#I will make this account if no one says no

[chaosartisan]

You all are so pro mental illness until they forget to take their medication.

You all are so pro mental illness until they start having delusions.

You all are so pro mental illness until they develop brain fog.

You all are so pro mental illness until they start forgetting important dates.

You all are so pro mental illness until they identify neuro divergent traits that you have.

You all are so pro mental illness until they start expressing their struggles.

You all are so pro mental illness until someone can't afford to go to therapy.

You all are so pro mental illness until someone can't afford their medication.

You all are so pro mental illness until it's something that comes attached with a physical health condition or deformity.

You all are so pro mental illness until it comes to advocating for better systems.

You all are so pro mental illness until your loved one becomes mentally ill.

You all are so pro mental illness until they need your help.

You all are so pro mental illness until it comes to doing anything other than saying "I'm pro mental illness."

yall are pro mental illness until they hallucinate

yall are pro mental illness until they dissociate

yall are pro mental illness until they self-isolate

yall are pro mental illness until they're paranoid

yall are pro mental illness until they split

yall are pro mental illness until it's too Scary for your comparatively neurotypical brain to handle

[hoshifighting]

hellooo I just want to say that I like your blog, I really like your writing style🫶🏻🫶🏻 AND

what do you think about Vernon finding the reader's twitter spam account? at first, without saying anything, he follows her from a fake account and learns her fetishes and things like that. then he can't hold back and teasing the reader because of this situation and does all the things she reposts, all she wants and imagines(I honestly can't decide whether they will be friends or lovers and I leave it to you)

thank you very much in advance🩷🩷🩷🩷

when vernon finds out about your freaky tweets

WARNINGS: smut, face slapping, BIG DICK!VERNON, cock riding, mentions of hair pulling, dirty talk, choking.

it starts innocently enough; you’ve got your little spam account, this place where you post anything that comes to mind without a second thought. it’s private, anonymous—you’re safe, or so you think. until one day, you start noticing a new follower, someone with zero posts and a random handle, lurking in the notifications. you brush it off, figuring it’s just some bot. but vernon… well, vernon's been piecing things together. and one night, after reading one of your latest posts—something so NASTY that practically burned his screen—he decides he can't just pretend he hasn’t seen it. so he waits until you’re in the living room next saturday, all comfortable, maybe a little too comfortable. you look up, seeing him standing there with that little frown he gets when he's too stressed to understand something, a raised eyebrow, and his phone in his hand.

“so… ‘i just want him to hold me down and—’” he reads aloud, and you feel everything in you freeze up as he raises an eyebrow at you. “‘then pull my hair back so i can see his face… maybe, idk, slap me around a little?’ really, y/n?”

you scramble, trying to play it cool “vernon—wait, why—where’d you see that?”

“oh, i dunno. i’ve been following this account for a while. figured i’d wait until you posted something really crazy before bringing it up.”

you stammer, face going hot. “i—you didn’t have to read it out loud like that, jesus.”

“oh, come on,” he says, leaning in, crowding your space just enough to make you feel cornered “you can post it, but i can’t say it?”

you swallow hard “i didn’t… i didn’t think you’d see it.”

“didn’t think i’d find out?” he echoes, voice dropping a little. “you know, all this time, i’ve been seeing these little things you like. i didn’t say anything because i thought you’d be embarrassed. but now…” he smirks, leaning back with a sigh, watching you. “now i think maybe i should give you some of what you’re so clearly craving.”

“vernon,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, but it’s hard when he’s looking at you like he’s imagining every filthy thing you’ve ever posted.

he smirks, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “oh, don’t go all shy on me now. i’ve read what you want. all of it. let’s start with the basics, huh?” his hand trails down, tipping your chin up, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “you wanna ride me? why didn’t you just say so?”

you feel your heart pounding as he pulls you closer, he's practically purring as he goes, “or that other thing you posted—what was it? something about choking you?” he wraps his hand lightly around your throat, thumb brushing over the sensitive skin as he watches your reaction. “like this?”

you almost cant nod, you're melting, your breath coming short as he tightens his grip just enough to make you feel it “so pretty when you’re horny,” he murmurs, fingers pressing just a little more.

and when you shake your head, he grins, pulling you onto his lap, guiding you to straddle him as his hands settle on your hips “guess i’ve gotta make up for all those little fantasies you’ve been hiding, huh?”

“you sure you can handle it?” he whispers, leaning in, lips brushing against your neck. “’cause i don’t think you really knew what you were asking for when you posted all that.”

but you nod, he tilts your head up, lips brushing over yours, and you feel his hand come up, palm grazing over your cheek before he slaps you—just a little, just enough to make you gasp. he chuckles when you moan, liquefying on his lap, fingers tilting your face back to him.

