret it (he probably shouldn’t have had the third shot of vodka on top of the pint of hard cider at the bar), he put the model back on its shelf and headed to the bedroom.
The faster he got to sleep, the better.
#original fiction#fiction writing#fiction#science fiction#sci fi#are we the baddies?#transgender#trans author#queer author#lgbtqia+#lgbtq+#lgbt#lgbtq#trans#trans woman#troubleverse#quietvalerie#trouble with horns#code of ethics
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lesbophobes can eat shit and stay off my fucking posts
#i get this shit at work#at home#at school#and on my own god damn page#CONSTANTLY#and there is no reprieve#this is a game of 'poke the dyke till they snap'#and im fucking about to#im legit going into the closet at my next workplace because of people like that#and im tired#like beyond sleep tired#i cannot function with the amount of hatred piled on me from within my own community as well as from outside#i dont know how any lesbian has ever fucking survived no wonder were all closeting ourselves till were 30 or making ourselves be with me#i can hardly take it#i know this is so dramatic but its every. single. day. from every side#the emotional fatigue is more extreme than anything ive felt in a long while#and the only place i have to vent this is fucking tumblr because there are no overt lesbians in the bible belt hellscape of texas#so yeah#theres my long tags monologue
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Texas just being the most authoritarian state and dystopic hellscape to scream “freedumbs”. Do y’all really still have freedoms, or if you scream loud enough, you can keep your freedumb of speech, and that’s about the thin ice of the topic.
Obligatory, “I know all states got their problems”, but y’know, privacy still happens. The feds in other states aren’t likely to show up if you have a skin tag removed. Check this quote on local texas women
“Ramirez said officers at the Starr County Sheriff’s Department “did their duty” by investigating the abortion following a hospital’s report of the incident.“
What the fuck happened to Hippa?
The hospital phone convo: “Yes, hello. South Texas police state. A women came in and... she had this procedure done in lieu of an abortion. Might wanna go check that out, it’s sketchy as fuck. We’re anonymous, right? Awesome. k, luvya. Bye
xoxoxoxo”
Cheesus fucking crackers. What next? A woman goes in to have an ultra sound done and hear zygotes heartbeat, and the doctors tell her, “Sorry ma’am. Nothing’s there. You can wait a month and try again. In the mean time, I have to report this to the South Texas Military State authorities, so we can run a full investigation of the incident. Also, we’ll be needing to have funeral services planned out.”
I cannot wait to hear how Texas bars the removal of parasitic twins from healthy children or adults.
“I’m sorry person, ma’am, sir, there are only two genders. We cannot confirm nor deny if those limbs sapping your circulatory system are or are not sentient. I know you have supplied am X-ray revealing the primary components of your extra arms and legs, but those still belong to your twin, and you yourself committed a heinous crime in the womb when you tried to absorb them during the first trimester. I understand you might die from supporting those extra limbs, but that is still a person and you should consider his, her, there are only two genders feelings for once.”
The state is absolutely creepy and bizarre. It’s gonna be fucked up hard to get a procedure done if you have to confirm that you are not supporting a parasitic twin by chance. Like, no one ever talks about how fucked up zygotes are. Those things are ruthless.
#zygotes#first trimester#obgyn#texas woman#its always texas woman up to no good#body rights#ownership#controversial take
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Windows 10 Issue You May Run Into
This--problem? hellscape?--has now happened to me three times. Three times I googled, and three times I found many complaints but no solution and then I’d--do something?--and it would stop. I never knew why.
Today, in like a random ass thread from 2016 or 34009 AD or Mars Standard Time, I really don’t know anymore, someone gave the solution and it is just random enough but something you’d easily do by accident that yep, I see why this happened and can only be the work of Microsoft dev who may have forgotten what it felt like to be human but remember enough to hate all those who have retained theirs and vengeance is theirs.
If your computer abruptly displays most or all of these symptoms at once and you’re greater than 75% sure you aren’t tripping or having an acid flashback from circa age nineteen which was so not a good idea:
1.) Cursor/touchpad now highlights everything in your document, email, text program and you can’t plant your cursor anywhere--it is All Highlighting, All the Time. There is no typing, only hell.
2.) When you try to copy, all selected text may abruptly become all caps, and you may or may not feel like something is right behind you, laughing hoarsely and smelling of coffee from a basement in the late eighties.
3.) Everything is capslock. Word, Outlook, Chrome, Text, all you type is screamed back to you and won’t shut up, not even in your dreams. You check: caplock is not on and this is turning into some Windows Gothic shit.
4.) PageUp/PgDown stops working in Chrome for no reason whatsoever, even after holding down the key a full five minutes while keening the alphabet backward.
5.) Also in Chrome, not only does every link open a new window, if you have chrome embedded in your Taskbar and you click on it to maximize a window after minimizing it, it opens a whole new instance of Chrome You are at roughly twenty chromes just trying to google this goddamn question which is by the way ALL FUCKING CAPSLOCKS when you realize this is why back isn’t working in the window.
(If you’re reading this after googling and 1, 2, and 3 are yes but you haven’t noticed this, go hover over your taskbar; there are probably like sixty open Chromes now. You’re welcome.)
6.) Also in Chrome, sometimes clicking links will just not work until multiple attempts or maybe are deliberately waiting until you break into sobs begging it to work, which passed being a coincidence quite some time ago but denial is your friend.
