#EVERYONE GO READ THESE STORIES IF YOU'VE BEEN LIVING UNDER A ROCK LIKE ME

[night-market-if]

Spoiler Ask

So I'm going to address it all here under the cut because I've gotten a few asks in that are pretty similar and I'm sure I'm going to get more. So I thought instead of answering the same thing over and over, I'd just do a response below. Warning, spoilers for the end of book 1.

Full disclosure. I am sick. We are going through a lot of family things at the moment. My patience is probably thin.

For everyone that says MC is already too forgiving of Milo. Milo has not even come into the story yet. You've only observed memories of him. If you feel like you need an inner dialogue to tell you how angry you are over this "betrayal" or "death", I don't know what to say here. Because MC is literally just observing things at the moment. Any options that have been put forth to comment on Milo and what has happened, have been more to lay ground work and to also give a scope of the type of emotions that will be offered in the game. But literally, Milo has not even shown up yet into the story in a real capacity. So please stop sending me asks about how you are upset that MC has "forgiven" him because there has literally been no real interaction between Milo and the MC.

As for this betrayal and death thing. I am going to state this now for those who aren't going to like where my story is going so you don't need to read if you don't want to. As the Night Market, you knew you were going to die. You gladly came down and wanted to experience death. You looked at what Milo (a non magic user) was doing, and said "hey, this would be a cool experience" and then you came down here. So, yes, you are going to feel the full range of emotions that come with it. But you are also going to need to take some personal accountability for your actions. That is what is going to be explored in this book. An entity that didn't realize what emotion actually meant, came down thinking it wasn't going to be a big deal to die, and it turned out it was a big deal. A big fucking deal, in fact and that by doing so, they actually hurt people they loved. So, don't forgive Milo. I'm not forcing anyone to. But, I will not be writing an MC that puts all the blame on him. Because guess what? The Night Market would have died if he didn't do what he did. So, everyone also saying that he killed the MC? No, he literally saved the MC and billions of people. And I don't care what way you spin it? One person is never worth a billion souls. And with the MC being someone that literally cut themselves open over and over again to save most of the people living within the world, I would think they would probably not be too keen on Milo sacrificing them so they could die together in some bullshit Romeo and Juliet act.

Now, I am all for exploring how an MC comes to terms with the feeling of betrayal along with the feeling of needing to take responsibility. I am all for exploring an MC that goes "holy shit this emotion thing is way bigger than I thought and I'm angry and confused". I'm there for it. I'm excited to write it. But, I will not be writing a willfully ignorant MC that doesn't take into account that they did this to themselves as well. And yes, if you choose to not acknowledge it in game, others are going to acknowledge it for you. If you want to not read because you can't become a villain, rock back and forth in a corner and weep, or violently get mad at someone who saved the world? That's cool. I'm not offended by someone not reading it. Anyone coming into my ask box and saying "I just am not going to read now because you aren't doing xyz" I wish you a good night and hope you find something else for you because there are thousands of stories out there.

I am not interested. Nor will I ever be interested. In writing a story where I add to the plague of ignorance that is this world. Aren't we kind of all struggling enough with that in our own lives? MC is a being of compassion. They will always be a being of compassion. That is going to shift and change based on circumstances and there are going to be moments where that compassion can fall into question. When it comes to Milo, it is going to be a messy bit of confusing emotions because there is so much more than just the black and white strokes of "OMG he killed me" that seemed to be the rhetoric on here. Now, you don't want his character around? Alright. Other than when you have to see him for Gatekeeper purposes, you probably won't.

To all of you guys complaining or sending me ask after ask stating how you don't like what I am doing. I am going to tell you this and it will not ever change. If you don't like reading this, then don't read. I am not here to write a story for you specifically. You don't like the direction of a work and can't ever broaden your scope of fiction to give it a shot? Then please don't. But to have this kind of messages coming through when literally we are a chapter in? Seriously. The instant gratification is bullshit. I'm going to suspect this is coming from the younger half of my audience who is way too accustomed to a confirmation bias internet algorithm and who has had a very small scope of real life. This is of course not all of the younger crowd but it's starting to seem like a pretty good amount.

I love having conversations with everyone. My discord is always open but most of you anons hide because you are far too scared to come at me with your user name or engage in a conversation feed where more than just me can answer. I mean, you guys send me asks, citing others user names, to call them out through me. It's laughable at this point.

I love having discourse with all of you but I'm not going to keep answering the same thing over and over again and justifying my work when it doesn't need to be justified. This is a small little bit of fiction in a vast sea.

If I sound pissed, it's because I am at this point. And I'm sure I'll get more asks in that are stating they are jumping ship or that they are disappointed in me or what not. I'll delete them and move on with my evening.

To all of you who are here for the ride and just want to experience what I'm writing? Thank you. Fiction is just meant to be a form of entertainment. I am not writing anything profound. To anyone that is looking for something more, move on. I'll see everyone who wants to get mad or saying I'm too harsh, in my inbox, I am sure. Thank god you can block anons.

[kyberconfessions]

No Matter Where You Go, I Will Find You. Part 7

A/N: Wow everyone! The feed back I recieved today was crazy! I'm so glad so many people hae enjoyed my story! I didn't think anyone was really reading this, so I kept it to myself. But, you've proven me wrong! Once again, the amazing banner was made by Saradika. and, can I just say this now...the heartbreak is ALMOST done, I promise. We're are about to hit that bump. ALSO! if you would like to be added to my taglist, please send me an ask and I'll add you!

As always, this is a 18+ older fic and deals with anxiety, death, sex,  PTSD, murder, loss, found family, Order 66, and coming to terms. This is not just a fluff fic. It will very much be dealing with very dark and hard themes, so please, if that is something that can be too hard for you, don’t read.  Pairings: Rex x Reader x Cody (polyamory) I should say this is NOT a Rex x Cody fic. There will be ZERO Clonecest on this blog or story. Reader is a consensual relationship with Rex and with Cody. Yes they share, yes they will eventually have sex together, but Cody and Rex are NOT in a relationship nor will they be intimate. TW: Death, Murder, infanticide, death of the Jedi, PTSD, Loss, Anxiety, eating disorders, sleep disorders, Order 66, angst, but ends in fluff. I will add other things as I think about them

Part 7 - The Horrors of War

Obi-Wan stood across from you, a helmetless Cody at his side, the blue light of the battle plans bathing them in a ghostly pallor. Gregor stood next to you, bucket under his arm, listening intently as the General laid out the groundwork for Sarrish. You and your men in Foxtrot were going in to try and help sway the battle. It had already been a horrible, bloody fight, but the 212th Attack Battalion wasn’t going to give up so easily. “Young one, I want you and your men to flank the left side of the trench, while Cody and his men come from the east.” He gestured to different placements on the map, before zooming in towards the trench where he wanted you to go, “If we can cut them off from reinforcements, we might be able to win this battle.” You and Gregor nodded, listening intently to your Master’s orders.

“Cody, do not try to take the guns from the ground. If you look here,” again he zoomed the map out and then back in towards a towering rock face, “This is a promontory on the south side with a pathway in, that is far more dangerous and will cost an unnecessary amount of our men’s lives if you go in that way on foot. It might look appealing, but it will lead to certain death. Focus on the enemy lines here and here, with our gunships. I believe if we attack from two sides, and break their ranks, we will have a better chance of taking Sarrish back.” 

Cody studied the battle plans, nodding along to what Obi-Wan said. You all knew this was going to be much more dangerous than any battle so far. “Hey Adi’ka,” Gregor leaned in and whispered in your ear, “wanna bet Cody is going to roundhouse a few clankers and have the medbay up in arms about it...again?” You covered your face when a giggle threatened to break out. “Only if you take a bet that Master Kenobi is going to pretend that the 20 cups of caf he’s downed in the last six hours isn’t going to make him vibrate through a wall.” You and Gregor were so busy giggling and cracking jokes that you missed the annoyed look from Cody. “Captain Gregor, Commander, is there anything you would like to add to the briefing? Or are you two finished?” Cody glared at both of you, far too tired and stressed to entertain your joking attitude. Gregor stood up straighter and leaned away from you. “Uh, no. No Marshall Commander. Just, uh, just ready to get in there and break some clankers, is all.” Cody didn’t answer, only raised his eyebrow at you with a glare, detached resentment clear on his face. Though he loved you, there were times you weren't sure he actually liked you. Sometimes you wondered if he would eventually tire of you and move on. The look in his eye and slight sneer of his lip wasn't helping.

   You glanced away, biting your lip, but soon caught the gaze of your Master. “Sorry, Master.” your eyes fell away from the tired look Obi-Wan was giving you and started studying the leather ties on your shoes. “This mission is far more dangerous than what we have dealt with before, my young Padawan. I want you to be as prepared as you can be. One wrong move can cost us our lives.” If there was one thing that could get you to feel like you weren’t doing your best, it was that tone of voice from Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“Yes, Master.”

Obi-Wan and Cody went back to discussing the upcoming battle, going over every inch of the map. You swallowed thickly, trying to fight off the sting of tears in your eyes. You hated disappointing them. But lately it seemed as if that's all you did. Everything you did was wrong and you didn’t know why. You tried to do right, but you were beginning to crack and you were too afraid to ask for help. You were just tired. You just needed a break. All of Foxtrot did. Hopefully, after the campaign, you and your men could get some shore leave. Maybe then you could fix things. Maybe Cody and you could find some common ground. Maybe you wouldn't be such a disappointment to him. Maybe he'd start to like you again.  It also wouldn't hurt to see Rex once more. You missed him.

Gregor glanced at you sideways, eyes soft at your crestfallen look. He knew how much the General and Marshal Commander cared for you, but he also hated how often they forgot that you were only 18. You were just a kid.  They expected too much from you. He was the Clone Commando, not you. Very slowly, trying not to be detected, he scootched towards you, attempting to get close enough to whisper in your ear again without having to lean over. “First one to 500 clankers destroyed wins. Loser buys a round of Fried Endorian Tip-yip?” Your eyes dart to him, but he’s staring straight ahead, feigning interest in whatever Cody is arguing about for drop points. “Ye...yeah.” “Don’t let them be too hard on you Ad’ika. And don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re stronger than you know. And the next time those two make you frown like that, I’m going to call Boss and Sev. We’ll have a conversation with them.” “Thanks, Gregor.” “Of course Ad’ika. I’ll always be in your corner.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Gregor! On me! We have to get back to the ships! Fall Back! Fall Back!” There were explosions all around you, bombs throwing dark sand and shrapnel everywhere, hitting your men. You could taste the burning powder from the shots mix with blood in your mouth and feel the electric ozone dancing on your skin. The dirt and sweat burned your eyes, but still you fought, swinging your saber around, trying to volley blaster bolt after blaster bolt away from your men.  You had made the order to retreat towards the mountain range, but your men were still getting hit, still dying.You could hear the screams and cries, bodies littered across the ground, your heart hurting as you ran past them, unable to help. 

"Mayday! Mayday! This is the Jedi Commander of the 212th, I need immediate evac! West side of the trenches! We're getting killed out here!!" You were screaming into your comm, trying to get some sort of support for your men, trying to get them out. Each breath burned your lungs, making you choke on your words. Gregor caught up and stood behind you, back to back, shooting at the droids who just kept coming. 

You had never seen anything like it, so many spider droids, it was like staring out into the ocean, wave after wave of droids beating against the rocky grounds.Gregor looked over his shoulder at you with sad eyes and made his decision. He grabbed another Clone running by, by the pauldron, and shoved him towards you, “Chopper, get the Commander to the Evac ships! Go, that’s an order!” 

"No!” you screamed, eyes wide and jaw slacked, “No, no, no no! No Gregor, I'm not leaving you!" You tried to argue, he was your best man, your best friend, you were not going to leave him there to die. “Please don’t do this! Please! You have to come with us! You have to come with me! Please, Gregor! Stay with me!”

There was another explosion close to you, causing you all to flinch as dirt was thrown over you. Gregor turned and pulled your forehead to his, pressing you against the plastoid of his bucket. The dirt on your face smeared down as you sobbed, tears falling from your eyes.  You choked on your words, begging him to not leave you, begging him to keep going. 

"It's okay, Ad'ika. It's okay. I'll always be with you." 

He pulled away and pushed you towards Chopper, "Chopper, Go! Get her to safety! That's an order!" 

Then he was gone. You watched helplessly, pulled away towards the retreat, screaming and fighting to be let go so you could go after him. But Gregor ran towards the droids, commando blaster in one hand, vibroblade in the other.

Something shifted, suddenly it was hot, too hot, it ripped the air from your lungs, burning your eyes and nose. You saw them, you saw your Master standing on that ridge, saber drawn crying out to Anakin. “It’s over Anakin! I have the high ground!!....You were the Chosen One!” 

You gasped, shallow breaths unable to get air, trying to beg them to stop. You tried to scream, tried to yell out, but no sound came. Everything played out worse than you remembered, distorted in your fear. “I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!” You had to get away, you turned to run, but that angry presence just kept following you. You ran as fast as you could, but it chased you at every corner. It was so malevolent, shrouded in darkness and hatred. “I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!” You couldn’t get away, it was too fast, too vile, it was going to catch you, it was going to catch you and kill you. Your big brother was going to kill you. You looked around you, trying to find a way out, but everywhere was inky blackness, closing in to suffocate you.You tripped on something as you ran and began to fall. You kept falling, plummeting downwards as the voice got louder and closer, screaming for your demise. You couldn’t escape, you couldn’t escape, you were going to die and you couldn’t escape.

"Nnno….nng...Gre….nnoo...need….need….evac….nnnggh….fall….fallback….may….day....Gre...gor…..nnno...Capta….captains...orders….nnnnggh...Ana….nnno….Chose….chosen one…." You were slowly tossing your head back and forth, eyes squeezed shut, hands fisted in the blanket on top of you.

Rex stirred awake, hearing you call out in your sleep. He sat up a bit, watching you fight the old phantoms that still haunted your dreams. His heart clenched. He didn't catch what you said at the end, but he remembered that battle, the horrors of Sarrish, and what they did to you. Cody had called him from the medbay, panicked and distraught, while you were floating in a bacta tank, having taken heavy shrapnel to your entire torso and both legs. He was beside himself in grief, terrified at the possibility that the last thing he ever got to say to you was in irritation at the debrief. That you'd die thinking he was disappointed in you, that he was angry with you. That you'd die not knowing how much he loved you and how sorry he was for how cruel he acted. That you'd die and Cody would be all alone, left to explain to Rex how it was all his fault and that his stupidity and cold attitude killed you.

    They did almost lose you that day. You were almost gone when the evacuation team found you; a barely conscious Chopper cradling you in his arms, trying to shield the both of you from the bombs raining down. You lost all your men in that terrible campaign and were inconsolable for weeks when you finally woke up. That's when the nightmares started. At first, your Master would wake you, sensing your distress over your shared Force bond, but later Cody was always there, always waking you before Obi-Wan could get to you. When Obi-Wan noticed how much calmer you were when you saw Cody first, he would only check on you when the nightmares got to be too much to handle.

 The last time you had this nightmare with Rex, Cody was also there to hold you and wake you up with gentle whispers. He couldn't remember the exact way Cody did it, but he was going to try at least.

"Jed'ika, shhh, it's alright. You're here, you're safe. Sarrish is over. You're safe now Mesh’la. I have you. I'm not letting you go. I'm never letting you go again. You're okay. I promise." Rex ran his fingers through your hair, gently pressed at the furrow of your brow, and slowly opened your clenched fists, trying to get you to relax.

"I have you, my sweet girl. I'm never going to let anything happen to you. Never again. It's okay. It's just a nightmare. It's okay.."

He was waiting for you to shoot awake, like you always did, fear etched on your features and eyes wild. But you didn't. Slowly your breathing calmed and your fists opened up, and you seemed to leave the dream, falling back into a peaceful slumber. Rex smiled at you and kissed your head, laying back down again.

You rolled over and curled up closer to him, just like you used to when in your private quarters. Tomorrow, when the sun was shining and your nightmares were just a figment of the past, he would ask you to accompany him to Seelos. As he cuddled closer and started to fall back asleep, he couldn’t help but smile about the surprise that awaited you there. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list: @get-wr3ckered @imarvelatthestars

[containatrocity]

THE HOST: KIERAN 'KB' BARNES

Three two one, we go live! Oh baby, you're a classic, like a little black dress- you're a faded moon. Stuck on a little hot mess. But you'll be faded soon.