[...]

he’s already watching you with a azy smirk, eyes rolling sliighty as you sink down onto him, your thighs trembling as you struggle to take all of him in. and god, he’s big. you knew he would be—you’d guessed it a dozen times in all those reckless tweets, wondering just how good it’d feel, but feeling it now, it’s like all that teasing turned on you, stretching you almost too much, and every inch you take feels like a challenge.

“aww, look at you,” he coos, his hands resting on your hips, fingers rubbing little circles into your skin as you try to ease down, taking him deeper, even though it’s making your breath catch, making you whimper and shake. “what happened, baby? i thought you said you could handle it.”

you bite your lip, cheeks burning, and he chuckles, leaning in closer, voice low and teasing. “or maybe you just wanted me to be big so you could talk all that shit on your little account,” he murmurs, running his thumb over your lip. “all those tweets you made, talking about wanting me to be, what—eight, nine inches?” he grins, watching the way you flush, the way your hands grip his shoulders to steady yourself. “think you got what you wished for, hm?”

“shut up,” you manage to whisper, but it’s so breathless, your body clenching around him, and he laughs, hands guiding you down just a bit further, his hips lifting just a little to meet you, that makes you gasp, makes you try to pull back, but he keeps you there, fingers firm on your hips.

“no, no, let’s see you take it,” he whispers, voice rough with that soft teasing. “come on, baby. don’t tell me this is too much. you wanted all of it, right?”

you nod, trying to adjust, but it’s almost too much fr, too thick, too deep, and he watches you with those hooded eyes, savoring every single whimper you make. “it’s okay,” he says softly, almost soothing as he leans up to kiss you, but you can hear that cocky lilt in his tone. “you’re doing so good. even if you can’t take all of it… god, you’re trying, huh?”

and he’s right there, brushing his lips over your cheek, murmuring sweet, filthy encouragements into your ear as you sink down a little more, taking just a bit more of him, even though your body’s practically begging for a break. “that’s it… there you go. so good, baby. i’m impressed,” he purrs, hands trailing up your back. “i didn’t think you’d take even this much.”

every time you pause, every time your breath catches, he’s right there, fingers digging into your hips, guiding you, helping you ride him “guess you really wanted to know..” he murmurs, grinning as he watches you struggle, your head falling back as you finally take just a little more, his hands pulling you down hard against him until you can feel every inch of him.

“there it is… that’s my girl,” he whispers, in asatisfied rasp, his eyes dark as he watches you ride him, just as you’d dreamed about, exactly as you’d hoped—only now it’s even better.

[bsturnzmtts]

Let me show you- Matt Sturniolo

Re uploaded because my account bsturnzmtt got deactivated :( Please follow and let me know if you want to be in my tag list !

Paring: bsf! Matt x bsf! Reader

Contains/warnings: smut, kissing, oral f receiving, slight overstimulation, almost caught?

Summary: Your best friend Matt finds out no has gone down on you before, so he decides to show you how good it feels…

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

You and your friends rented a cabin for the summer. It was a very nice cabin and everyone got their own room. All the girls in the cabin decided to go shopping, but you stayed because you weren’t feeling so well. Right now you are in the living with the rest of the guys. You’re on a couch on your phone not really paying attention to their conversation.

“Hey guys, do you think girls actually enjoy getting eaten out, so do they pretend like they do?” Someone randomly asks.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure they enjoy it.” Matt says.

“What if they just pretend because guys like it?” Someone else says.

“Mh I’ve never thought about it.” Another person says.

“Guys, they obviously enjoy it.” Matt says.

“You think?” A guy asks.

“Yeah! Hey y/n!” Matt says.

You raise your head when you hear your name, coming out of your own world. “Mh? Yeah?”

“Do girls actually enjoy when guys go down on them or do they pretend they like it?” Matt asks.

You get a bit flustered by the question. “Oh- I have no idea… I’ve never experienced it.” You say.

Matt chuckles a bit, trying to make things less awkward. “Well, in my experience, most girls seem to enjoy it.”

Everyone goes back to their previous conversation, and you go back to your phone. But Matt eyes stay glued to you, his mind racing with many thoughts, being surprised no one has had a taste of you in that way.

After a while everyone decided to go get some groceries that were missing.

“I’ll pass on this one guys, I think I’m gonna go take a nap or something.” You say and start heading upstairs.

“Matt you coming?” Someone asks.

“What? Uhmm no, no I think I’ll stay here.” He says.