7.) Many other possible things seem off with keyboard/mouse/touchpad use and you begin to suspect Windows Gothic is now Windows Cthulhu.
If you google, the prospective villain will be StickyKeys, FilterKeys, Drivers, Windows is Satan, you are actually in hell. The solution will be turn off stickkeys, turn off filterkeys, check accessibility settings, update drivers, roll back drives and reinstall, restart, restore, reinstall windows, and realize you’re the chosen one and start a religion with heavy Luddite influences, some very specific and unsettling fetishes doubling as religious rituals, poor fashion sense, and if in Texas, a compound armory with AK-47s, rockets, military grade tanks, anti-aircraft missiles and enough bullets to end civilization, as is guaranteed in your right to bear arms as stated in the Second Amendment of the Constitution.
(Note: legally, when one cults it up in Texas, you are also required to purchase enough unoccupied land for the mandatory sketchy but impressively defensible compound and assorted outbuildings, your religion must involve Jesus in some form, and it is mandatory that you arm yourself (and your followers) equal to or greater than the number of weapons needed to fight World War II. While it is optional, it is highly recommended you take the opportunity to declare the acquisition of Texas by the US was illegal and appoint yourself president, king, dictator, and/or God-Emperor of the Republic/Kingdom/Nation/Empire of Texas. This does not entitle you to attempt any change to the Texas flag, state flower, state animal, or any official state [object]. If you make attempt to do so, and during the next new moon, you will be shot, killed, and eaten by one (1) jackalope bearing no less than two (2) hunting rifles and one (1) bottle of wild turkey, as clearly outlined in the Texas Constitution. God bless Texas.)
Double check StickyKeys and FilterKeys are off (they are, yep), then take a deep breath and hit both Shift Keys simultaneously. This is both cause and solution as well as cruel cosmic joke played by an uncaring universe and Bill Gates, whose immortality is fed by your tears.
After canceling that Amazon order for bulk military grade armor, Godiva chocolate, and three models of wood chipper, please find the fuck out what the hell Shift-Right and Shift-Left hit together are triggering. My best guess is transport to a horrifying Mirror Windows universe, but it’s possible I’m wrong. Though I doubt it.
#windows tips#i have no scream and i must mouth#i don't know how long i was there#but I saw things#and everything was blue
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check up tag!
thank you for tagging me, @foxmagpie <3
How has your day been?
Today has been fine.
I was in my childhood friends’ wedding in December. They finally got the pictures today and it was nice to start off my day looking at them. They had a destination wedding at in the Quintana Roo. Haha, it was definitely the most extravagant thing I’ve ever participated in. At the time, put me in my feels about performing friendship/the toxic nature of the wedding industry.
Now on the other side of it, it’s wild to me that such a great group of people got to take a trip together right before the pandemic hit. It’s surreal to look at these pictures. I feel so happy for them that they got to have that weekend.
After sitting with those feels, I did my job and worked with a few students who were lovely. And now I’m debating whether to watch a movie or make progress on my fic. Probably the latter because I’m writing at a glacial pace.
What was the last thing that made you smile?
My puppy keeps following me around being extra cute because she thinks I’ll give her treats.
What's keeping you entertained these day?
In the past few weeks I’ve finally started reading books again~* I could not focus on a single paragraph from March-June (but could still devour super long Brio fan fiction? I think I re-read all of my favorites in the tag. ALL OF THEM).
I finished Girl, Woman, Other last week - so lovely. This past weekend I also read through the play Raisin in the Sun because I’ve heard about Lorraine Hansberry for years and it was about time I engaged her work.
On a very light note, now I’m reading Tan France’s ghost-written autobiography/narrative about getting chosen for QE.
I finished rewatching Seasons 1-5 of Schitt’s Creek, and bracing myself to watch Season 6 for the first time soon. I just know it’s going to make me cry!
If you’re in quarantine/isolation, is there anything that you would like to achieve during this time?
I’m definitely still social distancing because Texas is a hellscape. I had originally not wanted to give myself any deadlines/expectations to be productive. However, now I’m realizing I posted chapter 1 of Better Be Mine in May and it is now July... It would be nice to make some headway on it so I’m not still writing it... next year. D:
Post a selfie if you want!
This isn’t a particularly flattering photo of me, but Hermione looks beautiful (and strangely seductive?) enough for the both of us.
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CASE #0070824-A
Statement of Lance Richards regarding a road-trip from Chicago to Austin, Texas. Original statement given August 24th, 2007.
Every summer, since I turned 18, I've been visiting my uncle down in Texas. I drive down from wherever I might be staying--it used to be from my parents' house in Salt Lake, but ever since I came out and they kicked me out, it's… not very consistent. There was a seven month period where I was living out of my car and doing odd jobs, it was rough. But I always made a point to visit my uncle Evan and his partner Tova. The two of them could barely make enough to support themselves, let alone me, but I was always welcome for at least a few days at a time.
Eventually I began making enough to support myself and my own place, and I didn't need to go stay with them, but the rest of our shitty family never made a point to visit, and I figured I'd turn it into a tradition.
Road trips are pretty fun. Driving is relaxing, and I mean, other than gas money and hotels and, y'know, food, the trip doesn't really cost too much in the grand scheme of things, even though it's a few days' worth of driving. This country is so big, and the fact that I've barely seen any of it is really weird to me. I'll take any chance I can get to grow more familiar with different states. But this road trip has been consistent for the better part of four years.