"I'm Kieran Barnes, but everybody just calls me KB. I'm 55 years old, and I've been the host of H.87 The Riot since the 90s. I've lived in Huntsville since my twenties, after traveling for a while with a rock band as a roadie. I settled down, and prior to the paradox, I was a local celebrity who did a lot of readings at the local library and entertainment for the kids in town- though in the years recently, I've retreated in on myself. I live almost entirely in the radio station, where I broadcast local announcements and music even all these years later. I don't trust the commune and my vice is my own paranoia."

Name: Kieran Pietro Barnes

Age: 55 (September 4th)

Sexuality/Gender: Pansexual Cis Man (He/Him)

Personality: Generally kindhearted and jovial, KB is a friend to most everyone in town, having spent much of his time there a local, well loved celebrity thanks to the radio station. He's helpful to a fault, as long as it means he doesn't have to leave the station, using his knowledge of the radio and his presence as one of the last remaining staff of the place still alive to keep the town at the very least supplied with music to listen to, and a quick way to contact everyone with one button- responsible and doting on the safety of others, He's perhaps lonely, at his core, his children long grown and far away from the town he called home and is now trapped within. his outreach helps quiet the ache. The paradox has left him paranoid, however, convinced there's some larger conspiracy at play, he's quick to talk about it to anyone who will sit around long enough to listen, hoping to gather enough people who believe him to perhaps solve the mystery of the town and get them out- he'll abandon his life's work, if it means freedom and seeing his family again.

Occupation: Radio show host at H.87 The Riot

Affiliations: The townsfolk of Huntsville, H.87 The Riot, Former Roadie for several 80s-90s era rock bands

Scent Profile: Bitter coffee and caramel sweets, both hoarded from well before the paradox trapped him in town. The faint, lingering smell of sweat, something denoting that it's been a while, since he's gone home, all hidden under a cloud of cologne.

Aesthetic: Wires running from thousands of old machines, your voice through the waves, safe within them, winding around you like a cocoon, making themselves your new home- wires like red lines of thread on a corkboard, Your paranoia has kept you alive but it will make you lonely. The world is cruel now, and you can't cope with that. Your voice through the waves, everyone knows you on a first name basis. you are their normalcy. you haven't had any of your own for a long, long time.

Not the boy I was, the boy I am is just venting, venting, dear gravity, you held me down in this starless city- I'm not the boy I was. The boy I am is just venting, venting- dear gravity. You've held me down in this starless city.

CHAPTER ONE: LIFE IN HUNTSVILLE POST PARADOX.

Following the Paradox, KB has largely collapsed in on himself, a hermit of sorts living entirely within the radio station, broadcasting day and night only stopping to sleep and shower. He's happy to serve as the town's announcement system and an entertainer, things that feel normal, familiar comparative to the past decade spent living in relative terror. Once a local celebrity and entertainer, regularly doing story nights at the local library for the children and going to the school to do puppet theater shows, he doesn't have many young folks to entertain, anymore, his collection of plush friends left to the side to collect dust. He serves now as a reminder of a bygone era, a host of a station that has had the blessing to remain active, and with songs that only stretch up to 2012, he's tried to spice things up, opening the station up to bartering and trade announcements brought by every morning to be read out every few hours, radio plays, and with the arrival of Cyan, a handful of new songs provided to the airwaves in blocks on fridays through sundays- something for people to look forward to- a reason to tune in.

In honesty, he craves the company. the knowledge people are listening brings him comfort, the knowledge he's not just some scared old man hiding in his radio station, that somewhere- even if it's just through Huntsville, his voice still carries, that he's still somebody people care about enough to tune in- he doesn't want to fade away, an entity of a bygone era like the radio itself. He'll keep spinning tracks for the comfort of others- so long as he's still offered listening ears, and calls on landlines for company when that little box over his studio reads "On Air."

[ficsforeren]

https://the-princess-button.tumblr.com/post/670028479659737088/the-eren-jaeger-library

I’ve made a rec list for you babe!! I couldn’t rest until I did it LOL

Everyone please go check out the lovely Eren writers of tumblr and AO3 ❤️

SANDRAAAAAA

[mrpenguinpants]

Spider’s Thread [Reverse AU]

Possessive Red Xiao x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Commissioned for: @profoundwitchsalad

Art Credit: @ruoyeahs

Warning: Unhealthy relationships.

Prompt:

“You’ve ruined my life because I have a warped idea of what love is and I can’t live without you. But now you’re trying to leave me and I won’t allow that. You left me alive. You have a duty to live for me and by me. I’m not letting you go.”

---

Xiao Semi Series

[ Friendship ] [ Falling in Love ] [ Cuddles ] [ Protective ] [ Affection ] [ Jealously ] [ Opposites Attract ] [ String Of Fate (Soulmate) ] [ Fainting ]

Link to original posts:  [Red! Xiao.] [Reverse AU]

[Masterlist]

Alatus was once told a story by his Master. A sinner who falls into hell is rewarded for his only good deed, choosing not to kill a spider. As his reward, a thread is lowered down for him to climb out of Hell. In the end, the sinner remains in Hell because he kicks aside others and the thread breaks. Alatus doesn't remember why his Master told him this story but he still empathizes with the sinner. He would have done the same or asked for this 'saviour' to extend their hand down instead. That way he could pull them down.

"Xiao? Are you okay?"

He slowly opens his jade eyes to see you hunch over, peering down above him, eyebrows furrowed together in concern as you reach down and softly tap his temple. He allows you to take a moment to do whatever you want with his face before he reaches up to grasp at your wrist gently, holding back on his want to rub circles into your skin. His reminiscing can wait for now.

"What is it?" he asks curtly, sitting up and resting his elbow on his raised knee. You pout at his curt tone but shrug it off as you take a seat next to him and lean your shoulder against his. You dig into your bag and pull out slips of commission papers and hand it over to him to read through what needed to be done today. A few Hilichurl camps needed to be taken care of, sabotaging a slime balloon, all tasks that seem mundane to someone who fought in a war. As he's preoccupied, you take a moment to look at Xiao's face. He's just the slightest bit unnerved whenever you do this because you always seem to know what's bothering someone.

"Were you dreaming of her again?" you ask quietly. The silence is a good enough answer but you nod understandingly. You never knew his Master personally but you did fight a long strenuous battle against her. From one look you could tell she was a manipulative and cruel woman. While it may not be very kind to say, you were glad that with her passing, Xiao would be free from her physically. But mentally...there were still some things to work out. But Xiao was a very reclusive person, especially with his emotions, so pushing him any further would only make him irritated and closed off.

"Venti and Zhongli are joining our party for a bit if that’s alright. They'll help out a lot with our commissions and travelling. I like Liyue a lot but climbing mountains stresses my shoulders out," you laugh as you change the subject to something less depressing. Standing up as you dust your clothes off before turning to Xiao and holding your hand out for him to take. He stares at it hard for a few moments before huffing and reaching over to clasp your hands together.

It has been so frustratingly peaceful since the war ended. He's not used to it and he can still feel the lick of cutting winds and the heavy pressure of rocks against his body when he sees the bard and funeral parlor consultant just on the horizon. If it were up to him, he wouldn't play nice with these two Archons but they're important to you so he bites his tongue until he tastes blood. He knows the Archons do the same. As soon as the two of them spot you both, Venti is already rushing and tackling you to the ground in his excitement.

"Traveler! I haven't seen you in ages. You need to come and visit Mondstadt more," Venti cried into your shoulder as you awkwardly patted him on his back. Always with the dramatics but you cared about Venti all the same. Xiao scoffed before flicking his jade eyes to meet gold as Zhongli stared down at him cautiously. Since the war ended, everyone seemed to have this warped idea that Alatus had some vendetta against the Gods and Celestia but he was fighting because he was told to.

"Xiao. It's good to see you again," Zhongli said to him. Xiao just nodded in acknowledgement. Even with this new mortal form, Morax never bothered to change his eyes. His gaze alone held the weight of the mountains he had thrown. If Xiao hadn’t been under one of them before, he might have crumbled under the pressure.

"Alright alright, Venti. I promise I'll drop by sometime this month but we still have commissions to do!" you laugh as you haul the bard onto his feet and swat his cape down from the speckles of dirt. He grins cheekily at you, linking pinkies with you to seal your promise, before suddenly lighting up as if he just remembered something.

"Actually! Before we start anything, I need to speak to Mr. Zhongli and Xiao. Super important archon things, you know?" Venti nodded to himself as the two mentioned people stared at him with varying levels of confusion. But Venti just waved their worries off and linked his arms with both men as he dragged them off to a more secluded corner with a surprising amount of strength, “We’ll be right back!”

"Do what you need to do but don't take too long," you called after the trio as you trailed off to the side, messing with your bag of commission papers and gear. Xiao hated that. He knows that these two Archons are your...friends.. but shouldn't you be a bit more cautious? Just because they have mortal forms doesn’t make them human, it doesn’t make him human either.

"Hey, there's no need to look so scary. There really is something important I wanted to talk to the two of you about," Venti speaks up as soon as you're out of earshot. It still gives Xiao whiplash whenever he drops the persona and switches back to Barbatos. "Since Morax is the only Archon I trust with this information and, while I don't trust you one bit, you're the one that's with her all the time you should also know. She's ascending to Celestia."

Barbatos gauges both of their reactions. Morax seems visibly surprised, his eyes slightly widened a fraction, while Xiao has no idea what that means. His Master didn’t exactly give him a history lesson on Celestia or Archons, just pointed to who was his enemy and dealt punishments when he failed.

"And what the hell does that mean?" Xiao asks as he crosses his arms. Venti appears for a second as the bard pouts before continuing.

"It's like I said. A mortal who performs great, heroic feats can ascend to Celestia and achieve godhood. Where they will watch over their people from above. I've only seen this once before so it took me a while to recognize the signs. But 1000 years ago, I helped a woman named Vennessa with her ascension and with the traveler's recent actions with winning the war. Well, you don't need me to explain the rest," Barbatos finishes. Zhongli simply hums as he cups his chin and absorbs what's just been heard. He doesn’t seem troubled by the news at all.

"Have you told her about this?" Zhongli questions as he looks towards the direction that you left. Venti shakes his head. “That would mean that she would vanish from this world."

“I know she loves this world. Whether she wishes to ascend or not isn’t my choice but I want her to continue her travels with that beloved smile on her face. But if she does choose to ascend, she will need our help," Venti stares at the two of them in a mix of pride, sadness, and determination. "Can I count on you two for your help?"

It's a complete white noise in Xiao's ears as his surroundings fade out. He thinks he can see Zhongli nod to Venti wishes, the ever calm smile on his face to match the cheery grin on Venti’s. What, now you want to become a God? Leave this world behind? That’s not funny. You made him give up everything. While in your eyes, your blinded hero syndrome, you think you've liberated him from a soulless conquest but he still has nothing. You still took everything away from him and your only compensation was to have him by your side until he left himself. But now you want to leave without a warning? That’s not fair. You don’t get to take back what you owe. He won't allow you to leave him behind.

“Did something happen? Did Venti say something unnecessary again?” you ask out of the blue. Zhongli and Venti had returned to their respective regions once your commissions were all finished. Since the three of them disappeared to talk Archon business, Xiao had seemed even more tense and aloof than usual. As if he was out of it? You knew that everyone was still suspicious of Xiao and they were angsty to leave you alone with him, but you knew Xiao would never do anything to hurt you. When he doesn't answer, you slowly reach over and you subtly nudge his head up onto your lap and look at him curiously. Before reaching down and cupping his cheek. He leans into your touch before turning his face into your palm and leaving a soft kiss. It makes you giggle at the ticklish feeling as you look at him so softly. It annoys him.

"You were never connected to the war and yet you fought against us anyways. Even when I killed so many people, why did you choose to spare me?" he asked as you blinked at him before giving it some serious thought. He went on a rampage and almost destroyed the world. It was fun. He doesn't have any regrets at all because he hated humanity. His own Master was human after all. But then you appeared and stopped him. A random outsider that wanted to play the hero. He thought it was cute. Perhaps he had underestimated the lengths someone would go to to save the world they loved but when he fell defeated at your feet. He said that this wouldn't change a single thing. He would still scorn humanity and what they did to him. He was so sure he would die there but you chose to extend your hand down to him instead despite what your companions felt. Even when the war ended and he had nowhere else to go, you offered him to travel with you. Nothing changed about his mentality, every person that chose to talk to him was quickly scared away with piercing eyes. Every conversation started would end in silence. Every touch would be met by the tip of his spear. But you would link your hands together with his and smile brightly, and he would always end up forgetting his trauma for a moment. You’ve... become precious to him.

"I love this world and everyone in it. You are a part of that world even if you tried to destroy it. It...didn't seem fair to leave you behind when you've suffered just as much," you finish but it only seemed to spark a wave of deep anger inside of Xiao. He quickly lurched up, almost knocking your forehead with his, before grabbing the scruff of your shirt collar and yanking you forward.

"Cut it out with that "love of everything" crap. It's revolting. So you're saying the people I killed weren't worth avenging? Do you think I'm so weak that I need protection? It's one thing to try and please everyone but at least have some awareness would you?" he snarled as he pushed you to the ground. He knew he was being harsh on you and you had every right to walk out and abandon him but you didn't. Of course, you wouldn't. You needed him as much as he needed you. You just reached over and tenderly reached your hand and placed it next to his. Damn it, why is he always the one stuck worrying about you.

"Then you want to protect me, right? Then don't break your promise. You left me alive which means you have a duty to live for me," he takes your hand in his and squeezes hard. Digging his nails into your own until crescents appear and tiny specks of blood appear so you know he's serious. He doesn't care how you interpret his words, just so long as you never leave him.

"Don't die on me, Hero."

It's been a few hours since the conversation so it's pitch black outside but Xiao was never one to sleep. Even if he could, his mind is too loud to fall asleep too. He's startled when you melt against him fully asleep. Honey smooth as you curl up to his warmth and cling to him like moss to a rock. He can feel his cheeks start to flush as his heart begins to pound against his chest. He can't breathe as his world is filtered through each beat that drums against his ears. He's not sure if there's actually something wrong with him or if it's just been a while since someone got so close and his instincts haven't left.

He's just realized it. He's feeling pain. The feeling in his chest is black but he can't claw it away. It's strange in a way that he can't explain it, that he's never felt before, that he's never felt the need to experience. His life had been warped by battle and a constant push to submit to his Master. They are all things he knows but the gentle words that come from your mouth, the bright eyes that hold the world, the horrible ice-hot feeling inside of him is so foreign yet too easy. He doesn't like it.

It makes him feel...clean in a way. Enlightened perhaps? His Master is long gone and it's like you said. He's free now. Free to make his own decisions and live his life how he wants to. He carefully turns over so as to not startle you away as he really looks at you. You look so peaceful in his arms, eyelids shut without worry, face slack without nightmares, breathing so softly against him. If you weren't so close to him that he couldn't feel the rise of your chest, he wonders if he would think you were dead. He stares at the lock of hair swaying back and forth with each breath like a starved man. The strange feeling doesn't stop. He hates it. It's everything that goes against him and what he knows and everything he should want. He's supposed to be the villain in your story, he should kill you right now-

"Xiao..." he hears you mumble beside him as you lean further into his arm. Damn it. How low is he going to go?

“What are you thinking about now? You just need to think about me. Don’t think about anything else...but me” Xiao sighs before he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into him until you're snug against his chest. Close to him, where he can touch you, where you belong. Not with Morax or Barbatos. Not with humans but beside him. He closes his eyes and nuzzles his head into your hair and he stares off into the distance. The feeling never leaves him for the remainder of the night.

"Ah! There you are. I was running around crazy looking for you," he turns his hair to see your flushed form pulling yourself up onto the mountain cliff, "When I woke up I couldn’t find you anywhere! You gave me a scare there."

He hates you. He hates you.

Words of his previous master ring in his ears, almost as if her very soul is wrapping around him as she whispers in his ear how weak he is. Ones with power that refuse to take what they want because they rather live in the comfort of nothing. Be greedier, take what belongs to you.

"Xiao?" you say as his piercing eyes stare directly through you. His Master always told him that she loved him. Even if he hated her he still clung to that false love. Of being wanted. Isn't love for a single person vile? Would feeling such emotions for one person instead of "everyone" bring you down to reality? It's not fair that you've crawled your way into his heart while you walk along in bliss. Now that he thinks about it. It was so simple. He just needs to monopolize your thoughts and love. This time it won't be as friends.

"I love you."

He'll pull you down to where he is. You extended your hand down to hell so it's your fault. He'll drag you down kicking and screaming if he has to. You left him alive. You have to live for him and by him. He's not letting go.