As you make your way upstairs, Matt's gaze follows you. The rest of the group files out of the house and piles into a car to go shopping. Once you hear their car pull away, Matt gets up and makes his way over to the staircase.

You go into your room.

Matt quietly creeps up the stairs, his footsteps barely making a sound on the creaky wood. He pauses outside your door, taking a deep breath before gently turning the handle and pushing it open. The room is dimly lit, with soft afternoon sunlight streaming through the blinds.

“Oh hey, I thought you went with the rest of the guys.” You say.

Stepping inside, Matt says, "Nah, I wanted to stay behind." He takes a moment to observe you, admiring your figure as you lay there. “I thought I'd stay here and keep you company.”

“Cool” you say and pat on the bed on the spot next to you.

Matt walks over to the bed, sitting down gently beside you. He gazes at you, studying your features. He reaches out and carefully tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, letting his hand linger briefly on the curve of your cheek. “The guys you’ve been with are probably assholes.” He suddenly says with a chuckle.

You chuckle. “What?” You ask with confusion.

“I mean… for never going down on you.” He pauses for a moment. “Or are you a virgin?” He asks.

“Noo no I’m not, they’ve just never done it, and I’ve never really asked for it.” You respond.

“That’s the thing, you shouldn’t have to ask for it. If the guy really cares about your pleasure, they would do it.” He says looking at you. “That’s why I’m telling you, the guys that you’ve been with are probably assholes and only care for their pleasure.” He says with a chuckle.

“Mh, I guess you’re right. I mean the guys I’ve been with recently, weren't like good y’know. And I didn’t get to…” you confess.

“You didn’t get to cum?” He asks surprised.

You shake your head.

“Maybe that’s why you seem so anxious and stressed out. You need to unwind.” He chuckles.

You laugh at his comment. “Shut up.”

Matt laughs along with you, a warm genuine laugh that slowly fades leaving a fond smile on his face. His gaze softens as he looks at you, leaning slightly closer. “Let me show you.”

Your breath hitches at his words. “What?”

Matt softly runs his fingers through your hair, looking at you with a soft expression. “Let me show you how good I can make you feel.” He gently traces the outer edge of your lips with his thumb, a faint smirk playing around the corner of his mouth. “I don’t have to get anything in return. I promise it'll be worth it.” He says, his voice taking on a slightly husky timbre. “You don’t have to do anything, just lay back.”

Your heart rate quickens. “Matt I-“

Matt gently presses his fingers against your lips, silencing your words. His eyes gleaming with mischief. “Shhhh.” A small smirk plays around the corner of his mouth as he gently pushes you down on the bed. “Let me take care of you.”

Matt slowly leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, exploratory kiss. His hand gently cradles the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, sensual dance.

You quickly melt into his kiss and start kissing back.

A pleased hum escapes Matt as he responds eagerly to your kiss. His hand gently trails down your side, coming to rest on the curve of your waist.

Matt gently trails his lips down the curve of your neck, a soft sigh escaping you as he does so. His fingers trace gentle patterns on your side, causing small shivers to run down your spine.

Matt smirks at your gasp, his lips moving lower down your body. He takes his time, worshipping every inch of skin he reveals with his mouth and hands. He loves the sounds you make, the way your body reacts to his touch. His hands go down to the hem of your shirt and start lifting it up.

Matt looks up at you, a soft smile on his face as he sees the look on your face. His hands continue moving up your body, slowly lifting your shirt along with them. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the exposed skin on your stomach. Matt's lips leave a trail of small kisses up your stomach, finally reaching the edge of your bra. His hands come up to cup your breasts, giving them a gentle squeeze as he leans in to kiss the exposed skin around the edge. You lift up a little for him to unclasp your bra. Matt's hands move behind you, his fingers quickly finding the clasp of your bra. He unhooks it, pulling the garment away from your body. His hands return to cup your breasts, giving them a gentle squeeze as he leans in to press a soft kiss to each nipple.

You gasp as you feel his lips on your nipples. “Mmh”

Matt smirks at your response, his tongue darting out to flick at your nipple. He hears your moan and knows that you're enjoying this as much as he is. His hands wander lower, slipping under the waistband of your pants.

Matt leans back to give himself room to work, his fingers quickly finding the button and zipper of your pants. He undoes them, slowly pulling your pants and underwear down in one smooth motion. His eyes never leave yours, the entire time, a small smirk on his face the whole time.

Matt's hands run up and down the insides of your thighs, slowly spreading them apart. He leans in, his eyes seeking out yours for permission before he presses a kiss to your clit.

“Mmh.” You moan and arch your back.