I've been making this drive for years. It's not anything new, and I'm familiar with it. I know when it's normal, and I know when it's not.
I mean, this drive wasn't normal, for obvious reasons. I'd been driving on the I-35 South for about three hours when I finally noticed just how empty it was. I mean, there were barely any cars near me at all, only two others travelling in the same direction. I only saw two cars go by in the other direction over the next fifteen minutes. It was weird enough already.
It definitely threw me off a bit. I mean, it was a June afternoon, school had let out for most places a week or two before--wouldn't people be out and about? With all this free time, at least some teenagers should be running around, families should be going on trips, right?
There wasn't anybody, save for me and the two other cars nearby. It was weird. That's definitely weird.
I just kept driving. It wasn't like it was an impossible scenario, I'd driven on empty stretches of highway before, but this one just felt strange. About thirty minutes later, it felt like I was driving past the same trees over and over and over again. I'm not sure if that was true. I think I saw the same exit sign a few times, actually, thinking back on it. I can't really be sure, considering what happened next.
One moment, I was driving on an empty highway, the other two cars long since gone, desert flying past in a blur, and then I blinked.
Everything was gone.
The car was still there. The road was still there. Everything else had just vanished. In place of the sprawling desert around me was nothing but black, and after a moment I think I began to see things moving in the darkness. It was terrifying, seeing nothing but darkness, and something darker than darkness within it. The other side of the highway had vanished as well, it was like I was driving on a one-way highway.
I just… kept driving. What else was I going to do, get out of the car? That would've been fucking stupid. It wasn't like the road had vanished, anyways, so I figured I'd just… keep going.
There were still signs. The speed limit sign that came up didn't have any discernible numbers on it, just a jumbled mass of lines that looked like they should have been symbols of some kind, but the harder I tried to decipher them, the harder it became to read them.
The other signs indicating exits and the like were the same. They had things that looked more like words on them, but not in any language I would've recognized. The alphabet was similar to the English one, but it was just… strange. Something that looked like an a would look more like a w after a few seconds of squinting at it. It wouldn't change at all, it was just… something about the letters made them difficult.
A few exits went by before I even considered getting off of this strange cosmic horror highway. The roads stretched out until I couldn't see where they went anymore, so the exits didn't just… drop off. I spent another few minutes debating with myself, but couldn't decide. I just kept driving straight for a while, trying to figure out what to do. Stopping the car felt like a bad idea, like if I did, the road would fall away underneath me, and I'd fall into that awful blackness.
The thought was dizzying. It made my stomach twist in a way that properly hurt, and I had to keep my eyes locked on the road right in front of me, because looking into the writhing darkness made me feel sick if I did it for too long.
I don't know how long I spent driving on that main highway. Every time I glanced at the clock, the time changed to something entirely different from before. Sometimes it wasn't even numbers. I hadn't dared to touch the radio, since I could only imagine what sort of awful sounds I might hear if I turned it on. It just seemed like a poor decision to make.
I did get off of the highway, in the end. I mean, what else was I supposed to do, really. I decided to take the exit labelled "2?3N", and followed the ramp as it curved away from the main highway. I don't know how long that ramp went on for, but then it merged onto another highway. Once I was back on, I realized it was the same one from before.
Although… I don't know how I knew it was the same one. They were identical, but the exits were all identical as well, and none of the signs meant anything. I think I just… knew, somehow, that I had looped back to the same highway.
I finally tried turning on the radio, but all I got was static. High-pitched, headache-inducing static that roared in my ears and filled the car with that awful squeal. I turned it off as quickly as I could while not careening off the road. It was terrible. It physically hurt, listening to it.
I glanced up at my rearview mirror after a few seconds, and froze.
The highway was falling away behind me.
It started a few dozen meters back, but it began to catch up quickly. I couldn't see any exits coming up, and the road just kept… flaking apart behind me, scraps of asphalt being whisked away into that roiling, shifting darkness. I floored it. I just kept speeding up, practically flying down that awful fucking interdimensional hellscape of an interstate.
The edge of the road behind me kept getting closer until my wheels were on the verge of slipping off. By then, I'd pretty much accepted death, I think, and slammed on the brakes as hard as I possibly could.
I fell. I could feel the falling sensation, the car plummeting through darkness, nothingness in all directions, I couldn't even feel my seatbelt on me--I felt completely weightless, unburdened, my stomach doing backflips. I've never enjoyed the way your stomach drops when you ride rollercoasters, or… fall to your death in a spooky magical void.
I closed my eyes so I didn't have to see that darkness. Then there was light on my face, and I opened my eyes to see the highway again. The regular one. The normal I-35. I almost started crying right then and there, I'm not going to lie.
I found the nearest rest stop and sat down for a while, but eventually I just… kept going with the trip. I'd somehow skipped eight hours of driving, I was a little under an hour away from Oklahoma City.
The rest of the trip went fine. I didn't talk about it when I got there, I didn't know how to explain it. I get vertigo really easily, now, and I've found that I can just about always smell ozone wherever I go, but I don't know if that can be attributed to whatever this was. I have no idea how or why that happened, but maybe you can do something with it. Or not. I just needed to get this story out.
FOLLOW-UP NOTES
- Mr. Richards could be reached, though he had no interest in a follow-up interview.