Reblogged for extra notes

[taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

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[imperatorium]

can u explain ghost for me? i kno its a band but there's a sister? multiple ghost men? i dont understand but i want to

Oh, bless, anon! I'd be more than happy to. :)

I did actually make a pretty comprehensive post for another friend a couple years ago, which you can read here: https://imperatorium.tumblr.com/post/614954763444011008/hello-friend-i-do-not-understand-your-other

But besides that, to summarize - Ghost is a band with an accompanying fictional storyline. In real life, the band is comprised entirely of one whole person, Tobias Forge, supported by his touring band. In real life, the band's American manager was not accepting of the fact that Tobias's intention were just to be an "anonymous" band, masked and costumed. The manager decided they needed a story, so Tobias was like, "Fuck it, we ball," and gave us a story.

Within the fictional world of Ghost, the band is the Satanic Church's musical side project - kind of like the worship band at an over-the-top Christian megachurch. Like any other popular Christian rock band - but, you know, for Satan. The band had its first go in the 1960s, but then really came into full being in 2010 and has since done nothing but rise to its full power as you would know them know - the band with the really popular song on TikTok.

There are several important characters within the story/band, who I will now highlight in order of appearance IRL (rather than chronologically in fiction).

PAPA EMERITUS I: Sometimes called "Primo" (Italian for "first") by the fandom. Led Ghost at the time of their debut album, Opus Eponymous. Because he was originally intended to just be a costume and a mask, there's not much canon depth to his story. Was allegedly in his 70s during his reign as antipope and lead singer, but this still does not make sense to me. Mostly a serious old bat, did a lot of "proof of concept" songs that sound very much like what you would expect from a Theatrically Satanic Metal Band.

PAPA EMERITUS II - Papa I's replacement in 2013. Sometimes referred to as "Secundo" ("second" in Italian) by the fandom. His album is called Infestissumam and the cover is a parody of the Amadeus poster, so I respect him for that if nothing else. Notably in his 50s when he took over from Papa I and much more personality, which can be seen in the "Papaganda" videos. He speaks the most Italian and looks like he doesn't not want us to call him Signore Mondiale out of paint. Very much a jaded hedonist who was all too aware of the temporary position he was in as both Antipope and leader of the band.

SISTER IMPERATOR: Not a member of the band, but easily the most important person who exists (in my opinion). To paraphrase my roleplay journal info for her, she is the "mama superior" of the Satanic Church's organization of nuns called the Sisters of Sin, the devoted left-hand of the Antipope (spoilers - not either of the ones you've been introduced to), and "momager" of the Ghost project. First seen in the Summoning videos that came out around the end of Papa II's reign, she is tired of everyone's bullshit and wants Satanic world domination yesterday.

PAPA EMERITUS III: The entire fandom's heartthrob, sometimes called "Terzo" ("third" in Italian). A stinky baby. Very self-important. I love him. Anyway. His reveal in 2015 was the first time we learned that there was a familial bloodline we've been following this whole time. III is Papa II's "younger" brother (by only three months) and, thus, the world's oldest twink. Under his reign, the band won a Grammy for "Cirice" and he was also the first to technically have two albums, Meliora and Ceremony & Devotion - granted the latter of which is a live album. Also the first boy to have to be forcibly removed from his position because he did not want to leave.

PAPA EMERITUS ZERO, aka PAPA NIHIL: The patriarch of the Emeritus bloodline. The Actual Antipope of the Satanic Church and also the love of my life. He's adorable. Fucking look at him. He plays the fucking saxophone. We met him at Papa III's dethroning and soon thereafter learned that There Is Something Going On Between Him & Sister Imperator. (They're in love. Don't let anyone tell you it's not mutual.) He is stubborn and crotchety and old as balls...and also out of heirs by the time we see him and Sister first touch base regarding the band.

CARDINAL COPIA: Papa Nihil's personal assistant, second-most awarded employee of the month, the other apple of Sister Imperator's eye. A fifty-year-old minor. Keeps rats and rides tricycles. He's a good boy and I want to pick him up and carry him everywhere with me. He was the first lead singer of Ghost to take up as head of the band but not be granted the title of Antipope and released Prequelle. (It was a very Star Wars prequel situation - Nihil as the Jedi Council making Copia, as Anakin, a member of the Council but not raising him to the position of Jedi Knight.) Their relationship is contentious in part because Copia is not part of the bloodline.

Er, rather, he's """not""" part of the bloodline.

But actually!

So, remember when I said there was Something Going On Between Sister & Nihil? Yep, there's a backstory. And they are in love. The "Dance Macabre" video details Nihil's ascension to the Antipapacy with Sister's assistance. There's some debate about this video because Nihil implies in one of the story chapters that his family has a very long history as Antipopes within the Church but in this, we see him wander in a bit confused about what's happening until Sister guides him through the ritual. Draw your own conclusions - I know I have! (Mine start with the "Cirice" video, in case you need to take a peek at that again...)

We also learn that actually, Ghost as a musical project originally had its first go in the 1960s, led by Nihil himself! He released the two best songs the band will ever have (including "Mary On A Cross"), but...stardom was...a little too much for him (got a little too hung up on the stupid things like kissing groupies in front of his pregnant girlfriend) and the experiment was prematurely ended.

Did I mention that Sister Imperator is totally pregnant in 1969?

Well, it's a good thing that I did because she sure never has!

With WHOMST, you ask? Well, we don't officially know. But she sure did kill Papa I, II, and III (notably not her sons, despite her obvious relationship with Nihil) once Copia was officially made head of the band so no one would get in his way... (Tobias is not out here writing songs about his OCs, but that being said, I recommend taking a listen to "Witch Image" for my thoughts on this subject.)

PAPA EMERITUS IV: Our reigning Antipope! But, surprise - it's just Copia! Our little rat finally took the coveted position in March of 2020 shortly after Nihil expired on stage. I have still not recovered from the mixed emotions I feel about this situation - immensely proud of my baby boy, forever mourning the loss of my stupid husband. You know how it goes.

As Papa IV, Copia released Impera earlier this year, about two years after his ascension. It's about the rise and fall of empires and everyone seems to be taking this to be a portentous autobiography since the nature of the band is that there will always be some other Antipope waiting in the wings to take over, but I refuse to accept this reality because Copia is the Antichrist and my son and I love him and I'll burn this whole chapel of ritual down if anything bad happens to him ever.

...I think this is coherent, but if it isn't...then, I recommend reading the previous explanation I linked earlier and/or asking for any clarification needed! (I also recommend forgiving me, since sometimes I am very all over the place when I get excited to talk about what I like.)

And you know, actually, as it so happens, on the off chance that anyone does like when I get real hype about what really matters (to me) in Ghost (Sister & Nihil), I may have some good news about that for you all soon...

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Dear Fucking Diary: Entry the 7th - Mini-Golf or Something that Requires a Bit More Stamina? Yeah, the second one.

This is a reposting cause the original chapter got taken down for being "e*plicit". 🙄 I'm hoping taking the word s*x out of the chapter title and giving it very PG rated gifs will keep it from being flagged again!

Pairings: Dean x Fem!OFC (Daisy)

Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Smut. P in V. Protected s*x. Oral (fem receiving) Fingering. Brief mentions of overstimulation.

Word Count: 4,719

DFD: Series Masterlist

Series Summary: I’ve been tasked with writing in this fucking diary like a some teenage girl. It sucks, but who else am I going to talk to about the incredible hottie who lives next door?

Chapter Summary: 7th Entry: K, it's gonna get a little steamy - beware!

A/N:  This series has popped into my head from out of nowhere. It was supposed to be a whole other thing, but then it just morphed into this. (Cause I needed more series to work on! 🙄😄) Hope you like it, I should be releasing a new entry every few days, and I think there will be about 7 or 8 entries. The first entry is short and sweet, but most of the others will range between 1000 and 3000 words. Thanks everyone!! 🥰

A/N 2: This is a repost of this chapter because the original was flagged and hidden. 😠🤬 So, I'm gonna ask a big favour, could you guys give this a quick reblog, cause I lost all the notes on the previous post too. No need to comment, if you don't want to, don't even have to read it again if you don't want to. I'm so disappointed. I'm just incredibly grateful that I keep copies of all my fics on my computer. I'd be heartbroken to lose over 4,000 words of the story.

The awesome divider at the bottom is created by @talesmaniac89

Hey DD!

Well, that was a waste of time. I could have just kept writing! I got all the way down to Dr. Hailey's office just to have her receptionist tell me she'd gone home sick ten minutes before.

So, I still have no idea what she thinks of me sleeping with Dean. I guess I'm just gonna write it all out here and see what you think. And by you, I mean me, I'm gonna write it all out and see what I think.

After we finished dinner (Dean left Melissa a VERY large tip; I think he felt bad) we got back into Dean's car and headed to our second, surprise, destination.

After only a couple of blocks we pulled into the parking lot for "The Whirling Dervish Miniature Golf and Bumper Cars Emporium".

"Mini-golf?" I asked as I climbed out of the car.

"Yeah!" Dean smiled brightly and for just a moment, he looked like a little boy. Then his face fell into a frown. "Do you not like Mini-golf?"

"Oh sure, I do!" I reassured him quickly. Then I amended my statement. "I mean, I think I do. I don't really know. I've never played."

He looked dumbstruck. "You've never played mini-golf? Seriously?"

"Nope." I said with a chuckle. "But it always seemed fun." I made a swinging motion with my arms.

Dean laughed and then put his hand on both of mine and pushed them downwards from where I'd held them at about chest height.

"Lower your swing, sweetheart, it's golf not baseball."

I ducked my head with a smile. The shy posture was more a response to the endearment and the feeling of his big, rough hand on mine, than from any embarrassment about my golf swing.

I could feel sparks flare to life between us and immediately felt the pull towards him. He seemed to feel it too because he stepped closer to me.

"Actually," he said, his voice low and heated, "it's better for me if you don't know how to play."

"Better for you because then you can kick my ass?" I joked.

"No. Because then I can come up close behind you," he said, and proceeded to do just that, "and wrap my arms around you."

He caged me within the rock solid strength of his arms and took hold of both my hands.

"And under the guise of teaching you," he twisted our bodies slightly and then mimed a golf swing, "I get to feel you move against me."

I could feel the hard wall of his chest pressed up tight behind me and the scent of leather from his jacket combined with his own warm, masculine scent surrounded me and made me feel slightly dizzy.

He'd lowered his head so that it was just over my left shoulder and I turned to see his scruffy cheek only a few inches from my lips and my breath caught. Then he turned his face towards me and his mouth was right there and I knew I was lost.

I leaned forward and pressed my lips to his, sliding them softly against his silky, warm mouth and sighing audibly.

God his lips were perfect; they parted slightly so he could suck my bottom lip between his, and I could feel the pull of it shoot into the core of me. I don't know if a simple kiss has ever turned me on so much.

After a moment of craning our necks trying to press closer, he turned me in his arms so I was facing him and one hand sank into my hair and fisted it while his other hand slid down to my lower back and pressed me tight against him.

I moaned at the power and strength I could feel beneath my hands as I slid them inside his leather jacket and around to his back. The muscles I could feel shifting there caused another soft moan to slip from my throat and another jolt of electricity to surge to the increasingly wet spot at the juncture of my thighs.

He walked me a couple of steps backward until we hit the side of the car and then lifted me easily to sit on the still warm hood. He moved between my legs and I instinctively opened them wider for him.

His mouth hadn't left mine for more than a heart beat through all of our movement but now he began to trail wet, open-mouthed kisses across my jaw and down my neck.

His hands travelled from my waist up inside my open jacket before slipping up past the hem of my sweater to press warm and rough against my back.

His fingers traced lazy patterns across my skin while his lips moved hot and hungry along the shoulder exposed by my sweater.

"God, Daisy," he mumbled low and gruff against my skin, "I've been wanting to do this all evening. Ever since you opened the door tonight. Your skin just looked so soft, and fuck, did I want to taste it."

He slid his tongue back to the hollow of my neck. "You're more delicious than I could have imagined. And Christ, sweetheart, I'm starving for you."

My stomach muscles clenched low in my belly at his words. His voice was like warm molasses, sweet and slow, dark and deep, and I was completely transfixed.

I tilted my head to the side to give him better access and he began to suck bruises into the skin up and down my neck and shoulder.

The cold air hit my heated skin where his lips and tongue had been, and it sent a chill up my spine. He pulled my jacket closed again and returned to smothering my mouth with his own. He kept his fists bunched in the sides of my jacket and used the grip to pull me close.

I pushed my hands up under his shirt, desperate to feel his taut skin under my fingers, forgetting that my hands are often cold and were especially cold on an early November evening.

Dean hissed and gasped against my lips and even though I felt bad and pulled my hands back from his skin, I can't deny the sound was hot af. It made me want to bring it out of him again, but for more pleasurable reasons than cold hands.

We spent a few more minutes kissing deeply, and soft moans of frustration kept slipping out of me when our jackets, jeans, and the November chill got in the way of us getting closer.

Finally Dean pulled away and rested his forehead against mine, his breathing ragged.

"Okay." He said and dragged in a long breath. "We should..." he made a vague motion toward the mini-golf course. "...before we...I mean..." He sighed deeply. "I'm about one more kiss away from throwing you into the back seat and saying to hell with mini-golf."

He chuckled and I laughed softly with him, but my heart was hammering against my chest and so many dirty ideas were swirling in my mind.

"Well..." I began and caught his gaze, as I tried to gauge his reaction. "I mean...you could always teach me mini-golf another time." I spoke softly, hardly believing the audacity and boldness of my own words. But I refused to duck my head or break his gaze, determined to know what he was thinking.

I was pretty sure I had my answer as I watched his eyes become hooded and heat pool in them. His jaw clenched briefly before he licked his lips and pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and sucked on it. My mouth watered watching him and wetness gathered elsewhere as well.

"You sure?" He asked quietly.

I nodded. "Completely sure. But," I grinned at him, "as much as I'd love to have some fun in the back seat of this beauty, it's probably infinitely warmer and roomier at either one of our apartments and we're less than fifteen minutes away. I might be able to last that long. What about you?"

He pulled me tight against him and buried his tongue in my mouth, kissing me hard and fast before lifting me back to the ground.

"Okay, but let's hurry."

No more than ten minutes later we were walking up the stairs to our apartments. Boy does he know how to handle that tank of a car.

Why was his ability to drive his car so fast, but so well, such a ridiculous turn on?

Dean was holding my hand and as we reached the landing between flights he pulled me against him and then pressed me up against the wall as he had earlier in the day. This time though he also pushed a thick thigh between my own, settling it so that I was pretty much sitting on it.

I can't begin to describe how incredible that felt. I couldn't help it, as he kissed me senseless once again I began to grind down against his muscular leg and holy shit! My body exploded with heat and a shockwave of tingling pleasure suffused my entire being.

My pleasure was only intensified when Dean moaned raggedly into my mouth and lifted his knee to better connect with my core the next time I ground against him.

I'm not sure that we wouldn't have just ripped each other's clothes off right there if we weren't suddenly interrupted by a middle aged lady coming through the doors to the stairwell.

I just caught her look of judgement before Dean grinned at her and winked and she turned into a sixteen year old blushing girl, giggling slightly and carrying on her way. I was happy to see I wasn't the only grown woman who turned back into a silly teenager every time Dean looked my direction.

As she passed us, Dean grabbed my hand and practically hauled me up the stairs. I laughed and stumbled up the last step, punch drunk on his kisses and the feel of his body against mine.

As soon as I stumbled, Dean bent and scooped me up to carry me down the hallway. I laughed again, breathless, and hit his shoulder.

"Put me down, you idiot."

"Nope, a broken neck could really put a damper on our evening." He said and got to his place in about four of his incredibly long strides. Since his apartment was first along the hallway that's where we ended up. I realized that I'd never actually been in his apartment, we'd always met up in mine.

He set me down to pull out his keys, but held on to my hand and pulled me into the apartment after him.

His place was a lot neater than I would have expected for a bachelor mechanic, but I could still see some clutter here and there, and even better, he had a sink full of dishes from earlier in the day. I couldn't explain why these small messes and imperfections made me happy. Except that Mr. Control-Everything never allowed any clutter, and dishes were to be washed after every single meal. Always.

I shook the asshole out of my head and focused on Dean as he lit the few lamps in his living room, allowing a soft glow to surround us.

He came back to where I awkwardly stood just inside the door and took my jacket off, hanging it beside his, and leading me over to the couch, where he sat down close beside me.

For some reason it hit me in that moment that all the women I'd heard through my paper thin walls had likely come in this same way, hot and desperate for him, watching him light up the living room with a seductive light and then sitting beside him on the couch. Or did he usually take them straight to the bedroom?

As though he was reading my mind, he pulled back a little and dropped my hand. He smiled his slightly bashful smile and again his hand found the back of his neck and he rubbed it gently.