Matt smiles at your response, your moan only encouraging him to keep going. He continues to place soft kisses to your clit, occasionally slipping his tongue out to flick at it. His hands continue to rub up and down your thighs, his fingers occasionally brushing against your entrance teasingly. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

Matt chuckles at your breathy response, pleased with the effect he's having on you. He gently pushes your legs further apart, giving him more access. His tongue delves between your folds, lapping at your juices before focusing on your clit again. “Goddamn, you taste amazing”

“Mmh oh god Matt” you moan.

Matt's ego swells at your breathy exclamation. A small smirk plays on his lips as he continues to feast on you, his tongue exploring every inch of your pussy. His fingers slip inside you, curling against your walls in search of that sweet spot.

“Mhhh” you moan and whimper.

Matt hums against you, the vibrations sending ripples of pleasure through your body. He increases the pace of his tongue, alternating between long, slow laps and quick flicks against your clit. His fingers continue to move in and out of you, hitting that sweet spot inside that makes your hips buck against his face. “Fuck, I could eat you out forever.”

“Mmhp Matt.” You whimper.

Matt groans against your pussy at the way you say his name, your moans are music to his ears. Matt looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire, before returning his attention to your pussy. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks gently, his tongue still teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Matt's tongue continues to tease you, his fingers moving in and out of you with steady rhythm. His other hand comes up to cup your breast, squeezing gently as he feels your nipple.

“Matt mmh I’m close.” You moan.

Matt's pace quickens at your words, his tongue lashing against your clit as he feels you tensing up. He can feel your orgasm building, and the thought of making you come undone sends a surge of excitement through him.

“Mmhp Matt.” You let out as you cum.

Matt laps at your clit furiously as you cum, his fingers still pumping in and out of you. He sucks hard on your clit, drawing out every last ripple of your orgasm. “You taste so fucking sweet.”

“Mh fuck.” You whimper.

Matt continues to lap at your pussy, his tongue still buried in your folds as he helps you ride out the aftershocks of your climax.

“Matt, too much.” You moan.

When you finally go limp beneath him, he pulls back, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "sorry you taste so good," he says, his voice low and husky. His chin glistening with your juices. He slowly removes his fingers from you, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean.

"I could taste you all day." Matt says, his tone full of sincerity. He leans in and kisses you deeply, his tongue slipping into your mouth, letting you taste yourself on his lips. “Was that good?”

You smile and nod at him. “It was amazing, thank you.”

"I'm glad you enjoyed it as much as I did." Matt smiles back at you, clearly pleased with himself. He lies down beside you, pulling you against him and wrapping his arm around your waist. "You're so fucking beautiful when you come apart like that." He places a gentle kiss on your neck.

You guys stay like that for a moment until you hear noise coming from downstairs.

“I think they’re back already.” You say.

"Damnit, already?" Matt grumbles. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Taglist: @blahbel668 @bernardsbendystraws @sturnzsblog @deffonotjae @suyqa @mattsturniololover1 @mattsturniolosgf @mattsturnihoe @annsx03 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @strnzzvsp @|34n @mattsfavbitchhh @chr1sgir|4life @yourenogoodforme-blog @mattshighway @lauren-222 @slvtformatts @megamorgan44 @sturnsxbith @pixiespax @xaristhings @slutforsturnioloss @ariestrxsh @sucretwin @tisiablack @sturniololover69 @lianomer @wakeupitschrizz @jessie-essie @freshlov3 @sturniolofreakk @lydi2718 @chrisstvrns @le4hsblog @pip4444chris @chris-hallelujah @esioleren @namelesssav @ilovemenwithlonghairr @ribread03 @valkatriee @sturniolofreakk @izzylovesmatt

[gh0stsp1d3r]

Maybanks sister

part 4, chapter 1- let’s do this shit!

summary: after el dorado, your lives are finally getting back to normal. However, someone’s still missing from your life. After a long week, a run in with that someone is the last thing you needed.

a/n: ahhh! Finally some rafe and reader moments lol. they’re a bit in a pining but not talking stage right now. They’re gonna get to talk soon, don’t worry.

SERIES MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER

“-98.5%… gold.”

“And that translates to?”

“This is money. A whole lot of money.”

With a smile on his face and everyone else cheering, John B leaned over the table to shake the man’s hand.

You guys went straight to the gas station, with the nearest atm machine being inside.

“Moment of truth.” John B murmured, all of you crowding around the atm.

“Pin is 0-0-0-0… enter.” John B said, entering his pin into the machine.

“You’re kidding.” Sarah had to suppress a laugh.