- All of the natural parts of the statement can be confirmed--obviously the I-35 exists, as do the cities, though there is no concrete evidence that this was not a hallucination.
- Mr. Richards’ medical history suggests he had no existing conditions that would have caused any hallucinations, however, so while the statement cannot be confirmed, it also cannot be discredited entirely, as something strange certainly happened here.
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What the Hell Universe
Entry 1 Montague
What the actual fuck universe. What have I done in a past life to piss you off so!? What have I done to you to make my life the multi headed dick Hydra that is my current life!
Everything is a burnt husk or ruin. If it's not burnt it's mutated if not burnt and mutated. I mean cockroaches the size of Corgis, angry murder fly-bees that shoot it's larva young at you. I swear if there are mutated spiders the size of dobermans, I'm ending it right now. I will eat that bullet with ketchup(if I can find some) damn nature you scary with a irradiated vengeance.
Okay where to start. first I need something to help get my thoughts in order so diary, Journal, log thingy ,or Incase someone finds this on my corpse out in this hell scape. We're about to get real personal real quick. So I guess I'll start with my name.
My name is Montague Alister Hawk, and I'm a time traveler for the year 2077 pre war America.
How is time travel possible you ask hypothetical reader. Well apparently its one part: ignore your best friend's advice and instincts, one part: submit to the peer pressure from your wife and one part: smooth silver tongue Vault Tec rep, and Two part: the fucking Chinese or American government nuking the shit out of each other! Mix with Corporate America mindset and a dash of Vault Tec experimentation. Poor over the iced tears of the working class and bam you get one maybe two possibly three time travelers.
Gods please let my wife and child be safe. Also thanks for keeping my last bottle of whiskey together for the past 210 years.
Okay so here's the thing, my psychologist doc Anders, said that in times of great stress with nothing to do, is to write down my thoughts or this case type them. So here I am, drinking a the last (possibly unirradiated) bottle Jameson. In the burnt out ruins of my home, with the computer (I scavenged from the drug dealer down the street), and with the hopes my wife and son are alive in this hellscape that is the Boston wasteland as Codsworth dubs it.
I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact when I woke up this morning in the year of 2077 and now it's 2287. In fact we went into vault 111 around 1000 hrs on Oct 23 and I came out of said vault on Oct 23 1100 hrs. And what's worse is today is still a blur.
It started like any other day, I was shaving my beard off in my preparation for the speech I was suppose to give at the VA. I remember Cods giving me some coffee and the knock on the door from that Vault Tec basterd, my wife pleading with me to just deal with him. Because it was free.
Pffpht nothing is free, "Humankind cannot gain anything without first giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost.” that is the Law of Equivalent Exchange and I have yet to find a way to circumvent this law, but enough philosophy.
The next thing I remember is hearing my NORAD waring blare on my computer, gathering Cassandra and Shaun. Then booking it towards the vault. the air was thick with fear. There was air raid sirens blaring and vertibirds mobilizing.
If I wasn't in such a panic I would have recognise the first warning something was off. It was the Vault Tec rep having been denied at the gate. The second warning was when we were granted access to the vault even though we finished the paperwork not 30 minutes before. Gods hindsight is 20/20 and a bitch.
I felt it before it went off somehow, all the thing Cassandra and I feared most. The reason I joined the rangers and went to war, was to help prevent what we saw. The reason Cassandra went to law school and put up with those stuff shirts that made up the law community, was to prevent what we saw. All the hardships, late nights, ptsd fueled nightmares, our hopes dreams, and all the hours put to fight the injustice we fought against. All of that time and effort, went up in the ash and dust fueled, mushroom shaped cloud.
I still see it when I close my eyes. Still hear the screams.
Anyway I instinctively grab Cassandra hold her against me as we ducked down against the blast wind as we were lowered into the vault. We hit the bottom and all I can think is how much time we wasted to prevent the unpreventable.
The next hour was a blur again and the next thing I can remember is Cassandra handing me Shaun so she could change into her vault suit. I remember looking into his blue eyes and holding close. Silently promising him the best I could in this fucked up world. Then I looked at my Cassandra, my rock, my harbor in the storm. I looked into the stormy steel eyes and kissed her for all I worth. Hoping my unsaid message of love and devotion was noticed.
Then of course we were interrupted by some Vault Tec asshat in a lab coat telling us it's time to enter our individual decontamination chamber. Hince the third waring something was wrong.
Now thanks to my years in the Rangers I have seen a lot of things. New tech and research of Big MT things but this was no decontamination chamber I have ever seen. In fact it looked more like a sarcophagus pod than a decontamination chamber.
Of course my fears of the future and my small family standing in front of me (and my instincts of finding a safe and secure space for us) distracted my “IT'S A TRAP” instincts. Well that and the armed Vault Tec security officer standing behind the asshat in the lab coat.
We then of course follow instructions and get in to the sarcophagus of decontamination. Luckily Cassandra Shaun and I were able to get pods across from one another and see each other from across the hall via view ports. We hear the computer voice say “Decontamination start in 5.. 4.. 3.. 2.. 1..” as it hit one Cassandra and I reached for each other then the blackness took me.
The next thing I remember is hearing voices as I was coughing up liquid. Then I see these science types in light blue radiation gear with what looked like Leonardo Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man as a symbol over their right breast, and a man that was definitely a mercenary.