"Look, if you've changed your mind, that's okay." He nodded toward his TV. "We can just...Netflix and not chill."

I chuckled and ducked my head again and wondered for the first and only time that night whether I was making a mistake. I'd only known him less than a month, this was the very first time we'd gone out, maybe I should just wait.

But then I looked into his eyes and said, Fuck that.

This man was beautiful beyond belief, he was sexy as hell and his hands and mouth were so incredibly talented. He was also kind and funny, and Jesus Christ, I wanted him so badly.

So, I just shook my head and pulled his face toward mine. "I haven't changed my mind." I said softly. "I want you, Dean. I want you to touch me, kiss me, fuck me." I turned red at my own dirty words, but I wanted there to be no confusion.

Dean's exhale turned into a growl and he leaned the rest of the way in and claimed my lips in a scorching, frenzied kiss. His lips were hot, wet, and everywhere.

I simply gave myself up to him and what started out in a frenzy, slowed into an endless seduction of his fingertips dragging across my skin, his hands pressing against my flesh with the exact right pressure to make me desperate for more. His mouth was a languid, continuous promise of more pleasure.

When he'd laid his lips against every inch of skin above the neckline of my sweater, he looked at me, his jewel green eyes having darkened to the color of a forest in the rain.

"Lift up your arms." He commanded and I happily obeyed, letting him pull the garment off my body.

He stared at my lace covered breasts and the look on his face made me eternally grateful that I had opted to go with the sexy, black bra and panties set I was wearing rather than the infinitely more comfortable sports bra and granny panties I'd been contemplating.

He rubbed his thumb over my nipple, through the lace and I shuddered.

He pulled back slightly and nodded toward my bra. "Take it off for me, sweetheart. Slowly."

I shuddered again at the primal look of heat and desire on his face and I reached behind me to do what he asked.

As I let my bra straps fall from my shoulders, Dean groaned.

"Fucking, hell, Daisy." He said and he sounded pained just before he set his mouth to my breast, laving at my nipple and then blowing gently across the wet skin. It constricted into a little rosebud, and he sucked the puckered nub between his lips before sinking his teeth slowly into the sensitive flesh.

I cried out and my back arched into his body, and I was desperate to even the playing field. I pushed on his shoulders. "Your turn." I said and waved toward his olive green button down.

He slowly unbuttoned the shirt, taking his time and enjoying my impatience as I pushed away his hands and swiftly pulled the buttons from their holes. I may have accidentally on purpose ripped open the last couple.

As I smoothed the shirt back over his shoulders I could feel myself getting wetter just looking at the wide expanse of lightly freckled skin stretched tight over thick muscles. He was so broad and solid I was instantly desperate to have him crush me into the couch, or the bed. Or the floor, or a particularly sturdy table.

I swept my hands down his torso and leaned forward to flick my tongue against his darkened nipple. I looked up at his face as I did and saw his face flinch with pleasure before he hauled me back and stood up. Before I could even blink he'd picked me up and was walking down the short hallway toward his bedroom.

"I need more space." He said as he laid me out against the pillows and then moved to the end of the bed to crawl up and kneel between my thighs.

"I wanna be able to see every inch of you. I wanna see the goosebumps erupt on your skin."

He dragged his fingers across my stomach causing that just that exact reaction. His hand moved to the button of my jeans and my breathing picked up.

"I wanna watch your breath catch when I do this." He popped the button open and then slowly slid them over my hips and off. Sure enough, I went from breathing too fast to not breathing at all.

Dean rubbed his forefinger against my soaked panties and I bucked against his hand, still holding my breath.

"Breathe." He said slowly, a whispered word that reminded me to take oxygen back into my starved lungs and I gasped in the needed air as he slowly pulled my lacy underwear off of me, leaving me completely exposed under his gaze.

In all the times I had imagined this moment, it may have been the focus of one or two day dreams over the last few weeks, I had always pictured myself with some clothing on, or envisioned the scene in a darkened room, sure that I would be too self-conscious to be completely naked, all of me visible for him to stare at.

But then, in my dreams I had never imagined he would look at me like that. A look that was all hunger and primal need. He was looking at me (me!) like he was desperate for me, like I was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Daisy." He said and his voice was gravelly and raw. "My god, sweetheart, I just..."

He didn't seem to be able to find words and the knowledge that I was making him speechless made me glow and feel the most powerful and the sexiest I've ever felt.

He stretched out on the bed, with his wide shoulders between my thighs and turned his head to press wet kisses into the soft flesh of my thighs. Ordinarily I would worry that my thighs were too thick, that they were too fleshy, but the way he sank his blunt fingernails into that fleshiness and moaned, let me know, he loved them, found pleasure in them.

So I once again simply gave myself up to the fierce pleasure he was arousing in my body as he sucked and bit the skin there, leaving marks that I knew I'd see for days after, like physical reminders of the bliss he was bringing me.

He brought his mouth to my dripping center and I bucked up off the bed. Dean threw my right leg over his shoulder and wrapped his arm around my left leg so that he could press his big hand down against my lower belly and hold me in place while his tongue went to work.

Over and over again he brought me to the edge, just to pull back and leave me desperately chasing his mouth, pushing my body down toward him, or gripping his hair and trying to push his face back where I needed it.

But he was way too strong and he wouldn't be rushed. When my first shattering orgasm happened, my thighs automatically tightened around his head as I screamed out my pleasure. But he simply pulled them apart again, so he could keep me open and enjoy me like a starving man at a buffet.

He pulled three orgasms out of me with his mouth alone. Finally when I felt like I might pass out if he didn't stop, he pulled away and stood up. He took off his jeans and I was treated to the sight of those boxer briefs I had been ogling in the laundry room.

He reached to pull them down, but I held up my hand. "Wait, can you...turn around?" I asked, my throat hoarse from my continuous cries of pleasure. "I really wanna check out your insanely hot ass."

His bashful smile was back and it made me want to cuddle him. How could he possibly be bashful after everything he'd done to me? He turned obligingly and I reached out and ran my hand over the perfectly firm, round, work of art that was Dean's ass.

"Fuck me." I said under my breath.

He turned back around and the bashful boy was gone again, his grin being decidedly wicked.

"That's the idea, sweetheart."

I giggled and then stopped breathing as he whipped down his boxers and I was finally able to see what all the fuss had been about. Let me simply say that my predecessors were NOT exaggerating. I was momentarily concerned about being split in two, before deciding it would be a hell of a way to go.

He reached into the drawer beside the bed and ripped open the condom packet he found there. He rolled the latex over his incredibly hard cock and I made a mental note to be the one to do it next time.

Fuck, let there be a next time!

Dean laid down beside me, and ran his hand up and down my body, gentle circles that soothed even as they excited. Eventually, his fingers found their way to the slick folds he'd given so much attention to earlier.

"How do you feel?" He asked, his fingers soft and gentle as the moved through my wetness. "Do you need more time? Are you too sensitive?"

Now, I can't tell you why this question brought tears to my eyes. Dean had already proved himself to be a deeply caring, sensitive lover, constantly in tune with his partner's body. So, the question really shouldn't have surprised me.

But there was something about the care in his expression, the gentle way he was touching me; this question wasn't about the sex, it wasn't even about giving me pleasure, it was more about making sure I was good, making sure I felt safe and okay to continue.

I couldn't and still can't remember if I've ever felt that cared for, that looked after. I don't mean just during sex (definitely never then!) but like, ever, with any partner I'd been with. Maybe, but I couldn't remember when. Certainly not with The Terror.

Unfortunately, my tears made Dean's face crumple with concern and worry. As soon as I saw his expression I shook my head. "No, Dean. Yes."

Amazingly that really clear and understandable sentence didn't seem to ease his concern and he started to pull away.

I grabbed hold of his shoulder and pulled him back against me. "I'm sorry, I mean, no I'm not too sensitive anymore, and I feel incredible." I waved a hand towards my wet eyes. "These are happy tears, promise."

His expression softened and he pulled me up against his side and turned so that we were face to face. He pushed my hair back off my forehead and placed feather light kisses there and down my nose. I felt precious and cherished and more tears welled up.

This time Dean just caught them on his thumb and then kissed my eyelids too. "Still happy ones?" he checked.

I nodded and smiled at him before pulling him down for a long, soft, gentle kiss. He sipped at my lips, and I sighed into his mouth.

I could feel his length between us, still rock hard. I reached down to grasp his thickness in my hand and the sound he'd made earlier, that hiss and gasp, issued from his mouth again as his eyes closed tight and his chin thrust forward.

With his head thrown back I had access to the underside of his jaw and I took the chance nibble his skin there. I also enjoyed being able to lick and suck along the column of his throat and the thick corded muscle in his neck.

Then I took his condom-covered cock and ran it through the folds of my body, lubricating it before I eased it inside myself. He was thick and long, but I didn't have to worry, he fit inside me as though we were two puzzle pieces finely fitted back together.

He pulled my leg up high against his hip and the new angle allowed him to drag over the soft spongey spot inside me that no one but me had ever been able to find.

We stayed pressed together tightly, skin to skin, sweat-slicked and hot. His thrusts started shallow, more grinding than thrusting, but as our bodies sought out our gratification, his thrusts got stronger, deeper, and I was slamming myself against him, desperate to get him even deeper still.

He rolled me over so that he was on top of me, then lifted my legs and draped them over his arms, using them as leverage to slam into me, hard. The position had him thrusting so deep I could feel him hit my cervix with every push and after only three or four thrusts, I came apart for the fourth time.

Within the haze of my own climax I heard Dean yell out, my name and curses blending together. Then I felt his body shudder and stiffen against me. He let my legs drop so he could fall on me, bracing some of his weight on his forearms but giving me that weighted feeling I'd been craving earlier. His hot breath against the side of my neck felt warm and soothing as I came down from my high.

Ever so slowly we came back to reality and Dean rolled off of me, pulling off the condom and tossing it into the waste basket beside the bed. He grabbed some tissues from the table and cleaned me up as well.

He then readjusted us slightly so that we could both lay under the covers and warm our rapidly cooling skin.

He pulled me up close against his chest and let his fingers trail up and down my arm.

"Fuck, Daisy, you're amazing." He said, his voice a warm rumble.

I ran my hand across his chest and smiled against his shoulder where I lay. "Right back atcha, honey."

I felt Dean smile as he leaned down to kiss the top of my head and we both fell asleep, contended and exhausted.

So, that's it DD. That was my earth-shattering night of incredible sex. Incredible not just because Dean was a skilled lover or because he knew exactly where to press against my body and just where to put his mouth to bring about the most pleasure.

It was incredible because Dean is a beautiful man in every sense of that word. Incredible because I've never known anyone like him, incredible because...

-

-

Oh, fuck! Damn it!! I don't even want to write it down!

I might be falling in love with him.

No. Absolutely not - this is completely stupid. I barely know him. Jesus Daisy, get a grip - what is wrong with you? You rushed in once before, remember that? Didn't exactly work out the way you'd imagined in your naïve little brain, did it?

But fuck me, I wrote this out here so I could get an idea of what I feel and what I think about sleeping with Dean, and the truth is I think it's made me want something that's impossible, something that is ridiculous and stupid to imagine.

I mean for god's sake, I've heard the screaming girls on the other side of the wall. I know how many of them were just like me - a good time, wonderful sex, and then a goodbye in the morning.

Granted, he didn't put me in a cab this morning when we said goodbye. He walked me to my apartment in his pajama bottoms and bare feet and kissed me goodbye. But doesn't it amount to the same thing?

I heard how desperate Lois sounded when she refused to take Dean's gentle and then not-so-gentle no for an answer. Is that gonna be me next? Chasing after him, sure that he must love me?

Pathetic.

Oh fuck! I said it before and I'll say it again, I think I'm screwed.

Continue

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[expended-sleeper]

Okay babble so you know I am officially obsessed with Sassafras, and I would like everyone else to be obsessed with him too so please, tell us all about him! What does he look like? What is his Deal? How will he and Nelkir take over Skyrim with their CMOT Dibbler-style dubiously legal enterprises?

Thanking you in advance for Very Important Content about my favourite ever OC <3

I'm so happy to have the energy to finally respond to this lovely ask! I have summoned the elf himself to answer for his crimes.

So many questions! Will I be reading the answers in the local publication, next Sundas? More likely I'll hear them read out at my sentencing. My mother always said you younger races were too curious for your own good...but then again, so am I. Go on, have a seat. Do you like our backroom? This is where we keep the special stock.

What do I look like? Well, that depends on the job—and the mark. Sometimes I'm the stereotypical Green Pact devotee straight from those dreadful novels of the Gold Coast, brimming with feathers and ready to frighten Bretons and Imperials.

Heartlanders are always quick to surrender their coin at the mere suggestion of cannibalism. But take my advice: this old cracker works on some of Skyrim's natives, too, but never on Redguard, elves, or beastfolk. Half of them will laugh at you, and the other half will just start swinging the nearest sharp object. I never met an orc that could take a joke.

I also occasionally don the guise of the Thalmor toady my mother hoped I would grow up to be. My least favorite costume, honestly. A fresh pair of Thalmor robes take a few very stiff weeks to break in. You haven't lived until you've had to cram yourself underneath a wealthy nobleman's bed while wearing the starchiest outfit this side of High Rock.

Strangely enough, Nelkir here loves when I dress as a Thalmor. I was taken aback by this, at first—I'm no friend to the Dominion, myself, and his father was bloody poisoned by them—but the heart wants what the heart wants. So after one of my Thalmor jobs is done, we really break the robes in for a few days before burning them with the rest of the evidence. 

Oh, you meant what do I look like? Huh.

Like any other Bosmer in a crowd, I suppose. Sneaky fellows with distinct faces ought not become thieves, I reckon. It baffles me how the Gray Fox was able to operate so long wearing that silly diaper on his face. Surely they saw him coming from leagues away.

Let's see...I have two blue eyes. A nose. One mouth. Two ears. Long chestnut hair, when it's not some other color. Actually, let me just ask Nelkir.

He says my eyebrows are so pale that he can't see them most of the time. He also says my mouth is shaped funny so that it always looks like I'm smiling, even when I'm not. He says when I do smile, my eyes crinkle up like I'm an old woman.

Proper poetic, this Nord of mine.

Where did I come from? The same place as everyone else—from between the legs of some poor mother. Well, everyone except Argonians, maybe. I'm still a little foggy on how all of that works. I wish I could have been there, when it all happened. It would have been quite something to see my mother's composure upset for once. And what could be more upsetting than bringing an elf like me into the world?

Ugh, you want to hear about Valenwood? Wonderful. One of my least favorite subjects.

Here's the story: as soon as I was born, I rolled off a wooden platform and hit about a thousand branches on my way to the loamy ground. In those first minutes of my life, my hatred for tall woody things was born. I got out of that terrible forest as soon as I could, and ever since then I've endeavored to chop down every tree I meet.

Okay, you got me. That was a lie. The truth, if you care to believe it, is far more mundane. I was born more fortunate than most. In Fourth Era Valenwood under the Dominion, that means my lot in life was to marry some airheaded dimwit when I came of age.

By then I was truly sick of trees. Not yanking your toe, this time. I feel a deep kinship with any mountain-disinclined Nord, sand-hating Redguard, or mushroom-loathing Dunmer. We are a class predisposed towards misery, and so our happiness is a miracle.

Yes, I know Sassafras is a type of tree. There are exceptions to every rule. In my vagabond years I went by a series of terrible names: Swiper, Long-Fingered John, Leaf, Biter, the Elf (yes, I was the sole Elf in that gang), Man Eater, and Minksy Slytongue.

Nelkir only knows one type of tree, because its leaves make his favorite beverage, and all he knew about my kind when we met is that we love trees. He turned out to be wrong about that one, but the name Sassafras stuck. I'd like to believe that one day my widespread fame will mean more people know about Sassafras the thief than Sassafras the tree. On that day, I will retire in triumph. Until then, I think I will wear this name—when my darling Nord here speaks, even the names of trees sound like sweet honey to my ears.

But that's getting ahead of ourselves. Yes, I was sick of trees. I was even more sick of Thalmor. Living in the Dominion with those rotters, even as a privileged elf, is like sharing a room with a fellow nursing a nasty case of the rattles. It's not you that's coughing, and you're vaguely grateful for that fact, but it's still bloody annoying to listen to.

On the night I was meant to form a permanent partnership with an affluent noblelady, I instead grew friendly with one of the Khajiit servants. The drinks at my ceremony acquired a little extra sleepy seasoning. Khajru-Ra and I fled Valenwood with chests full of all the valuables of my esteemed guests. Leave rebellion to braver elves. All I wanted was escape.