“Tell me that’s a temporary pin.” You snorted, John B turning to look at you now.

“I thought nobody could guess-“

“You need to change that immediately, dude.” You told him with a loud laugh.

“I’m sorry-“ he turned his head back to the machine when it started to make noise, signaling it was ready.

“Here it comes.”

As soon as the paper came out, JJ reached for it before him and John B fought over it. “That’s me, that’s me,” he said, “let me read it!”

“It’s not even the money, it’s just the receipt!”

You rolled your eyes at the boys, John B winning in the end, opening and pulling it open.

“Okay, okay,” John B said, reading it. “Our joint account balance…”

“Mhm..”

He took a pause, before Cleo told him to get on with it, everyone impatient.

“Our joint account balance is… one point one million… seventy two thousand, five hundred and forty nine dollars.”

“You said mil?”

“Million?” You and pope asked at the same time.

“Um…” John B said, everyone processing just how much money that was.

“That’ll do it!”

He nodded in agreement, everyone cheering and celebrating, being unable to even comprehend just how much that was.

“Holy shit…” you spoke, you laughing to yourself, Sarah laughing with you.

“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever seen on a piece of paper.” Pope said, you smiling and talking to Cleo.

JJ went over to the cooler, taking a beer out and downing it. Kiara glanced over at him, noticing his distance from everyone.

She walked over to him, “You can smile, you know.” She told him, leaning against the cooler.

He sighed, staring at her.

“Look, this doesn’t mean we’re kooks. Just means we have a little money now.”

“Okay, okay, wait, wait, wait, wait… hear me out. Really truck with yellow LEDS to replace the Twinkie for now.”

“That is by far one of the dumbest ideas I’ve heard from you.” You told your brother, rolling your eyes at him.

“I’m not getting rid of the Twinkie.” John B shook his head.

“But with solar panels… maybe. If it’s in the budget.” Kiara suggested, tilting her head to the side.

“And a bigger boat.”

“Guys, hold on. Hold on. It’s… it’s not like we can all go off and buy houses or anything. I mean split between all of us, that’s about 167,507 dollars. Minus what we owe barracuda Mike.”

“Let him try and come take this. I’ll mess him up.”

“I’ll mess him up for my damn leg.” You agreed.

“I’m just gonna say it. I don’t wanna piss off the drug dealer.”

“Listen, if we divide this up, we’re all gonna blow it.” Pope said, everyone turning their heads to Jj the moment he said that.

“Wow, okay. Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“It’s kind of obvious.” You retorted.

“-But maybe if we pool our money together, we can create something with actual economies of scale.”

“Like what?” Kiara asked him.

“You remember the island.”

“Duh.”

“Of course.” Kiara shrugged.

“I mean, it was our own island, and we built everything from basically nothing, right?”

“It was perfect.” Kiara said.

“The best life.” Cleo nodded.

“That whole island just to ourselves. All of us together.”

“It was nice..” you nodded in agreement with them all.

“I think we can have that again. Right here. I mean, Y/n’s and JJ’s property is going up for auction, right? So let’s buy it back. I mean, look around. A lot of land. Deep water access…” he motioned to the water behind him. “unless any of you are planning on going back to school, we’re gonna need a place to work, a place to stay and live. I think we can have both of those things here.”

“Well, it’s a nice idea, but I mean, we’d have to get the land first.” You told pope, he nodded.

“Then we could build like, a.. surf shop. And then maybe we can make our own dock.”

“This place does need a dock.” You nodded, smiling at the image.

“Ooh, what about like a bait and tackle shop?” John B suggested.

“Yeah,”

“Exactly. And… and who knows these waters better than us?”

“Nobody.” You replied.

“JJ, y/n, you guys can get a new boat and run a fishing charter. We can all live and sleep in the house-“

“Just a small warning, if this works, I am not picking up after you little shits.” You told them all, specifically staring right at Jj.

“Hey! Why are you looking at me? I’m not the one who-“

You rolled your eyes, wrapping your arms around him and ruffling his hair like you would do when you were kids.

“Because we all know how messy you are.”

“I’m not messy-“

“You most definitely are, yeah.” Sarah retorted, him huffing and shoving you off of him while the rest of you laughed.

Before the auction, you went up to Jj, pulling him to the side.

“What?” He asked you, glancing at his friends in front of you all.

“Hey, I know how you’re feeling about the house and shit, but please, don’t do some stupid shit?”

“Don’t worry, sis. We’ll get the house back easy.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about, jay.”

“I’m not gonna… do some stupid shit, alright? Trust me. I got this.” He held his hand up.

You sighed, he did not have this.