They stop in front of Cassandra's pod, gods knows I tried to get out but I was weak. The merc took a fighting stance pointed his (I'm guessing .44) revolver at Cassandra's view port and nods to the DaVinci wannabe. They activated her pod and as it open I can hear Shaun's cry's. Of course I'm shouting and pounding on my viewport, trying to get people's attention to no avail.
Then the gun shot (definitely .44), and all I can see is Cassandra's shocked face. Then I hear this ungodly roar (I guess it was me by the way that merc and that DaVinci wannabe looked at me) and that fucking merc smiled at me. and I swear to all that is holy, I will find him and wipe that smile off his face with his own gun.
Then blackness again.
I don't know how long I was out but the next thing I hear is a kalaxian blaring over and over again. I shifted and cracked one of my eyes open to immediately shut it again as the low light seared through my brain. Igniting a headache that has yet to leave me. Then all that has happened to this point, slams through my brain. Panicking I look up to my wife's pod to find it empty!
As I slowly get up, ignoring the pain as my muscles scream for me to lay down again, and stumble to the empty open pod. As I reached the pod I fall to my knees, I rub my eyes a couple times in disbelief. Then all I see from my position is a small but dried blood smear and the bloody bullet lodged in the upper corner of the interior pod. I grabbed a flat head screwdriver form the nearby tool box and proceeded to attempt to dialogue the bullet. I can't tell you why it was important but it was.
After sometime I finally work the damn thing out and as it popped out from its position I missed the catch and it bounced to the floor. Wanting that bullet I went after it. Fate must have been with me because it landed next to a blood spot and the broken chain of Cassandra's pendant necklace that she inherited from her mom. As I pick up the pendent I realised that Cassandra rarely took it off and was often a favorite chew toy for Shaun.
The pendet Itself was shaped in the form of a mother (tigers eye) cradling a newborn (lapis lazuli). Behind it was my dented dog tags and behind those Cassandra's wedding band and engagement ring. Unfortunately part of the mother was broken as well my tags were bent from what looked like a bullet going through or at least ricocheted off them.
Hope then. Not much but enough to move forward.
I look around and see the vault in disrepair as well as the other pods. I get up stretching my muscles and walk to the next pod to the right of mine. The viewport was fogged up so I pull the release switch and the body of ole Bob fell out. He was dead from the looks of it (and no pulse I checked). He seemed to be dead for a while. Then the next pod down (left of mine) to his wife, same condition. So was the next and the next one after that. All dead. Then I see a computer at the beginning of the hall.
I turn on the monitor to see the screen blinking in time with the klaxon, saying cryo Lab 3 critical malfunction. I acknowledge the waring and the klaxon mercifully stop blaring. I continue to read the warning displayed on the screen and discovered that all residents of the pods pronounced were dead. With the exception of my pod and Cassandra's pod. However nothing was timed stamped or dated even.
Diary, Journal, log thingy, or hypothetical reader. I'm going to say right now, I been alone for a long time even during my military service but before I met Cassandra I could handle that feeling and let me try to describe that feeling.
It's like your hollow inside and nothing you do matters. You go through the motions of life, do what's expected of you, try not to make a fuss. Be that man your father wanted, be a pawn in his games. That pawn for the government. Of course I had ambition but it had nowhere to go and it kinda peters out. I joined the military to get away from my father in Texas. Went north to get away from that toxic family but it followed me here and everywhere I went. I was looking to die at the start of Anchorage.
Of course I wasn't wanting to go alone so decided to take as many of those invading Chinese bastards with me. But somehow I lived through that campaign. I was in Washington DC receiving my medals when I met Cassandra and that's the day I finally knew how to live, I wasn't alone anymore.
However in that moment after reading how Everyone in that bay was dead. That lonely feeling hit me full force and truthfully I don't know how I handled the loneliness before. Because for the first time in 10 years I remember what it felt like. I don't know how long I stood there looking at nothing but eventually I moved. Looking at the ground I saw more blood pointing out a side door.
Following the trail, it lead me to a side office that looked like a tornado ransack the place. If I had to guess it was my wifes doing. Because in all the mess was a bloody discarded vault suit, empty packaging of a new suit and the remnants of a first aid kit. I also noticed blood leading in but not out.
Good signs. Like Cassandra's uncle Nick always said, “If there ain't no body, then there ain't nobody dead.”
I proceed through the vault to see if there was any supplies missed, and proceeded after hopefully after Cassandra. As I continued through the vault I saw the evidence of Cassandra throughout the place. Bodies of well squished Radroaches, (which made tracking her easier) messy mess hall (phtb) and other signs of life. Eventually I proceeded to the overseer’s office ransacking what supplies I could along the way. At the overseer's office is where I found my first weapon and information about the vault.
Yeah I remember that dash of experimentation that I told you of for the making of a time traveler? Well it turns out vault-tec was doing social experimentation on us for the long-term effects of cryogenically freezing the human body.
Bastards
At the overseer got what was coming It seems that the security crew pulled a coup de gras after rations was getting low to leave the vault. I can summarize this because I'm standing over the bastards bullet-riddled skeletal remains and by the entries of his computer. Not even sorry
I then proceeded to the access tunnel that the overseer had and came into the supply room where I was able to find a Pip-Boy brand spanking new in the box. After starting it up and getting it tuned to my body I proceeded to the vault door into the entrance of this gods-forsaken tomb.