Naturally, my family disowned me for my crimes. It was quite the scandal in the social circles of the Dominion around five years back. If you ask me, my mother committed a far greater crime in naming me Rinast. Honestly, what other choice did I have but to leave and change my identity? Always burn your bridges behind you, I say, so no one can follow to chop your head off.

Khajru-ra betrayed me and stole all the loot once we reached Cyrodiil. Of course, I was far too entertained by the whole situation to harbor any real hurt over it. There I was, a genuine thief, being swindled by my partner! I was living out the thrilling stories of larceny that had been smuggled past the censors of my childhood. Ever since leaving Valenwood, my goal in life has been to act in ways that would delight my bored younger self.

Listen to me go on and on. I'm parched—would you like a drink? Here you are, from my favorite bottle...oh, come now, I know you're thirsty. What's that suspicious look for?

By the Eight! You really think we'd poison you? I don't mind telling you that's a pretty rude accusation, considering the fate of Nelkir's dear old dad. Look, I'm drinking too.

Listen to them, Nelkir! Prattling on about the poison resistance of the Bosmer. Those are all just rumors. Do you believe everything you hear?

Now Nelkir is drinking too, even though he hates this spirit. He's making such a sacrifice just to ease your mind. And after you offended him with that talk of poison and dead fathers. I'm tempted to end this interview right now.

Hah! I knew you'd come around. Tastes good, doesn't it? Well, Back to the story, now that we've wet our whistles. 

So there I was, in Cyrodiil, with no home to return to and no gold in my pockets. A crumbling Empire presents far more opportunity for profit than an ascendant Dominion, though there were still too many trees around for my liking. My feet ached for the feel of strange soil and open skies.

Hammerfell sounded too hot, High Rock too stuffy, Black Marsh too alien, and have you heard what they do to thieves in Morrowind? Maybe in the days of Gentleman Jim Stacey, I might have risked a Dunmer excursion—but really, Skyrim was the only true choice.

Most of the trees are delightfully dead for half the year. There are hardly any at all in Whiterun's tundra, excepting those that are rolled in from Riverwood to be burned to keep us warm. I smile gloatingly at every crackling log, and hope those rotten sentinels in Valenwood are watching.

If they're content to hold up platforms of strutting nobles content to waste their lives doing nothing, then what respect do they deserve from me?

But let's not fall into bitterness, mate. I'm not one to linger on the past. Here's a happy part of the tale.

Was about two years ago that I found myself running with a bandit crew out of Granite Hill. Nasty bunch. This was when I was Minksy Slytongue. What started out as a mild gentleperson's gang quickly became the dull sort of operation in which one skewers a common traveller and loots their belongings.

That's not thievery, it's grave robbing. No art to it! No finesse! Any brute with a sword can do that sort of work. Many criminal groups that start out with a code inevitably devolve into this sort of barbarity. Likely because it's so simple.

My role in the gang was to act as a witless decoy, in order to lure our victims into a false sense of security.

Yes, Nelkir, I did play the witless part very well. Laugh at your own joke, go ahead. Can you believe this? In front of our guest, too. I think he's had too much to drink. That's Nords for you.

Anyway—following the example of my late and great mentor Khajru-ra, I betrayed my bloodthirsty companions by leading them into the camp of a rival operation.

I was barely able to extract myself from the bloodbath when a contubernium of Legion soldiers came across the scene. Suffice it to say, I spent the next few months in the Dragonsreach dungeon, where I met this lovely face right beside me now.

Just picture it! Two disillusioned sons of nobility, eager to shirk their responsibilities and spit on their birthrights. Two of us, in the same palace! Whiterun never stood a chance.

Though like all thieves, I owe a fair portion of my success to good fortune. Raise a cup to Nocturnal and all that merry noise. It was just my luck that the Jarl of Whiterun is bloody terrified of the Thalmor. At the barest suggestion I might be connected to them, he tossed me from his dungeons like a bad egg at Saturalia.

The wise and benevolent Kishla, proprietor of this very tailoring shop in which you sit, scouted us for her chapter of the Thieves Guild soon afterward.

Have I ever met Eats-Spiders? Why, of course. Our esteemed Alfiq guildmaster does visit his twin Kishla from time to time, and I've come to much admire his skills at disguise. Though it is a bit easier to escape attention if you can look like any alley cat, I grant you.

It also means you're a lot more easily mistaken for a stray searching for scraps—my life truly flashed before my eyes, the time I accidently whacked the guildmaster with a broom. I thank Nocturnal every day for his sense of humor.

What's wrong, mate? You're looking a bit sleepy.

Oh. Yes. Maybe there was something in that drink, after all.

Don't give me that hurt look. It's just business. You could do quite a bit of damage, with all I've told you. You look like a blabberer, if not a squeaker.

Ahhh...there's no easy way to tell you this. We've had this talk two or three times, before. Something keeps bringing you back to us to get fooled again. I really admire that about man-folk. That stubborn, stupid determination. You're like an ant that keeps crawling to the top of the stump only to fall back down, again and again. I reckon this won't be our last meeting.

Isn't Nelkir just adorable, when he's asleep? All the worry lines in his face smooth out. All the tension leaves his shoulders. It's a shame you won't remember this. Neither will he, though I will delight in telling him the story.

Don't be scared, now. We're not going to hurt you. My covetous glances are reserved solely for that coin purse at your waist.

Try to lean towards that pile of clothes behind your stool. Wouldn't want to leave a nasty bump on your head. Thievery without violence, that's our creed. We're an honest outfit.

That's the name of the shop, too. Do you remember the sign, when you came in? An Honest Outfit.

Honestly dishonest, that is. You can always rely on us to do the wrong thing. Eats-Spiders has these rules of dishonesty for all his chapters across Skyrim. Long gone are the days of battering poor merchants for protection money. Kishla often curses Mercer Frey under her breath. Who do you take us for? The Dark Brotherhood?

We're not saints, now, but we don't kill people, and we give good jobs to the pathetic little orphans of the city. That's proper generous, considering how shite some of them are at thieving. Even this is an investment. Some of them might grow up to be halfway competent.

Your fluttering eyelids tell me this conversation is over. At least one of us had fun, yes?

Actually, I'd like to thank you. When you spend your life pretending to be different fellows, sometimes you forget who you really are. Always nice to have a refresher.

Sweet dreams, mate!

[jitteryjive]

I made an auto generated story under the cut

No one knew Prof could beatbox really fucking good. In fact, no one had ever heard a single person beatbox better than him. And they’d all lived in the same class for the past three years. No one would have believed that he actually played the piano, if it weren't for one day during study hall where she overheard Professor singing to the piano.

“It's alright, I'll always be with you” He sang, and then stopped suddenly when she walked into the room. The rest of the class stared at her like she was crazy. “What?” She whispered and looked around to see who'd said what. Nobody else dared make eye contact with anyone. Not even Mr. D was looking directly at her, which was unusual.

“Oh. Uh, nothing sir, I just wanted to tell you… that we are playing the first few chapters from ‘The Sound of Silence' by David Bowie next week. You know, because of my uncle's band, I thought it would probably help me with my English grade.” It wasn't a lie, she did want to learn about rock music, but she didn't have time to sit down right now so she decided that it was a decent explanation.

Prof smiled at her and nodded his head.

“That sounds amazing. I 'll look forward to seeing what you've got for us this year.” And with that, she walked back to her seat.

Everyone turned to stare at her again. “I never knew you were into classical!” Mr. P said loudly and clapped her on the shoulder. Her face turned a deep scarlet and she quickly ducked her head to avoid looking at them anymore.

“Y/n, can you come here for a sec?” Principal K asked as soon as she stepped into his office. She stood up straighter than ever. “Yes Sir?”

“You're going to the concert aren't you?” Y/N nodded frantically. Principal K sighed. “Ok kid. But you need to promise me something” Y/n frowned and waited for him to finish speaking. “If things don't go well, you'LL let me know ok?” His voice held an edge to it and he crossed his arms over his chest.

She nodded again. “I promise.” Principal K looked her in the eye before nodding once more. “Alrighty. That's it. Go enjoy yourself ok?” Y/n gave him a small smile before stepping out of his office. She ran up to the choir room before she had time to think and sat behind one of her friends.

As usual, there were many students crammed together around a large board that read ‘Featuring The Sound Of Silence’. A group of people sat at the front of the room, with two other groups, the back row and the middle row, sitting beside each other. One boy was talking animatedly while another laughed quietly every so often.

“Hey! Hey, guys! Can someone turn that damn thing off already?” a boy sitting beside Y/n asked, his hands covering his ears as loud music blasted from the speakers. She looked over at the girl who had spoken earlier, who had her head buried under her notes and was scribbling on them furiously.

After a moment, Y/n looked back at the board. The group consisted mostly of boys and girls and was titled ‘Birds’. She guessed that some of the birds had been called ‘banshees’ or something. There were two other people standing at the far end. They both had their heads bent close together and seemed to be arguing quietly. After listening for a bit, Y/n realised it wasn' t just one argument though, but multiple. One was a boy with black hair who kept yelling at the other and the other one looked like she couldn't decide whether she should cry or laugh. She watched curiously as they both shook their heads, and then the one with the black hair started to walk away. As he approached them, she couldn't help notice how much taller she was compared to him. Y/n also noticed that his shoulders were hunched over slightly, like his body couldn't carry the weight of the world on its own. He stopped in front of them, before leaning closer towards her friend. He spoke softly and she leaned further into him.

[red-the-dragon-writes]

Today's post is not on the usual "writer blog fare" side. Instead I am going to introduce you to several fun facts about various animals on our planet and then talk about worldbuilding.

1. Lampreys are a kind of "living fossil"- a not-really-so-scientific term for a creature that has lived unchanged for a very long time, so long that we have fossils of them looking the same way they do now. They don't have proper jaws, just a circular sucking mouth with teeth set into it and a tongue designed to strip flesh off of what it touches. They're finless fish, look quite a bit like eels, and have this really alien, uncanny vibe to them.

[id: a long, slender bluish-silver lamprey sitting among rocks. It has a long snout, an eye, and then six small perforations in its side arranged at an even interval sitting behind the eye. The environment it is sitting in is very yellow and green in comparison. end id]

[id: an image of a lamprey from below. The snout ends in a round, flat mouth which is studded with teeth in four concentric circles. The teeth are smallest near the outer edge and largest in the middle, and look like very sharp round points. In the center of this ring is another, smaller circle, where the pointed, tooth-like tongue can be seen, as well as a hole for the lamprey to actually ingest food with. Its eye is visible, as are some of the perforations on its side. This one is a more mottled gray than the first one was, and less shiny. end id]

Sea lampreys, which are the kind i've sort of not really kinda researched, are a major pest in the Great Lakes, where they regularly attack fish. They can get up to two feet in length. Despite this, they are not particularly dangerous towards humans.

2. Horseshoe crabs are also "living fossils." They've been around and virtually unchanged for millions of years. They're not true crabs, and are more closely related to chelicerata species, like spiders and scorpions (and many more). There are a lot of cool features of horseshoe crabs, but one of their most extremely cool, to me, is their blood.

I'm not going to post any images of what I consider to be animal cruelty, so you'll have to take me at my word here, but this is a bottle of horseshoe crab blood. If you're sensitive to images of animal cruelty, I don't recommend looking for proof, but if you aren't, there are plenty of images of the blood coming out of the creature for you to verify this with.

E[id: a bottle of slightly frothy, opaque blue liquid. It is sitting in a row with several other bottles of the same material. end id]

I am a sucker for blue blood, I just think it's neat, so that's all I'd need as an excuse to slam some horseshoe-crab-inspired nonsense in my exceptionally gory and fucked up wips, and if you've been reading along with WiB you may have noticed that blue blood does come into play at some point! But that's not all that's neat about horseshoe crab blood. Unfortunately for the horseshoe crabs, but fortunately for us, their blood is literally the only source of an important compound used for detecting the presence of dangerous bacteria in certain pharmaceutical drugs. (Fortunately, there are replacements that will hopefully become more popular in coming years.)

Now that we've gone over all that, onto the worldbuilding!

I worldbuild by Rule of Cool. Let's just get that out of the way. Every so often people will ask me how my worlds get so expansive (not WiB, WiB i made up on the fly by cribbing from fanfic and like... BBC Merlin. Assume very little of this holds true for WiB) and the answer is largely that I take every interest I have ever had in anything and smash it all together and throw it at my wip to see what sticks. and then I just... like... reasonably attempt to figure out what the natural conclusions will be.

So: we have lampreys. We have blue-blooded ancient sea creatures with spectacularly important and valueable blood. We are writing this into a story that takes place on land, somehow.

- The first option, and the one I'm going to talk about most because I did it, is just to rule-of-cool it into a character. (Or a place, or an item, or whatever, but largely I do rule-of-cool on living creatures and think harder about the world around them.) If you've been keeping up with WiB, you may have noticed that (spoilers) Zero Point is some kind of fucked up magician with a lamprey mouth in their hand who shapeshifts and bleeds blue. This is where I got those inspirations from (along with, like, some other stuff. I promise there are no lamprey assassins, but- continuing in the trend of stealing from sea creatures- the bobbin worm is a spectacularly beautiful, spectacularly deadly creature if you're within its weight range. which is like, goldfish size, but. And cuttlefish are known to disguise themselves as other animals, and can change sexes if the male:female ratio where they are isn't ideal.)

So you can take the elements you like, and just kind of slam them together haphazardly, which is what I did with Zero Point. The trick to this kind of worldbuilding is just to avoid looking too closely at it. The magical assassin has a fucked up mouth in their hand? Yeah, okay, that seems kind of fucked up and creepy. What do they do at all times? They hide it under a glove. So the protags Just Straight Up Never Ask. And voila; it never gets explained, and it never has to.

Same with the blue blood. It shows up, it functions as a plot device because only Zero Point has blue blood; it is never explained or even delved into with much detail. And if it were, it would fall apart instantly, because the justification is literally just "i thought it was neat. No, no one else is like that. I don't even know why they are. i just felt like it"

- The second option is to consider the effects of the things that you're working with, and then work off of that.

Let's take Zero Point again. Strip them of their context (weird assassin with magical powers) and just like, consider the fact that this is a creature with blood that regularly retails for over $10,000 USD, is intelligent as fuck, shapeshifts, has a mouth in their hand that may or may not be their actual mouth, and can exist on land so long as they have suitable access to water. What does that mean for our setting? Surely they're not the only person like that; so you have a whole species of people who are sort of but not really amphibious, shapeshift, and maybe have magical powers, who knows. They can't shapeshift their fucked up lamprey mouths, maybe. That seems like a reasonable limit. So their blood is highly valuable- what does that mean for their relations with other people, or their culture? What kind of foods do they eat? How do they create a sense of culture as shapeshifters; is there even a way that they represent themselves in art? How do they interact with the world? Do they have a "true form" or not? Every one of these questions will spawn new questions. If you answer all of them you'll lose your mind, but if you answer at least ten you'll spawn a much more background-heavy world that can help to shape your story much more effectively than trying to just craft a narrative will. Sometimes it works very well for a story. Sometimes it gets you lost in the weeds.

- The third option is to reference something else, and build off that. Again, let's use Zero Point as the example.

In the original story that the WiB ensemble is from, Closerverse, which may have some mentions on this blog but honestly I have no idea, there is a city that I've done quite a bit of worldbuilding on. This city is called Hudson, and one of the major important features of it is that it is partially underground. (This is a reference to the DFZ of Rachel Aaron's Heartstrikers series). Hudson is intentionally run to be the worst, most unpleasant city in the world, and one of its features are its wildly intelligent, dangerous forms of aquatic life. The lowest level of this city is partially submerged, and all of these creatures plague the people who live down there.

Closerverse was also set during a period of early industrialization, and Hudson heavily referenced US history, especially 1900s-1920s labor history. Tenements, pollution, zero protections for workers, et cetera. Hudson is a nasty, miserable place, and everyone who lives there can feel the jaws closing in on them.

Anyway, in Closerverse you got these fucked up massive eel-like creatures (lampreys, but with extra features) that due to some rather significant meddling wound up growing legs and then got really massive and started eating people. They have blue blood, glow in the dark, and make fairly decent eating as long as they aren't eating you. And they're intelligent. Given the whole "mutual eating each other" thing, the eels and the people of Hudson have some pretty major animosity going on.

Most of Zero Point's stuff is really just me referencing the Hudson Eels, because I fucking love those. They're some of my favorite worldbuilding elements ever. But given that no one else in WiB has ever seen a Hudson Eel, let alone seen their blood get dry on things, or whatever, everything about Zero Point is wildly out of context. And that almost makes it better, because the whole deal with them is that they're mysterious and weird, and having them be a mysterious and weird reference to something no one but I know about most likely is like, fun and neat.