“Here’s the plan. We go up in one-dollar increments, all right? It’s gonna take a while, but we’re gonna need to save every cent we have for construction.”

“Popes on point, JJ. Got it?”

JJ let a hum, although he hesitated.

“Don’t change the plan.” Pope stared at the pair of you and your brother, you looking offended.

“Hey, don’t look at me, look at this idiot.” You poked your finger into JJs head, him rolling his eyes at you.

Everyone turned to the auctioneer, him pointing to the picture of your dad’s property.

Honestly, you wouldn’t know what you would do with yourself if you didn’t get the house. You grew up in that house, and while you may have a lot of bad memories in those walls, you loved it the same. It was like you could still hear the laughter of you and JJ as kids echoing off the walls.

It was a part of you at this point.

And you knew Jj felt the same way, you could tell it in his eyes.

“-The foreclosure sale of 14 Roger’s point road. Now, this is the old Maybank place.”

“You know, uh, the cuts gonna be figure 8 in a few years. You walk away now, you won’t have to scurry off with your tail between your legs… and I’ll, uh, give you a little taste on the back end.” he spoke to you lowly, you staring at the man in disbelief.

“You’re gonna be dead before that happens.” You told the man, annoyed at what he had just said.

He stared at you with raised eyebrows through his glasses.

“Hey, Dale, was it?” JJ pushed you to the side, standing in front of the man now.

“That’s correct.”

“It’s not happening, hoss.” He cracked his knuckles. “Let’s play ball.”

You stared at Pope, already knowing what would go down.

“150 bid, bidder with 200, I’ve got 200…”

…

“I’ve got 775,000 bid,”

“This is way over our price range.” Pope told John B.

“Will you make him stop, please?” Sarah asked him:

“Get him out of here.”

John B went over to JJ, who you’ve already attempted to stop multiple times.

“Hey, please, it’s too much.”

“Just let me handle this. I’ve got it.. dude, I’ve got it!” He fought John b off of him, “775,010, right here, sir.” Jj shouted.

“775,010 to the gentleman in red.”

“Oh my god!” Pope groaned.

You sighed, half in relief and half in annoyance. Your brother was dumb to be paying that much, but you knew, deep down, you knew why he did. No one else would understand, but you would.

“That’s too rich for my blood, Rog.” Zeasy spoke, John B and Jj staring at each other.

“775,010 bidder, looking for 8…”

The auctioneer continued on, “going once, going twice, sold right here to the gentleman in red. Congratulations.”

Everyone in the group groaned, Jj turning back to Zeasy, holding his hand out.

“The most expensive property in the cut, and it’s not worth it.” He chuckled.

“Well, it is to us, sir. Now, if you can scurry off to your side of the island, and stay there, that’d be appreciated.” He waved his hand, wrapping his arms around John B.

“I get shit done. We got it. That’s all that matters. Whoo! All right.”

“What an idiot.” You murmured to yourself.

“33% above market value. Wildly overpaid. Thats like all the money.” Pope told John b, before walking past him.

You stared at JJ, him looking back at you.

“What?” He asked, you shaking your head at him.

“Well, would you like to do the honors or should I?” You asked your brother, both of you standing in front of the caution taped door.

He shrugged, his hands going to the ends and beginning to rip it off.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I christen thee Poguelandia 2.0.” He spoke, holding the ripped up caution tape in both hands before throwing it.

You stared at him, ripping off the remaining tape.

“Let’s turn this piece of shit into our home.” You told him with a small smile.

“Let’s do it.”

He smiled back, both of you doing your usual handshake, before he opened the door and saluted to the rest of the group.

“We’re home, y’all.”

Construction on the house was the hard part of it all, everything you guys had bought and used had been as cheap as possible, even using old wood from your dad’s old shed.

And finally, after months of construction, you all felt like you had finally perfected it. JJ had his own charter, everything had been feeling normal. Better than normal.

JJ put the sign down at the dock, a proud smile on his face as he stared at everything you all had accomplished.

“Think we’re about done.” You told John B, both of you nodding and smiling, doing a handshake of your own.

“Hey, guys!” JJ called from down the dock, his hat in his hands. “I think we did it.”

“Hell yeah we did!” You shouted back.

“We’re in business baby! Wow!” He shouted, you and John B laughing at his antics. “Oh my gosh, this feels good!” He pumped his fist in the air, and this was the happiest you think you’ve ever seen him.

Everyone watched with a smile on their faces, watching him cheer on and celebrate.

“That boys mad.” Cleo laughed, you nodding in agreement.