I was able to reach to the top of the Vault and finally see the destruction of those idiots. If my other description of how fucked our world is, see my earlier description of the world. I will say this however nature is slowly reclaiming what is hers I have no doubt that you'll be able to do it in the next couple thousand years or so. Because life marches on with or without humans.
However there is the problem of me losing the trail of my wife at the top of the vault. So naturally I thought she would head down to the house that we wants to live in that is now a ruin. Funny enough I come across our old robot codsworth still trying to do his programmed duties.so after a not so heartwarming reunion, I found out that Codsworth has not seen my wife and we sweep the neighborhood, looking for supplies and clues of Cassandra or of Shaun's kidnappers, until the sun was on the horizon.
I need to apologize to Codsworth, I don't think he appreciated my smartassery. Though Codsworth did say there was a rainstorm not to long ago but that makes tracking Cassandra that more difficult. However not impossible.
I pray that the gods are still with me on this journey. Lord Hades take the dead into your realm and give them proper rest. Also if you could thank Bob for me, his fallout shelter was still intact and relatively stocked hope he didn't mind. Lady Diana and Lady Freya guide me into the hunt for my wife and son, keep my shots square and true. Odin help me keep my knowledge and strength in this endeavor. Lady Athena help me keep my strategy sound and wit about me. And to Jesus grant mercy to those who stand against me for I will have none to give.
This is Hawk signing off
End entry Oct 24 2287 0107
(quote from Fullmetal Alchemist and Band of Brothers)
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The completely unnecessary news analysis
by Christopher Smart
April 27, 2021
COME TO UTAH — WE'LL NEVER RUN OUT OF EVERYTHING
You've got to come to Utah, it's just the best. We have jobs and housing and hiking and skiing and national parks and seagulls and homemade bread and a clean lifestyle with absolutely no crime and everybody loves everybody else who drives new cars and we don't have traffic jams and the air is rated tops and our education system can't be beat and our kids are all above average and our Jell-O wins awards around the world. When you and the hordes cram into the Beehive State, you'll notice that our national parks are never crowded and there is no problem driving up the canyons to ski and there is always plenty of parking. We're proud to be the fastest growing state in the nation and we spent a lot of taxpayer bucks to do it. We love to give tax breaks to corporations that relocate here because we tax the hell out of residents to make up for it. Utah is very progressive — we have 5 percent beer and state-run liquor stores with grand selections. And we're diverse, we have more diversity than other lily white places and our culture is unbelievably cultural. There's absolutely no reason why you shouldn't move to Utah now! Our resources, open spaces and water will never run out no matter how many people move here from California and New York and Texas and ...
A NEW ANNUAL HOLIDAY FOR THE GOP — JANUARY 6
You may not be aware of this but the January 6 Love-In at the nation's capitol was a smashing success (no pun intended). At the Women For Trump Conference at Mar-A-Lago recently, sponsors proudly displayed enlargements of photos of the insurrection er uh, Love-In. In Congress, Wisconsin Sen. Ron Johnson said the Love-In participants were “people who love this country.” And 42 percent of Republicans polled said the debacle was “peaceful.” How do you spell, “g-a-s-l-i-g-h-t-i-n-g.” The Grand Old Prevaricators know how to turn a phrase on its head — the Trump Base now looks more radical than ever. Almost 80 percent of the GOP believes Joe Biden did not win the election. You sure can't fool them with the facts. As David Brooks writes, “This is no longer just about Trump the man, it’s about how you are going to look at reality — as the muddle its always been, or as an apocalyptic hellscape.” Let's go out on a limb here and say for Trumpers it's the latter. Women For Trump, Proud Boys, Oath Keepers and others are already planning the next “Sixth of January” holiday insurrection — think fireworks and pipe bombs. And by then maybe more of them will be out of jail— or not. The DOJ expects to indict 500 of those nice Love-In people.
KAVANAUGH: LIFE WITHOUT PAROLE FOR KIDS
Remember Brett Kavanaugh? He is the spoiled, rich kid who after some red-blooded high school and college drinking and whoring found himself working for Kenneth Starr investigating Bill Clinton's drinking and whoring. That qualified him for a top spot in the George W. Bush White House, which, in turn, set him up to be appointed to the federal D.C. Court of Appeals by his buddy, W. That's what we call jurisprudence. Before you could say, “Justice is for the rich,” Kavanaugh was nominated for a seat on the Supreme Court by a rabid orangutan. That's when his charmed life hit a tiny speed bump. His confirmation hearings revealed Kavanaugh drank a lot — he actually yelled at Sen. Amy Klobuchar: “I LIKE BEER, (YOU BITCH)!” He'd also done something to a girl in high school and another in college that left them traumatized. Some wondered if he was fit for a seat on the high court. But his supporters said, ah, he was just a kid back then, give him break. Then last week, Kavanaugh wrote the majority opinion in the case of Jones v. Mississippi, holding that a 15-year-old could be sentenced to life without the possibility of parole. Joining him were Justices Roberts, Thomas, Alito, Gorsuch and Coney Barrett — giving new meaning to the term Pro-Life.