There are, of course, other modes of worldbuilding as well, but I typically aim to stick to the first two as much as possible. The cooler you make something, the more possible questions it raises; the more questions something raises, the deeper your world gets.

Although, a word of advice: sometimes animals just do things. Sometimes bodies just have features. Who would invent fingernails? But having them is mighty convenient, isn't it? For that matter, who would come up with a deeply logical and reasoned explanation for eyebrows- but not having those would be very strange, to us. You can get away with doing a lot by just having that be how it is, and not having the characters comment on it.

Also, the more "shaped" a thing should be, the more you'll want to take the second approach. For house design, something intentionally built, you'll want to know why it was built, and what purpose is this and that room, and why is it painted such and such colors. But if you're talking about adding a second moon, like... fuck dude, who needs to know why there's a second moon? Maybe if you have sailors you have to know what it'll do to your oceans, but that's the kind of thing you can kind of just say exists and move on. You'll figure it out; it gets pretty intuitive.

Anyway, happy worldbuilding!

[wilder-minded]

Slow Fire Burn Chapter 1

It's the implication that there is something going on between Gale and Madge. When Katniss goes off to the Hunger Games, who else does Gale turn to but the Mayor's daughter? Gadge, slight AU/mostly canon from Madge's perspective.

Madge Undersee x Gale Hawthorne AU.

This is a story I've been working through for years, one I just cannot let go of. I've also been posting it on my AO3 profile. https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilderminded

Over much of my life, I had gotten good at making myself numb to most things. I was numb to my absent mother's neglect; she was too ill with her own demons to do much of anything let alone raise me. My father did the best that he could but being the mayor of District 12 came with its own demanding schedule. I was numb to the alienation that I felt from my classmates. As the mayor's daughter, I very clearly did not fit in with the Seam kids, who did without even the most basic survival necessities. I wasn't too welcome with the Merchant kids either though. While they had more luxuries, they didn't have access to the wealth that my family did and most of them didn't trust me. I learned to keep quiet to protect myself from the taunting of my classmates, and I did not care much for the silly topics that other girls my age were enthralled with.

I guess that's why we were such kindred spirits, Katniss and me. We both had places we would much rather be, and we didn't feel the need to make meaningless small talk. The silence between us was comforting enough most days. My father liked her too, seeing as how he overlooked her activities and bought strawberries from her regularly.

When she took her sister's place at the Reaping, I could barely handle the sickening knot in my stomach and the guilt I felt. I knew I had to do something for the girl who was my only real friend in the district. I gave her the pin that belonged to my aunt, a tribute in the 50th Hunger Games. I had hoped that she would wear it as her token during the Games, but at the least her family could sell it for money to feed themselves.

As I watched the Capitolites parade her and the baker's boy around in the opening festivities to the Games, I tried to make myself as numb as I could to the very real possibility that she would not come back. My father was required to attend dinners in honor of the annual tradition and while I usually went with him, it felt especially wrong this time. So I sit alone in the living room of our large house for the required viewings.

As I sit quietly picking at the loose thread on the arm of my sweater with my hands slightly shaking, I think back to the day of the Reaping. How she had brought strawberries to us with her friend, Gale. He had lashed out at me over the injustice of the Reaping, how my name was only in 5 times. The social status of my family prevented me from having to take out tesserae like he and Katniss. His name was in 42 times. I tried to not take this jab personally, I could not control any of our circumstances.

Gale stood behind me in line to see Katniss after the Reaping, while everyone was waiting to say their goodbyes. I could feel the heat of his glare against my back, and I knew exactly what he was thinking.

It's not fair. None of this is fair.

I let out a sharp, frustrated breath as I jump to my feet. I do not want to sit here and watch whatever fanfare they are projecting on the screen in front of me. I pull on my shoes, wrapping my sweater tighter around my body as I slip out of my backdoor. I follow dark alleyways through town, to avoid Peacekeepers, until I reach the edge of the woods. I follow a well-worn path by memory until I reach a small clearing. I am not brave enough to venture deeper into the woods like others that I know, but this quiet space dimly lit by the setting sun gives me the solace I am looking for.

With the setting sun goes the busy noises of birds and the wind through the trees. I sit on a large rock toward the edge of the meadow, my arms wrapped around my small waist as I watch the way the grass flows with the gentle breeze.

I barely get a moment to relax before I hear brances crunching behind me. I freeze in fear, all of the possibilities running through my head. I whip my head around after a beat, my eyes searching the dusky tree line behind me as the noise gets closer. I take in a sharp gasp when I see a figure approaching closer, my heart racing until I recognize the face that emerges just a few feet from where I sit. Gale.

"Are you following me now?" I ask, watching him as he walks closer.

"I was just wondering what the hell the Mayor's daughter is doing in the woods, at night no less," he says calmly, placing his hands in his jacket pockets as he shrugs. His steel grey eyes trained on me in a way that I couldn't quite interpret.

I scowl at the connotations of 'the Mayor's daughter'. "Why aren't you at home watching the Opening?"

He sits down beside me and shrugs again, his eyes fixed toward the sunset through the trees. "Same reason as you, I suppose. Doesn't feel right to watch all of this happen and pretend that it isn't my best friend being groomed and parades around for a bloodbath."

I don't say anything for a moment, studying his tensed jaw and furrowed brow. "It's not fair," I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper.

"What do you know about fair?" he snaps, finally turning to look at me. I huff out a breath and meet his steely glare with just as much anger reflected back in my own sky-blue eyes.

"Stop giving me shit for things I have no control over, Hawthorne. You don't know anything about me," my voice in a bitter clip as I snap back.

He shakes his head, his lips in a hard line as he looks away again. "I know you've never known what it's like to go hungry. You've never held the responsibility of other people's lives..." he starts to rant and then trails off.

I let the heaviness hang between us for a long moment. "Neither of us can help the situations we were born into," I state quietly, and he nods. Though even without a word, I can still nearly taste the bitterness in the air.

We are both silent for a while before he speaks up again, this time his voice much softer as his head hangs down. "What if she doesn't come back? She's my best friend."

"I don't know, Gale," I say helplessly as he runs his hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.

I steal a moment to admire the boy beside me. In the settling darkness, I can just make out the line of his sharp features and I feel an old familiar, out-of-place feeling stir in me and I instantly feel a little guilty. I used to watch him at school, and as the years went on he grew more and more handsome. I found myself more attracted to the dark-haired men of the Seam than the blonde Merchant boys I should be attracted to. Which could only spell trouble for the daughter of a District mayor. Anyone could see that he was in love with Katniss, but that didn't stop most of the girls in school from having crushes on him.

"Why are you staring at me?" He finally speaks up without so much as a glance in my direction. Hunter's instincts, I think.

"Just trying to figure you out. You're hard to read, Hawthorne," I tell him, blushing when I see him smile a little.

"Good. Who says I want to be figured out, Undersee?" he counters, finally looking back over at me. I smirk and shrug, looking up at the stars that have become visible thanks to the sun's disappearance. He follows my gaze, "I never take a moment to look up at the night sky."

"The stars are so beautiful... Makes it hard to believe that life under them can be so ugly," I reply quietly, folding my hands in my lap as I look back down toward the ground. "I wish I could just escape it all. Run away from the Reapings, away from being the Mayor's daughter, away from everything."

He's silent for a moment before he speaks up again. "This will never end unless people stand up to the Capitol."

His words chill me to the bone and goosebumps cover my arms. No one says things like this in District Twelve, at least not this freely. Certainly never to someone like me. Any stirring of a rebellious spirit is shut down without so much as a second thought. "That will never happen. It can't," I say, trying to make myself believe it. It's the fear of the unknown that makes me want to refuse this as a possibility. Too many people would die.

We don't say anything for a few minutes, the air between us is uncomfortable. His words don't sit well with me. If the wrong person would hear this, it would be over for him, his entire family... I can't begin to imagine, I don't want to. After a while, I stand up, pulling my sweater around my body again. "I should be getting back before someone notices that I'm gone..." I know that no one is at home to notice my absence. No one lucid, that is. I start walking toward the tree line where the path begins when I hear his footsteps behind me. "I don't need an escort," I say defiantly, huffing out a frustrated breath.

"I'm not stupid enough to let a girl like you walk in the forest alone at night," he tells me, his long strides catching him up with me in seconds. I know that he has more knowledge about the dangers of the forests than I do, but the stubborn girl in me doesn't like the idea that I can't take care of myself. I try to speed up my steps, but his much longer legs have no trouble keeping up with me. Suddenly, in my haste I stumble and just as I'm about to fall face first into the dirt below me, a hand around my arm breaks my fall.

I stumble back into him a little as I steady myself, brushing back the waves of blonde hair that fell into my face. He chuckles, his hands out to make sure that I don't fall again. "Careful there."

I try to ignore the way my arm tingles where his hand just was and I huff out a shaky breath, starting off again. "I'm fine... but thank you," I say, glancing over my shoulder back at him. I can nearly feel his smile as I walk ahead of him and we don't say anything else until we reach town. I expected him to veer off toward the Seam as we reached the edge of town, but I felt his presence behind me as I retraced my steps through the alleyways.

As I climbed the steps to my house, I looked back at him and gave him a small, grateful smile. "You didn't have to walk me home," I brushed off, my voice soft.

He shrugged, his hands in his pocket as he looked up at me. "I know, but I wanted to anyway. Goodnight, Undersee," he nodded as I reached for the door, a small grin playing on the corners of his lips before he turned away and started back down the alley. I stood there for a moment, watching him walk away before I stepped into the warm glow of my house.

[limenysnocket]

In The Dirt... Pt. IV

Summary: Why did you leave... where did you go? I miss you. Fuck, I miss you... f u c k.

Warnings: Cursing, alcohol abuse, drug abuse (no real smut in this one sorryyy)

A/N: F U C K I T. I need to finish this series because I don't like having open stories on my pallet that need to be finished. GAWD. Short one for the gals.

○●□○●□○●■○●■○

After many years of destroying the senses, you really stop noticing or awknowledging fear. It just dims out eventually, and no one likes that one Debby downer. So, you just stop. Just like that, with a snap of your fingers. It just... disappears.

You know, I thought I had lost that sense of fear forever. I thought it disappeared, like everyone else's. That all was until I woke up this morning to find the sheets cold except for the spots I had been laying.

Did my fear suddenly return from the dead to replace you? Where did you go?

Why the hell am I worrying?

You probably just went home.

But you're usually here when I wake up? You wait for me, don't you?

Maybe you were just outside of my bedroom door, hanging with the rest of the band.

That seemed more plausible to me.

I get myself together (somewhat fine). It's still not the same without having you politely knock on the door and ask for entry while I'm dressing.

Music is already seeping through the cracks of the walls, since the rest of the band probably had woken up by now (or just didn't sleep the night before). I can feel the bass beneath my feet, sending pleasant shivers down my spine, but the pleasure isn't enough to get you off of my mind.

I feel like I slowly melt into the living room as my door opens, slinking across the floor like some malformed blob until I'm at an angle where I can survey the entire room.

You're not here.

One of the heavy stoners of the group finally notices me after peering through the glossy haze of his high, just for a moment.

"Shit, man, what's got you all squirrelly this morning?" he muses, lifting a plain cigarette up to his mouth and taking a long drag.

I can feel every inch of my body tense up and I shove my hands into my pockets, lips pursed. I sigh and shake my head. "Nothing."

He goes back to whatever he was doing, rambling on to one of the (also stoned) groupies that joined us this morning, while I have another look around. My mates cast me odd looks, but I toss them aside. I must have really been looking awful if those looks started to worsen (which I know they did).

"I heard the hotel door slamming shut last night..." one of them mused, "anyone anger their chick or some shit?" The group that gathered along the kitchenette chuckled softly and shook their heads.

"What 'bout you, Waititi? You piss another one off?" Someone spoke up to me. They knew now. They knew I had done something.

Luckily, I had my back turned to the group in my desperate and frantic search, so they didn't see the pained look creep over my face. "I don't know," I say slowly, not bothering to turn around. They all seem to shrug my answer off. I can't, however.

What did I do last night to really get you gone? Was it something I said? Did I not please you enough? Did you finally decide that the rock 'n' roll life just wasn't your thing, decide not to tell me, and up and leave me dry with no hope left to survive?

I'm being dramatic.

I slip a pair of slippers on and shuffle down to the main floor after awkwardly standing next to a polite family on the elevator. It was obvious they could smell the cigarette smoke on me.

Fuck, it's way too early in the morning to be doing this.

I leap for the front desk before anyone else could take the undivided attention away from me. A young receptionist had just sat herself down with a steaming cup of coffee.

"Did you see a girl come through here last night?" I mumble to her. She looks up at me, nowhere near as excited as you are when I talk to you.

"Sir, I just clocked in. I'm afraid the person you need to be talking to is already on his way out to his car," she says, nose raised up in the air snootily. My looks and manner clearly didn't seem to charm her (or maybe it's the fact that I'm in a fucking stained Purple Rain shirt and sweatpants).

The fact that maybe my last hope may possibly be in the parking lot excites me, so I don't think I could care any less about the way people look at me. My perhaps wobbly legs float me out to the street and I'm searching frantically for any trace of you or this man I'm supposed to find.

There, where the sidewalk ends, there's a man, bellboy cap in hand, waving and shouting for a cab driver's attention.

I slow my speed down to a brisk walk to approach him and not alarm him, but the glimmer of a hovering, yellow taxi catches my eye as it slows down and pulls next to the curb. All of a sudden I'm running. I'm running for you. Fuck, when was the last time that I actually ran?

Sure, it was a bad move grabbing the dude's arm when I reached him. He moved to swat me, yelling in a high voice, "The fuck, dude! This cab is mine!" His hand was about to come down, when I made the first sensible decision in my life and let go of him.

"Wait!" I hollered before we made any more contact. "You worked the front desk last night, right? I'm looking for a girl."

He gives me the most startled look ever, gripping the door of the taxi for fear life. He then recognizes me. "Your Taika Waititi, right? You and your band infested the hotel a couple days ago?"

I nod slowly, gulping and hoping he had some sort of information.

He sighs, looking at the warm seat of the cab, then back at me. He mutters something under his breath. "I did see a girl," he lets out. "But I don't know if she's any person your looking for. There's a lot of women that come and go from y'alls rooms, I tell you." And he shakes his head.

"What did she look like?" I pry at him more, and he cab impatiently honks its horn. He draws another long sigh.

"She..." he trails off, "look, there was one girl that passed by. She was wearing a Hunt For The Wilderpeople shirt, and that's all I can tell you."

"But was she upset?" I shout, just trying to get down to the point.

I receive another glare.

"Look mister," he said, one foot in the cab, "she didn't pay me no mind and I certainly didn't care about her enough to ask her what was wrong. Now, if you'll excuse me." He huffed, and that was the last I saw of him as he disappeared into the cave of the cab.

My heart seemed to quiver as I watched the cab go. I was getting stares from girls and guys alike across the street. A crowd was soon building. I had been standing on the curb for minutes, watching and waiting. As if the cab would suddenly turn around, open its doors and I'd see you inside, but no. Not in the slightest.

I return to the hotel room, tail between my legs, and head down. I should call. I want to know if you're alright. What did I do, my little groupie? What did I...

No.

No, that's not right. I said groupie. But... I also said my... meaning...

I return back to my room and sit on the frigid bed. I think of you with no trace of a smile left on my face. I want you here. I want to see you. I want to fuck this feeling out of me through you. An outlet. Is that all I see you as? But, what do you see me as?

I pick up my phone and search for your number. It's mixed up and I never miss it. I have a little nickname for you too, but I never use I when you're around. My thumb hovers over the call button for a moment. I don't know why I hesitate. After a big, deep breath, I press it. The vibration of it makes my ears ring. My heart is racing. Why do I het so riled up trying to talk to you? It's just you...

And yet you're you!

...

I don't know how to explain it. You're my groupie... my... groupie...

Fuck.

There's no response. There's not even the faintest sound of your voice. All I get is a computer.

I call again and again and again.

The dial tone makes my head spin. I call your home phone, hell, I was even two inches away from calling your parents. But then a text message. A single text message.

'Leave me alone.'

My heart seems to stop. I did something wrong. But I can't figure out what.

Why?

Why are you all of a sudden ignoring me? Why won't you tell me that you're safe? Is it something that I did? What's wrong?

I interpret my thoughts onto my phone in a text message and send it out without a momen'ts hesitation.

'What did I do wrong?'

You read it.