He got on the boat, “Captain Maybank at your service! Now that has a ring to it! Nothing can stop a pogue. Nothing!”

All of you laughed, watching him jump off and onto the dock.

“That’s what I’m talking ‘bout!”

“Yeah!” John B shouted.

“Is he okay?” Sarah laughed, Kiara watching him with a smile on her face.

“Yeah. Yeah. He just never really had a home. He’s happy.”

You listened to the girls conversation, finding yourself smiling at it.

He began to dance, talking wildly to himself.

“Slow down, you’re killing ‘em!”

“Twinkle toes, all right!”

Kiara laughed, walking down to the dock, “having fun?” She asked him.

“A little bit.”

“Yeah?”

“What?” He asked, her staring at him with a wide smile on her face.

“I love you.”

He got closer to her, both of their lips crashing into each others.

You whistled at them, John B howling while Sarah laughed.

“We did it.” JJ pressed his forehead against hers, her arms wrapped around his body.

“We did. Somehow.”

“But we did it. We did it!”

That day was one that you swore you’d never forget, seeing him happy like that, that was all you wanted in your life.

Yet, intertwined with the moments of joy, there was a bittersweet ache in your heart. Thoughts of him, of Rafe, drifted through your mind.

It’s been almost two years, and you were still in love with him.

You couldn't shake the memories, the way his laughter would echo in your ears, the warmth of his presence that seemed to haunt your every thought.

A sense of longing wrapped around you, refusing to let go, painting your happiness with unfulfilled desire.

It was as if you could still imagine him looking at you, a small but soft smile on his face.

You knew he wouldn’t want to talk to you, he probably wouldn’t want to even see you.

He probably hated you now, you thought. After you told him about his dad, maybe he didn’t want to see you at all.

Unfortunately, a large thunderstorm the night before had knocked out the power, causing the live bait to pass away, everything ruined.

“What’s the damage, pope?” JJ asked him, pope sighing.

“Fuse box is busted. Without the live bait, the fishermen won’t come, and there goes half of our business right there. We have enough profit to cover it, but barely, just barely. All right?”

Pope walked over to a jar, pulling it down from the cabinet it was in. “This is it.” He pulled out a smaller jar of gold. “The last of our AU.”

“Uh, what?”

“What?”

“English, please.” You snickered.

“Gold. It’s the periodic symbol for gold.” He told you all, as if it was obvious.

“Why not just say gold?” You asked him

“Because it doesn’t matter, all right? This is all of our savings, and it’s a no-go. This is for property taxes. So,” he set the jar of gold on the table, “we’re gonna have to tighten up…”

“Which means no more 600 dollars in gas chasing tarpon up the gulf.”

“Pope, that’s our job-“ JJ started.

“Yeah!” you agreed.

“We were chasing a bait board-“

“No more 200 dollars in heirloom tomato seeds.” Pope continued, pointing at Kiara.

Everyone began to talk over each other, arguing over it.

“What about my imported peppers?”

“Peppers gotta go too, baby.”

“We need to run the charters!

“It’s not the tomato’s fault!”

“No, hey, guys! If the business starts failing, the sharks start circling. All right?” Everyone stopped arguing.

“And we don’t even know if your dad is coming back.”

“He’s got balls if he shows his damn face around here.” You glared at Pope.

“And it’s not even his anymore.” JJ chimed in, hitting his hand against the table he was leaning on.

“It doesn’t matter. What’s he gonna think when he sees all this?”

“He’s not gonna see it.” You spat, Pope sighed, ignoring your comment before continuing.

“Listen, if we want to save this place, we skinny up until the business gets afloat again. Okay?” Pope said, leaving the shack.

JJ glanced at the gold that Pope had left on the table, an idea popping up in his mind.

The enduro. A dumbass bike race where people place their bets on, mostly kook kids who have nothing better to do with it. It was also where your brother went to try his luck each year.

“What a fantastic day we got for racing today. You guys ready to burn some gas?”

People cheered, raising their cups and watching as everyone started practicing, their bikes throwing sand on the viewers.

“The race is kicking off soon, so make sure you get your bets in. And then wave your flag, you know what I’m saying?”

JJ stood there, gas being pumped into his bike. He glanced over to the bike next to him, where Topper sat with a smug face, nodding at JJ. Jj shook his head, turning away from the boy.

John B walked over to JJ, patting him on the shoulder. “Let’s go baby! How we feeling today, champ?”

“Like I got this whole shot.”

“Yeah? Yeah?”

“I’m gonna win it this year. I know I am.”

“Yeah, you are.”

JJ turned to look at Cleo, “Cleo, how we doing, girl?”

“Everything’s all good, man.”