Post script — Well, that's it for another week in the Brave New World here at Smart Bomb, where we keep track of those twins of different mothers — Brett Kavanaugh and Tucker Carlson — so you don't have to. (Wilson and the band think they're actually the same person.) There is, of course, plenty of bad news to go around. A person claiming to be legendary cult filmmaker Trent Harris proclaimed last week: “We're doomed.” A philosopher left over from the “Flower Power” days, known to his followers as Chops, always held this truism: “When you're doomed, you're doomed.” History teaches us that we've always been doomed, according to researchers here at Smart Bomb. John The Baptist preached doom and that was over 2,000 years ago. He was the one who originally coined the phrase: “We're going to hell in a hand basket.” That's probably why people drink or smoke herbs. It's just a lot easier to face “End Days” if your high. The first alcoholic beverage was invented some 9,000 years ago in China from rice and fruit. The first beer was brewed about 5,000 years ago in Mesopotamia, known as “The Cradle of Civilization,” which can mean only one thing: Even back then we were toast, so enjoy yourself, it's later than you think.
Well, Wilson, we've got to pull ourselves together and carry on, doom or no doom. So what have you and the guys in the band got that we can hum through the next week:
You work and work for years and years, you're always on the go
You never take a minute off, too busy makin' dough
Someday you say, you'll have your fun, when you're a millionaire
Imagine all the fun you'll have in your old rockin' chair
Enjoy yourself, it's later than you think
Enjoy yourself, while you're still in the pink
The years go by, as quickly as a wink
Enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself, it's later than you think
Your heart of hearts, your dream of dreams, your ravishing brunette
She's left you and she's now become somebody else's pet
Lay down that gun, don't try my friend to reach the great beyond
You'll have more fun by reaching for a redhead or a blond
Enjoy yourself, it's later than you think
Enjoy yourself, while you're still in the pink
The years go by, as quickly as a wink
Enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself, it's later than you think
(Enjoy Yourself — Guy Lombardo)
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THE OUTLINE
As New York City has become a dystopian wasteland of drug stores and bank branches, there is a politically fashionable way to flee the hellscape: Moving to the “red states.” The New York Times told its readers in October of last year to “Go Midwest, Young Hipster.” And Slate, the next month, echoed that sentiment; more artistically minded publications told artists it was the only way. Move to Detroit, they say. Move to the Rust Belt. It's surprisingly charming! You can start again somewhere fresh. Your vote will matter again if you happen to land in a swing state. You'll not only be saving about $1,000 in rent every month, you'll be rescuing our great nation, using your influence to swing the right-wing states back to the left.
For liberals, moving to a red state seems an almost heroic act. Michigan went for Donald Trump over Hillary Clinton in the 2016 election by a 47.5 to 47.27 percent split. If the hipster brigade all piled into a Volkswagen and went to Detroit — a city that has tantalizingly emptied out since its bankruptcy in 2013 — they could solidly turn that state blue, saving a red state from itself.
I am a longtime red stater, having spent most of my life in Texas and Kansas, and now living in Missouri. To those thinking of starting a new life in the center of the country, I beg of you: Please do not move to the red states. You all broke New York. Your job is to stay there and fix it.
This idea that we can leave a ruined place for a fresh start in some great, empty expanse is in our national DNA. If we are feeling persecuted, crowded out, or simply bored, there is always somewhere else to go and something else to profit from. The original pilgrim settlers came to America for economic opportunity more so than religious freedom; the push westward under the banner of Manifest Destiny was economically fueled by the genocide of indigenous populations and stripping natural resources of timber, minerals, and animals, and even now our mega-rich are talking about leaving our dying Earth to colonize Mars.
Americans make gentrification and displacement possible by seeing any place that doesn't have what we like or want as being somehow “empty,” dismissing and erasing whole peoples, stories, and landscapes. It's what allowed Americans for centuries to slaughter an entire continent's worth of people and then portray them in history textbooks as savages in teepees whose only contribution to the world is to use “every part of the buffalo” rather than being people who built sophisticated societal structures and a distinct culture. It's also what allows us to ignore what might be best about all of the other planets in the universe — that we shitty humans are not on them — and think, “You know what would be great out there? People like us.”
(Continue Reading)
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Pokemon Go to the Polls!
THU MAR 05 2020
The big news today was that Elizabeth Warren dropped out of the race.
She didn’t endorse either Bernie, or Biden, but she did at least get out of Bernie’s way.
As I wrote yesterday, when Pete and Klobi dropped out the day before Super Tuesday, the iron was hot, and their unexpected departures and endorsements of Biden made it hotter.
Warren’s departure isn’t like that... dropping out two days after Super Tuesday, when that iron is cooling off... but four days before the next round of states: Idaho, Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, North Dakota, and Washington... which are all stone cold right now.
There is no fun name for these six states on March 10th. Consequential Tuesday is what it should be called, but I’d settle for Cool Tuesday, or even Casual Tuesday... anything. But no.
There will be no debate between Biden and Sanders before these states vote. And Warren isn’t going to endorse anybody beforehand.
Nevertheless, Washington and Michigan are two biggies, with Washington seemingly safe for Bernie Sanders, and Michigan a toss up. The other four are now presumed to be going to Joe Biden.
I think Warren’s exit will solidify Washington for Bernie, but he really needs to kill it in Michigan, if he’s gonna break the Super Tuesday spell and claim to be making a comeback.
And it would not hurt if Bernie stole one of the other four out from Under Biden.
The 18 to 38 vote here would make a huge difference, but will they turn out in force, like the cavalry, on Tuesday the 10th to save his ass?