But you never respond...

~~~~~

17 calls and a single text message. You can't even deal with him. It's like he doesn't even remember how much being just his groupie shatters you.

You've asked for something more so many times. So many gut wrenching feelings as he tells you all over again, "I'm not looking for anything serious. You're just a groupie."

You've finally snapped. You're done. You can't keep getting your heart broken again. Not again.

[neoistic]

what's going on with STAYs?

the hyunjin (and woojin) situation - a (very long) rant

DISCLAIMER : This post was not meant to slander Hwang Hyunjin or Stray Kids, it is intended to educate others on their problematic behaviour.

I'm gonna start at the beginning of all this. So unless you a.) live under a rock or b.) unlike the rest of us you have a life, then you have possibly heard of the idol bullying scandals. If you dont know what that is, I'll give a brief summary. A bunch of idols were being accused by former middle school or high school classmates of bullying. It started with Soojin of (G)I-dle and then the whole thing started rippling. Aisha of Everglow, Kihyun of MonstaX, Mingyu of SEVENTEEN, and many more. It's even gone as far as SA allegations. Basically everyone and their mothers were being dragged into the mess. However some of these accusation were later to be proven as false. Others have been somewhat half-true. The point is the majority of these idols end up going on a hiatus and stopped contributing in their groups activities for a while. It was a very frustrating situation. There's been apologies, addresses, fights occurring left and right. While these idols were being accused, everybody was like "let's wait for the official statement from the comany and see what is up, and then we make our decision from there. So for now lets stay our best to be neutral". That was the norm for a majority of fandoms. And then there were STAYs.

_____________________________________________________________ I think we've learned in the last five months that STAYs are anything but a normal fandom. After what has happened and the way they chose to behave entirely was embarassing. I feel like toxic STAYs really ruined the name of this fandom when the Woojin situation happened. But after Hyunjin was accused of bullying, they pretty much just shredded any redeeming qualities that fandom had left—all of it—everything went down the drain. Soon enough I feel like people are going to be embarassed to become a STAY or to mention that they're a STAY, because those motherfuckers really screwed this up If some of you're really confused right now, as to why I called STAYs toxic. It's because the base of this fandom is pretty privilege. Ok, let's start with the definition. What is pretty privilege? Pretty privilege is the principle that people who are deemed more attractive (based on societal beauty standards) have an upper hand in the world and are afforded many opportunities that us regular folks don't have. Like most other biases, pretty privilege is something we're all aware of—whether we have experienced it first-hand or not. Yet, it's not often that we are willing to admit or even talk about it, especially if we're on the receiving end of its benefits. This bias, also known as lookism, is defined as “Prejudice or discrimination on the grounds of a person's appearance” and occurs in a variety of settings such as social environments, workplaces and especially in this godforsaken fandom. Let me explain; everything that they do for the boys is simply based on looks. And how do i know that? Because when the baseless accusations that targeted woojin came out one of the things that i kept hearing over and over again was that they always thought he was 'ugly'. And that to me is very intersting because this fandom found him ugly but they didn't say anything, because he was in the same group as their faves. So they kept their mouths shut, and they acted as if they loved him they told him all the sappy bullshit. When he left they decided to pull an "Okay let's tell him how much we miss him, then dump it, and leave it there."

Consequently by cause of his so called 'wrongdoings' you're now telling people "Oh I found him ugly all along, but now I can finally admit it" which is an incredibly pathetic move. They were throwing shit everywhere based off unsubstantiated allegations. Through this I realised that everything goes down to looks. Because when this exact same thing happened to Hyunjin and his accusations, which at the time we did not know the legitimacy of it, the first thing they chose to tweet was"uhmm hyunjin is too cute to be a bully," say what now? You wanted to tell me you decide whether someone is capable of bullying based on their looks, how is that supposed work. Not everybody's heart is as beautiful as their face, I'm just saying. Like why on earth would you think that Hyunjin isn't a bully based on the fact that he's handsome but you believe the accusation about Woojin based off the fact that he is quote 'ugly'. You see the parallel difference between their behaviour towards them and that's because all they care about is looks and they will do just about anything to garner the attention of these boys. Yes, you're right, the reason behind their doings is because they know pefectly well that Stray Kids read their comment. Their defending them because they are desperately wanting their faves to pay attention to them. And they think by letting Hyunjin get away with everything, he would thank them for it.

_____________________________________________________________

Exhibit B; When the posts against Woojin came out the very first thing they told us was that, you have to believe the victim no matter what. It got to the point where even when we tried to reason with them about how there was no solid evidence, all they said was how they would rather believe a possible liar then a possible r4pist. ikr, oh. my. gosh. However when it's Hyunjin's turn to get blamed, believing the victim doesn't matter anymore. The actuality that people were already putting a judgement on the victim, and refusing to hear them out is just shocking to me.

The energy was completely different, for some crazy reason it didn't matter when it came to Hyunjin. When it came to Woojin we had to believe the victim because it's so damn important, and it got to the point that people were saying they believed Stray Kids that he 'bullied' them. Although Stray Kids didn't say anything, they never said a peep, a word, nothing. Everyone kept saying I believe Felix saying #8, i believe Chan and his vlive, are you for real? First of all what is Felix supposed to say then?? The group has 8 members not nine, is he supposed to put #9 in? #13? #24?? And with Chan he has already clarified that his statement on vlive that time wasn't about Woojin.

Then they were diagnosing them them of depression they were victimizing the poor boys of something they were not a victim of. So not are they speaking for them, they're telling us that you believe them off what you've stuff in their mouths, not things they said themsleves. On the other hand when Hyunjin was accused of bullying no we don't believe them we believe Hyunjin. What? Do you know him personally or what? You dont! I don't know what's the matter with you people. This fandom is just a no. You guys are left with no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Then you know what it gets even worse because if you think this is bad. It's not even half of it. How does it get worse? They were people saying that "It's bullying, its normal everybody does it," I don't know what universe you live in, but where I live down here, on earth bullying isn't something that everybody comes around and do. It's not a phase in life. "From ages 15-20 you're a bully" That doesn't happen it's not a chapter in life that everyone goes through like puberty, that's not what happens with bullying. You dont just wake up and go through a phase in you life that is inevitable, that you have to be a bully and a jerk to everybody, that's not a thing. You can't just sit here and justify bullying. Because how are you supposed to sit here and say that bullying is normal and that everybody does but when Woojin does it... You see where I'm going with this right? They said it wasn't okay for Woojin to bully Stray Kids and that he is a horrible person "how could he?" But then you bend over and said "Bullying is okay because Hyunjin is the one doing it" When he is on the receiving end it wasn't okay, though when he was the one administering it was completely fine and forgivable.

Do you not see how problematic you're being right now? You're justifying bullying because you think he's pretty? Are you playing with me? I read his statement and he apologized for his immature and insensitive demeanor, even he wasn't justifying it. the reason behind me mentioning this is because even JYP themselves specified that they would do a better job at picking trainees. That alone says something. They forthrightly threw him under the bus. Why would they do something like that? Because the allegations were true. Here's the thing, Hyunjin has not admitted to bullying anybody, what he has admitted to was being immature and hurting people with the way he spoke. That statement felt like he was beating around the bush about a lot of things. It's like "ok i hurt someone, I can't justify it, therefore I'm sorry" Okay but did u bully anybody? yes or no? That wasn't clarified. You guys can decide for your selves, but this was Hyunjin's and his former teacher's statement.

_____________________________________________________________

The message I'm trying to get accross from all this is that Stray Kids have way more power over you than you realized, and that is definitely not okay. To the point where you are throwing your morals away, just to defend them. You know what? no idol should have influence over you like that. I don't care how good looking, how hot, how sweet, how talented they are. I don't care if they grew up with a single mother and a story so sad it will make Simon Cowell cry. I don't care how many time they have supported the lgbtq+ community. I don't give a damn about how adorable they act on camera with their members. You can not validate immoral actions whatsoever. And no, you absolutely can not sit here being a desperate, self-absorbed, pick-me, dusty girl for a man who doesn't even know you.

Exhibit C; Before we end this I want to clarify something. STAYs did not became toxic because of the Woojin fiasco, this fandom always was toxic, and the Woojin situation simply revealed that. The facts are that they were always toxic, they were always messed up, they were always fake. The wreckage with Woojin showed us their true colors. That is the reality, my friends. As of now this fandom is directly taking the crown for trashiest fandom alive in kpop. At this degree I honestly don't know what else to say. I have no respect left for them. I do though want to say that I am genuinely sorry to all the kind STAYs, I'm sorry that you have to deal with this. Because in the near future I don't see this issue going away. Since Stray Kids is becoming more and more popular and it's never going to stop they're going to keep getting bigger and bigger, the story will just become more aparent. Thank you for listening to my long rant. And at the end of the day all I can say to STAYs is good luck, cause you'll need it.

_____________________________________________________________

anywho stream Still Dream

Sources:

https://www.myimperfectlife.com/features/pretty-privilege

https://www.koreaboo.com/series/stray-kids-hyunjin-bullying-allegation/

[edencantstopfallininlove]

A Declaration

You might want to read this all the way through. There’s something quite important that I want to share with you guys... However, if you reblog, don’t spoil the surprise in your response or the tags! In light of more recent posts, feel free to ignore that now!

As a disclaimer, I know nothing about fashion and I make that pretty obvious, but heck it

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

How fortunate it was that the streets of Port Maerifa were so quiet that evening. The blue accents of the city's architecture were bolstered by the coming of twilight. A faint sea breeze danced about from the docks. As day slowly shifted into night, a pair of footsteps could be heard ambling along the streets.

Dhar was leading the way, guiding his lover by the hand as they moved towards their destination. This was a date they had been planning together for weeks; now that it was finally drawing to a close, Heather took the opportunity to really drink in the sight of the man who stole her heart. He had abandoned his usual armour in favour of a white shirt with a leather jacket, indigo denim slim jeans and black dress shoes that seemed to shine a little in the blue hour. Over his shoulder, he wore a small musky red bag with a thin strap; she wondered why he would need it on a date, but proceeded not to think about it again once they were out the door. All in all, she thought he looked just as gorgeous as always, if not even more so.

For their date, the two had put together a whistle-stop tour of their favourite spots. Each destination had a story behind it, a reason for them to slow down and reminisce. Deep down, Heather contemplated the possibility that there was a greater motive behind the whole thing. The final stop on their tour had taken them to a spot they knew all too well. The arch at the city’s foot.

"Oh, this place," said Heather, thinking aloud. "Remember the whole 'who stays and who goes' talk we had here? When you told Ajna - you told everyone - that you had nowhere to belong?"

"That I do," replied Dhar, "but a lot's changed since then. And I find myself thinking that less and less as time goes by; as I spend more new days with you."

"You’re so right. I've been thinking about the friends we've made on our journey, how we've come to be like family to each other. I hope you've felt it, Dhar. That there are people who care about you and are proud of how far you've come."

There was a long, comfortable silence as the couple stood side by side and drank in the atmosphere of the city. Feeling the urge to happy-stim, Heather clicked together the short heels of her black flats. She loved little gaps like this, where she could take a moment to feel the cool air brushing against her skin, ruffling the knee-length skirt of her blue summer dress, and appreciate everything that had built up to this moment. Every high, every low, every failure and triumph that led the two of them down their respective paths, and to each other.

"Marry me."

And then she heard them. The two words that dissolved her train of thought. Heather flinched on the spot as she tried to make sense of everything. The gentleness in Dhar's voice, the feeling of his fingers interlocking with hers, the fondness in his eyes... Was he staring at her the whole time?!

"Dhar, have you been hanging around Baozhai?" she asked, stammering her way through. "Did she imbibe you into this before we left?"

Dhar had to laugh. "Gods no, you know I won't drink that crap of hers!"

"Neither will I, to be fair."

"Come on, I'm serious! I want us to get married. I can’t think of anything better than being able to spend the rest of our lives like this."

Still not entirely believing what she was hearing, Heather turned to hold her lover's free hand as their gazes met.

"Just being with you is... already so much more than I ever thought I deserved. You know my past. There have been times when I've wondered whether you'd be happier without me. And yet, no matter how far I fell into the cycle of self-doubt, you've always been there to help me back onto my feet. It's you who moulded me into the man I am now. Someone who truly feels worthy of this woman's love. And believe me, you deserve it all in return. I want to remind you every day of how strong you are. How supportive, how compassionate, how beautiful, inside and out. Cliche as it sounds, you are, without a doubt, the best thing that ever happened to me. I mean, I literally wouldn't be here if not for you. Whatever the future holds for us, I want us to always be around to support each other. Because you and I? We're a team."

After a brief pause, Dhar abruptly shifted a single hand around in the shoulder bag. "Shit, where'd I put the damn thing...?"

"It's okay, sweetheart. I'll help you look for it if you-"

Heather was silenced first by the sight of the black box (it wasn't all an elaborate joke), then by the ring itself as Dhar knelt down and opened it - the silver band twisted upwards, with one line on each side adorned with amethysts that led the eye towards a single large orange topaz. What else could she do in that moment but gasp?

"Heather, my saviour, my rock, my love... Will you make me the happiest person in all the worlds?" His hopeful smile was offset now by glassy eyes, looking at Heather as if she were the most incredible thing to ever exist as he finally got to the big question. "Will you marry me?"

Heather's eyes sparkled as she preserved the memory of a display of love and vulnerability that she never would've expected from Dhar when they first met. But he was not the same man he was back then. He had grown so much kinder, nobler, truer; her heart swelled with pride at the privilege of being a part of that change.

If only he knew she’d made up her mind long ago.

"Yes!! Of course!" she cried as she dived in and enveloped her beloved in the biggest, tightest embrace he had yet been given. Dhar was, frankly, amazed that he managed to maintain his hold on the ring box.

"Woah, don't hug me! I should be hugging you!!"

He was quick to get over the shock, though, melting into his now fiancée’s touch and, at last, allowing himself to cry. After holding back long enough to say his piece, hearing the answer he had sought cemented this as the best day of his life, and now was the time to set his elation free.

"I'm sorry I'm such a mess right now..." he said when he let go after what seemed like aeons.

"A hot mess, maybe," replied Heather with a laugh as the ring was placed on her finger. "Still, you did say you'd be the happiest person in the worlds. You kind of asked for this!"

"I suppose I did, yeah. But it was worth it."

Almost instinctively, Dhar slid two fingers under Heather's chin, lifting her head to lock eyes with her in a silent request for permission. She responded with a subtle nod and, in the fading moonlight, accompanied by distant ocean waves, their promise of a union was sealed with a deep, lingering kiss, hands resting in each others’ hair, smiling against each others lips. It came so naturally, like it was always meant to be.

"Thank you, Heather. For everything. I love you... So, so much."

"Likewise, Dhar. I promise you won't regret this. Here's to our future - together."

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Soooo yeah, you probably all saw this coming a mile away, but...

As of today, Dhar and I are engaged!

An official announcement post will be going out at some point in the next few days, fingers crossed!

For reference, the ring looks like this: (psst everyone pitched in)

@ode-to-joie @tuff-and-fluff @f-orever-and-ever @abigailsfictionalothers @kitten-ships @dazailovemail​ @growlitheships @fawnships @fireemlmblem​ @rosepetalcharm​ and everyone who’s been kind enough to listen to me gush about my selfship!

[myckicade]

Do the kids stay snakes forever, or do they change into toddlers/babies? (I only just found your blog so I have no idea if you've answered a similar ask, so please forgive me if you have) Bc tbh I thought that in the last ask you answered, that Crowley might turn around and find the missing kid looking like a toddler, walking on unsteady legs, knocking things over and completely nude. He sees Crowley and they just stare at each other until the baby smiles and laughs while Crowley is just "???"

Awww! That’s so adorable! I gave it some thought, and I think it would go down, a little something like this:

P.S. This is being broken down into (at least) three parts.

***

“Do you think they’ll be like this, always?” Aziraphale asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t dare raise it, even a fraction, for fear of waking the two slumbering hatchlings curled around his throat.

Crowley looked up from where he sat, at the opposite end of the sofa. “What do you mean?” he murmured, with a tired smile. The child draped over his shoulder didn’t budge. The one on his chest wiggled for a second, before settling back down. Reaching up, Crowley brushed a gentle thumb along the boy’s side, hoping to comfort him back to sleep.