Based on the primary season so far... no, they won’t.
Because they have not turned out in any numbers at all in Iowa, New Hampshire, and all the rest. And nobody in the media... not even in the alternative media, like TYT and the like on YouTube, are reaching out to this demographic in any meaningful way.
It’s a huge disappointment!
On TikTok, I am finally seeing this week, some peer pressure from fellow youngsters to get up off their asses and act, but not nearly enough.
When I think back to last summer, with the, Raid Area 51 Memes that everybody was doing... and to this past January with the WW3 memes that were just as viral... these few isolated videos I see where somebody is begging their fellow teens or twenty-somethings to vote in the primaries... it’s just sad how weak the signal is by comparison.
There is a meme that’s pretty viral called, “don’t make me vote for Joe Biden” that’s been going around all primary season, but... it got it’s start with jaded millennials on Twitter, and, was picked up by younger TikTockers who... are buying into the apathy of their 30-something counterparts without questioning it.
The central conceit of this meme is that they’re not going to vote at all until the general election in the fall... so please... old people... don’t nominate Joe Biden. Please, old people... nominate Bernie Sanders, who is our hands down fave!
Now, clearly, they all know they are allowed to vote in state primaries... but they’re all acting like... that level of involvement is a bit too much to ask of they, themselves... the hip and jaded youth. Going to the polls two times in one year? Come on! We have lives!
Never mind that for all these young adults, either on Twitter or TikTok, who are overwhelmingly white and/or affluent, their polling place is probably within easy walking distance of home... and that voting will take only about five minutes... is free... and is painless (it’s not like you have to get a shot or something)... it’s still a hell of a lot to ask them to do twice in the same year.
I put this mainly down to ignorance of the big picture. That big picture being: voting is the most important thing you can do to improve your life. It’s more important than school, work, dating, chasing your dreams, or even eating and using your toilet, because it’s fundamental to all of them.
Story time here...
When I was turning 18, in 1987, my home state of Illinois was still considered a red state. Reagan could rely on us both times around, and we regularly voted for Republican Governors.
This, of course was long before the internet, but there was a definite underground movement going on at the time, to get young voters registered and involved in the political process.
This is why I voted for Mike Dukakis right after I turned 18... and why I continued to vote in every single election, primary or general, local, state, and federal, for the rest of my life. It was instilled in my whole generation, here, that this was a fundamental civic duty that paid off.
So... I do not think it’s a coincidence that thirty years later, Illinois is considered as reliably blue as California and New York, and that in 2020, when so much of the Midwest, and the rest of the country are withering under far right oppression... we have a democratic Governor, Senate, and House, enjoy legal weed, are leading the Midwest on climate change and green energy, are a sanctuary for undocumented migrants, a haven for the LGBT rights, and doing better than most states with racial and gender equality.
This is what happens when you get a generation of young people to prioritize voting early and often, from the age of 18 onward.
It’s what should happen to every state, but what could happen in Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Ohio, Texas and Florida very soon, if anybody gave enough of a fuck to mobilize the young voters.
It seems ridiculous to me that here in 2020, when we have such a sophisticated internet, with hand held devices in every pocket... and with this ideal Presidential candidate... Bernie Sanders... champing at the bit to bring, not just the states mentioned above, but the entire country... into the 21st century in terms of universal health care, climate change, legal weed, etc... that the 18 to 38 demographic is sitting on their hands, pretending nobody under 60 is even allowed to vote for anything.
In normal times, I’d say... you’re gonna wait 30 more years for the stars to line up again like this with a national candidate who is anywhere near as progressive as Bernie. But these are not normal times, so... if you (they, we) do not take this opportunity... it may well never come again.
Climate change, pandemics, authoritarianism... economic depression... famine and war...
...all things which have been bearing down constantly on humanity since the dawn of civilization, and which only modern democracy has managed to hold back, the last 70 or 80 years...
...are right on the doorstep now, waiting to devour us... this time on a global scale.
Is that fear mongering? No. That’s reality. This is an emergency. All hands on deck, goddammit!
Generations of people dedicated their lives... or gave their lives... to defend this democratic system we have in the free world where intellect wins over ignorance, innovation over hardship, and enlightenment over brutality... and that system goes away tomorrow... if you don’t vote.
Elderly voters don’t give a shit about the future. They care about the past... and protecting themselves in their old age. Is that callous? Yes! Old people have no problem sending young people off to war to die... and no problem handing their own grandchildren a flaming pile of shit world... because they are selfish, brain damaged bastards, the whole lot of them.
That’s why a whole generation had to fight to lower the voting age to 18... because they were being fucking slaughtered in Korea and VietNam.
They won’t just make you vote for Joe Biden, if you let them... they will make you watch Trump destroy him, before he destroys you. Why the fuck would you sit back and let this happen?
Millenials and GenZ... and all the yet to be born generations to follow are crippled with debt out of college, have no hope of owning homes, are facing a planet that is slowly turning into a hellscape, and watching right wing fascists dismantle the constitution in front of their faces in real time... and doing nothing to stop it, by using the most powerful tool they have... the one that was won for them by blood sacrifices.
Why?
Just fucking go to your goddamn polling place and spend five minutes of your shitty life checking some boxes for fuck sake! Jesus, fucking Christ!
Okay, that seems like a good place to leave it tonight.
I’m going to bed.
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