On the other cushion, Aziraphale looked to be struggling over a thought. “I mean, will they be… Well…” He looked to each of the four children, in-turn, before looking to their mother. “Like they are now.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “What, like, snakes, you mean?”

Aziraphale gave a guilty nod. “I-I’m not trying to say that there’s something wrong with it. With them.” He worried his bottom lip between his teeth for a second. Crowley’s smile returned. Now, his angel was just over-thinking it. “I love them. You know I do. I just wondered if…” He sighed. “Well, I just wondered if you thought they might have inherited your gift for… Well… Transmogrification.”

“Shape-shifting, angel,” Crowley corrected lightly. “Let them learn the easy words, first.” That got a smile. Still, Aziraphale carried that expression of guilt, which didn’t suit the demon, at all. “I know what you mean. And, honestly, I’m not sure.”

Blue eyes glanced up. “No?”

Crowley shook his head briefly, before catching himself. “I mean, I’d like to think so. They’ve certainly got the right personalities for it.”

“My dear, they’ve only just joined the world.” True, just hours prior, they had begun cracking their ways into existence, beyond their shells. They’d been checked, fed, and sleepy, in no time. Given the hours of waiting, watching, and caring for them, their parents were likewise ready for a nap. “How can you tell what their personalities are?”

Crowley’s lips turned up, in the softest expression he was sure he’d ever attempted. (If a full fifty-percent of that expression was smug satisfaction, then so be it. He’d earned it). “Easy,” he replied, looking the father of his children in the eyes. “I’m their mother.”

***

“Where in the f-.” Crowley paused, catching himself, at the last second. He leaned back, to peer through the doorway, and into the living room. Nah, they couldn’t hear him. Still, he bit his tongue. He’d promised Aziraphale, after all.

But, really, where, in every conceivable Circle of Hell, was his fucking plant mister?!

It had been going on for days, now. Every time he tried to find something, he felt like it wasn’t where he’d left it. Keys, cups, books… Crowley half-expected to come home to find the whole blessed flat moved slightly to the left. He was getting closer and closer to believing that, no, he wasn’t just imagining it. Which left only a handful of options:

1. Aziraphale was right, and pregnancy had left him a little light in the brain cells, and lax in memory.

2. Aziraphale thought he was being fucking funny, in hiding Crowley’s things.

3. The fucking place was haunted.

Honestly, he liked the third option the best. He was pretty sure he’d read that, somewhere, in the last century, that newborn babies could disrupt the peace and harmony of the spirit world. And, he’d had four of them.

Crowley cringed. On second thought, the first option was looking better and better.

Pausing, he took a deep breath, which he let back out slowly. Where hadn’t he looked? Well, no, really, where hadn’t he looked, by that point? He’d been through the bedroom, the bathroom, and he’d threatened the plants three separate times. (As expected, everyone was pretty well mum on the subject). Nothing was on the kitchen counters, but-Oh! Maybe, the cupboards. It stood to reason. After all, Aziraphale was always putting things back where they didn’t belong.

Bless him, his lover tried. His heart was in the right place, even if Crowley had no idea where the angel’s brain sometimes ended up.

Though, as of recently - as evidenced, at the moment - Crowley really was one to talk.

Well, the cupboards were as good an idea as any, he supposed. He made a sudden one-eighty, intent to saunter back to the kitchen. A shot of discomfort in his hips stopped him in his tracks. Crowley swallowed back a hiss, and shook his head. “Ow.” He rocked from side to side, a few times, stretching that one out, before continuing on his way. “Wish that would go away.” From the beginning of his pregnancy, he’d been plagued by aches to… most of his body. And, most of them had gone away, by the time he’d given birth. The hips, though. That pain had decided to stick around for a prolonged torment. The frequency, and severity had both lessened, but every now and then…

Crowley smiled, just a little. Every now and then, he’d get a reminder of how worthwhile the last six thousand years truly had been.

“Helps that you’re cute, too,” he murmured, as he passed by the most precious basket in all of Creation. He peeked in, smiling at the three slumbering sn-.

Three? Oh, Hell, not this again.

“Freddie, you little-.” That child was a terror, Crowley had concluded. Every time he turned his back, Freddie was out of the basket, and off on an adventure. He had no idea where the boy got it from. Honestly. One of Aziraphale’s hidden traits, he imagined.

And, promptly, he scoffed. ‘Hidden’. Sure.

Crowley continued toward the kitchen, already picturing the jar of biscuits, in his head, complete with his son, nibbling away on more sugar than any four children would ever need. (And, he would know).

“Somethin’ wrong, Mama?” came a voice from Aziraphale’s chair, across the room.

“Yeah, baby, don’t worry. I’ve just got to go find your brother.”

Wait. Wait, what?

Crowley stopped, mid-step, just to back up, a few paces. Poking his head back into the living room, he turned wide eyes toward the source of that voice. He was met by the stare of a pair of golden-coloured eyes, under a mop of messy, blonde curls. A little girl. Three, maybe four years old. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought someone’s child had wandered into his flat, by mistake.

“Uhhh,” he muttered helpfully, as he stepped closer to the girl. “Hi, there.”

She beamed. “Hi, Mama!” The child kicked her feet, under the weight of the heavy book that was open, atop her lap.

Yeah. Yeah, she was definitely one of his.

Crowley took another step. Floundered for a second, for something to say. “Sooo…” he began, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He rocked back on his heels, a couple of times. “Out of the basket, I see?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “Daddy didn’t finish the story yet, and I wanna’ know what happened to th'dragon.” She held up the story book, a bit, for her mother to see.

“Ah-huh.” Crowley nodded slowly. So, she’d clearly gone from one end of the room to the other, powered by the knowledge that, at the end of her efforts, she would be rewarded with a book. Yeah. That sounded familiar. “And, you had to stretch your limbs, because…?”

What followed was the most indignant expression he’d ever encountered from a child. “How else was I gonna’ turn the pages?” She huffed, just a little, before glancing back down to the book. “I had t'stare at the same picture so long, I got bored.”

Crowley found himself staring, for a moment. And, when the first thought in his head was, Yeah, wait ‘til your Dad tries to take you to a gallery, he scrubbed a hand over his face. Blinked, a few times. Made sure he wasn’t hallucinating. He could hardly blame himself, on that last bit. It was borderline insane, what was happening. All right, all right, yes, he knew the day was likely to arrive, eventually, but… He was talking to his child. Talking with her, not just rambling on about nothing, and getting a tongue-flicker, in return. But, if he was talking to her…

Crowley took a moment to glance back at the basket, under the heat lamp. One, two-Yep. Still three of them. Well, he’d be blessed. He owed Freddie an apology.

Turning back to his most recent runaway, he squinted, trying to figure out which one she was. Pinky and Jeckle had the same colour eyes, so that was out, as an identifier. And, all three that remained in the basket were still sound asleep, curled up, and hiding any other telltale markings.

Ah, right. Markings. That was when he spotted it. Along the little girl’s side, near her ribs, Crowley could see the edges of what looked to be a fairly sizable birthmark. A blush-coloured birthmark.

Again, the demon found himself smiling. “Pinky.”

Pinky looked up again. “Yes, Mama?” She held his gaze, expectant, and Crowley felt something catch in his chest. It wasn’t just the blonde hair that gave her away as her father’s daughter.

Oh, Aziraphale was going to shit a brick.

Striding the rest of the way across the room, Crowley nabbed the book from his daughter’s hands. Before Pinky could give voice to the protest he could just feel was coming on, he lifted the child into his arms. “Come on, then,” he replied, finally, and dropped a kiss to Pinky’s cheek. She giggled, hugging her arms around his neck. Oh, motherhood was turning him into such a sap. He was going to be a puddle of goo, before too long. And, this was just the first!

“Where are we goin’?”

“To get some clothes on you.” Crowley grinned, carrying Pinky toward the bedroom. “Maybe, comb your hair. Can’t have you running around, in the altogether, when your father gets home.” Said father, he knew, was in for quite a surprise.

“He’d better be home, soon!” Pinky warned. “He’s got stories ta’ finish!”

Crowley threw his head back, in a laugh. Quite a surprise, indeed.

***

Later, while he and Aziraphale sat on the couch, accompanied by a bottle of wine, Crowley scrunched his nose, in thought. “Where did she even get 'Mama’ from, anyway?”

Aziraphale’s answer was just fucking typical. “Well, my dear, I’m sure it was from one of those dreadful television programs you like to watch, while they’re awake.”

Crowley didn’t even check to see if any of the children could see him, before he flipped their father off.

[generalelectionmusings]

“A long thread about my personal experiences during this election dealing with my Labour voting family deciding to out themselves as casual racists by voting Tory / Brexit Party in traditional Labour "Red Wall" heartlands

I come from a genuine working class family .

Grandparents were miners and domestic cleaning staff

Dad was butcher , mum was a cleaner and when she remarried after their divorce she married a miner .

I grew up in a two up two down terrace house that my parents rented from the local Co-op society and then moved into a council house in Kendray (Barnsley) when my mum remarried .

One grandad was a NUM union rep ( at Woolley Colliery alongside Scargill )

Other grandad was a NUPE union rep .

Mum and her sister were both UNISON union reps .

I guess what I'm trying to get across is that we were a proper Labour supporting family , cut us in half and we would have Labour running through us like a stick of Blackpool rock .

And yet in this election I was the only one still voting Labour, in traditional "Red Wall" Lab areas.

I'm in Sheffield but my family is split across the Barnsley area, some in Dan Jarvis' constituency, some in Steph Peacocks and some in the Penistone area that's just turned Tory.

How the hell did this happen ?

Why did my mum and step-dad and my Dad and step-mum all vote Brexit Party ?

Why did my brother and his wife and my aunt and uncle both vote Tory ?

They're not stupid people , my step-mum is a nurse and educated to degree level , my brother an accountant and educated to degree level and my sister-in-law a teacher educated to degree level .

We all lived through Thatchers annihilation of our communities when she went after the unions and destroyed Barnsley after and during the Miners strike .

My step-dad lost his job when Woolley Colliery was closed and never worked again .

So how the hell did they all come to abandon Labour and vote for parties whose policies are the complete antithesis of their own needs and aspirations ??

To answer that you've got to look further back than just this last few weeks or months or the last couple of years .

You've got to look a lot further back .

Before the Miners strike everyone I knew lived and worked in Barnsley , my grandparents jobs were in Barnsley , my parents jobs were in Barnsley , my aunt's and uncle's all worked in Barnsley as it seemed did all my friends families.

The aftermath of the strike changed that .

Most people were employed at the Pits or in industry connected to the Pits or in the service industries like retail , pubs etc where the Miners spent their wages.

When those wages went then so did the local economy.

New Labour in 1997 gave people hope of a change but all they brought to the area were low paid minimum wage jobs to replace high paid skilled industrial jobs .

People thought that New Labour when they got in would regenerate and revitalize these traditional working class Lab heartlands.

They didn't.

Yes we got a far better funded NHS and Sure Start etc.

But areas like Barnsley just got left behind , their Labour votes taken for granted.

Life had changed .

Only my mum still worked in Barnsley .

I moved to Sheffield because of work . My dad ended up in Stoke were he met my step-mum before they returned to Barnsley .

My brother , his wife and most other family members worked in other nearby towns and cities , even though they still lived in Barnsley .

Some like my Step-dad and aunt and uncle relied on the benefits system to see them through to retirement age .

Then along came the banking crisis , followed by the high street crisis that saw the likes of Woolworths bite the dust .

Quickly followed by a Tory & Lib Dem government pushing their disastrous Austerity policies.

Areas like Barnsley took another hammering .

Jobs lost in the local economy which had never recovered from Thatcher thanks to New Labours indifference.

Cuts to essential council services and cuts to the NHS locally meaning longer waiting lists and crowded doctors waiting rooms .

And in amongst all this comes Nigel Farage and Boris Johnson .

The poisonous bastards gave everyone in areas like Barnsley exactly what the needed , exactly what they wanted .......

Someone to blame.

Immigrants .

Immigrants let into this country by the EU.

Immigrants taking our jobs .

Immigrants using our NHS

Immigrants taking our council houses

Immigrants filling up our doctors waiting rooms

You see it couldn't just be the Tory's fault that things were rough because it hadn't gotten any better whilst Labour was in power.

So it has to be someone else's fault .

So Farage and Johnson must be correct when they blame immigrants and tells us all politicians are the same

Both narratives that have been pushed relentlessly by Farage , Vote Leave and Johnson

Farage and Johnson must be correct if the news on the telly says the same thing and asks them to come on all the time to talk about it .

Farage and Johnson must be correct if the newspapers all print the same stories blaming immigrants for taking our jobs and our houses and clogging up our NHS .

And Farage and Johnson must be correct if everyone on Facebook is posting the same Memes especially if greasy Brenda from the local chippy is posting it cos she obviously knows here stuff !!!!

Under Thatcher we knew who to blame , the Tory's.

But under Blair who did you blame for life getting no better because of New Labours indifference ??

The politicians , both sides because they are all the same , none of them give a stuff about us .

Under austerity who do we blame ?

Not the Tory's cos they've told us that we are all in this together and there is no other way , we have to all make sacrifices .

So we blame the immigrants , the ones that the EU are forcing us to take .

And by default because we tend to class anyone who's different to us as a potential immigrant then we blame any and all ethnic minorities

All of this whipped up to a frenzy since 2016 by the likes of Farage , Vote Leave , Tommy Robinson , Katie Hopkins , Hartley-Brewer , Rod Liddle and Boris Johnson and his Tory cohorts.

Aided and abetted by the usual cast of idiots at the BBC , ITV and Sky .

Sadly I watched this unfold with my own family over the last 3-4 years and didn't do anything like enough to try and counter it

I ignored the initial flurry of anti EU comments and social media posts partly because I was voting leave too, albeit for completely different reasons

I spent far too long just telling them to stop spouting racist bollocks when they moaned about immigrants instead of actually sitting down and explaining why the stuff they were reading , watching and sharing was wrong and factually false .

I ignored the anti Corbyn comments because I just assumed that when it came around to election time they would just hold their noses and vote Labour as we had all done for years before regardless of the leaders popularity , just as they all had in 2017

I finally realised I hadn't done enough when the election campaign kicked in .

I only work part time now and that's from home so I'd decided to get fully involved in the campaign both on the ground locally and on social media .

Boy did I get the shock of my life when I started posting stuff about Labours plans and manifesto on Facebook .

I got absolutely frigging mullered ...........

by my own family members and friends.

My posts were full of comments from them with arguments and rhetoric that had been drummed into them by Farage and Johnson over the last few years .

My timeline was full of anti Labour Memes .

It got that bad that I ended up deleting my Facebook account .

Most of the family aren't speaking to me and Boxing day this year when we traditionally all meet up at my mum's is going to be an absolute nightmare .

Then you realise it's not just yourself and your own family thats experiencing this .

You speak to a friend in Rotherham and find they've had the exact same experiences.

You get a call from your oldest son in the armed forces to tell you that he's up on a charge after getting into a scuffle with some of his colleagues after being called a muslim loving terrorist supporting traitor just for sharing some Labour stuff on social media

Living in Sheffield possibly led to me being a little insulated from Labours problems .

It's a multi cultural city and apart from the usual quota of nobheads and Tommy Robinson types we all live side by side with few serious problems.

Brexit didn't seem to be as big an issue inside the city as it did in the out-laying towns .

But in fairness things never got as desperate or demoralizing in the cities as they did in the town's and old industrial area's

We weren't looking quite as hard for someone to blame

Corbyn had a definite image problem on the doorsteps .

He had a massive target on his back and there's no denying that the media were able to hit it's bullseye with alarming regularity

But this hadn't been insurmountable during the 2017 election even in areas like Barnsley and Rotherham.

And I genuinely believe that had Jeremy Corbyn been just as intolerant towards immigrants and ethnic minorities as the Tory's were we would have had a very different result.

After all the country happily elected an absolute racist bigot instead of Corbyn

That's an absolutely disgraceful situation to find ourselves in especially when you also come to the realisation that members of your own family voted this way .

How do Labour get voters like my family back ???

More to the point do we actually want them back ???

I'm not sure I want to be related to my own family members at the moment because of their willingness to blame immigration and ethnic minorities for all our ills .

And yes we may have had the policies that would have addressed the problems that led to them voting for the Tory's / Brexit Party but you can't enact those policies if you don't get into government in the first place .

Would a different leader have made a difference to these voters ??

Yes to some of them .

Would a different Brexit policy have made a difference .

Definitely , to most of them

Did they vote this way because they're racist ???

Who genuinely can say ???

I hope that for the ones related to myself that it isn't a deep seated racism , rather just a reaction to a constant and unrelenting malign influence of the mainstream media , targeted Facebook memes and snake oil salesmen like Farage , Johnson and Cummings .

But I guess we won't know that until 2024 when we go to the polls once more , with a different leader , with Brexit no longer an issue and with the realisation that even outside of the EU nothing has changed in Barnsley and similar towns under this bastard of a Tory government”

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