“Great.”

“The girl, out.”

“All right.” He raised his hand up, both of their hands meeting as they did a handshake.

“Hey! Bring it home, little boy.” She smiled at him.

“You know I will.”

John B smiled at him, grabbing his face. “You got this. All right?”

“I know.”

“Yeah, good luck.” John B said, beginning to walk away before JJ called his name.

“Hey, hold on one sec. Hold on.”

John B turned around, Jj walking up to him again.

“Where’d you park your bike?”

“Right there. Why?” He pointed, jj staring at him, hesitating.

“Gotta tell you something before we start.”

“Oh boy, JJ, what’s going on?”

“No, it’s really not that bad.” JJ replied, although John B did not believe him.

“Go on, then. Tell me, what’s up?”

“Like, literally you’re gonna be thanking me after. Okay? So… you know, I… I bet on me. To win.”

John B turned his head, pursing his lips together.

“I know, I know, funds are tight right now, but I feel good this year. So, I put in a bet on myself. Dude, the odds are like, seven to one!” He smiled, “with me on this thing, that’s like three to one.”

“Hold on, okay.”

“It’s free money.”

“Where did you get some extra money?”

“That’s what I’ve got to tell you. Um…” jj cleared his throat, “so, I went into the kitty and bet the last nug…. Now, before you say anything, I just gotta tell you-“

John B scoffed, backing away from JJ.

“Dude, listen, I got this, man.”

John B held his finger out, “JJ, JJ, just stop.” He walked over to JJ again, looking at him in disbelief. “Jj, are you serious?”

“Yes I’m serious.”

“That was our last 20 grand. That was supposed to go to property taxes for poguelandia.”

“Bro, I know! Okay? I know. I know you’re about to hit me now. I can sense it.”

“I’m thinking about it.”

“Save it. Gotta commit at this point. I got it. You know I do. But it wouldn’t hurt to have a little backup on this one. You know what I’m saying?”

“You want me to ride?”

“Just cover me. All right? Just like old times in the backyard. You and me? We school these fools, and we save the farm. You know we can do this. Easy.”

Your heart dropped when your eyes spotted the familiar bike, along with those damn blue eyes. His eyes met yours for a moment, and it felt as if time stopped, as if everyone else was gone in that moment.

“Oh my fucking god.” You mumbled to yourself, Pope raising an eyebrow at you, following your gaze.

Rafe stood there, a faint frown creasing his brow when he caught sight of you. A tight knot formed in his throat. He longed to close the distance between you two, to feel the warmth of your embrace or press his lips against yours again—anything to bridge th silence that had stretched between them.

It had been a year and a half since everything, yet his heart remained tethered to you. The weight of his lingering affection tormented him, and hehted how helpless he was.

He could see the tears begin to well up in your eyes, even from afar.

Topper was the one to snap him out of his daze, and Pope was the one to snap him out of yours.

Topper hit his shoulder, Rafe finally taking a breath when his eyes left yours.

“Dude, I told you, forget about her.”

“What? I wasn’t looking at her, dude.” Rafe lied, looking over at you, only to find you looking away again.

“Was he not here last year?” Pope asked you, you finally taking your eyes off of him.

“Yeah, he- he was, but I mean-it doesn’t matter, I gotta go. I can’t be here for this shit.” You held your hands up, your heart beat picking up and your palms beginning to get clammy.

“Just ignore him.“ Pope shrugged, you sighing, holding the back of your hands to your eyes, pressing on them.

You then realized, that he used to do the same thing. You put your hands down, glancing at Pope before speaking and turning around

“I’ll- I’ll be back.” You murmured, stumbling away from the crowd, leaning against a shed, taking deep breaths while trying to think about anything else.

“Shit, I need a drink.” You told yourself, taking one last deep breath before standing up and walking over to the nearest cooler, stealing a drink and downing the entire can in one go, before grabbing another.

You sighed when you walked up to Pope and Cleo, your eyes avoiding Rafe and instead looking at your brother and John B.

“Let’s do this shit, Jay!”

Taglist

@cassie0sstuff @rafesgiirl @fals3-g0d @tiaamberxx @callsignwidow @saintnourah @calmoistorm @ethanthequeefqueen @theoraekenslover @just-levyy @hallecarey1

[drdemonprince]

am i being stupid by refusing to invest any of my money? i just don’t find it ethical (lots of people have 0 idea what theyre actually invested in with typical low risk investments and it would actually drive me nuts to have to investigate every single thing thats on there) and i also have zero faith in the stability of the economy or the world i just literally don’t trust like that. and fear that with climate change i’m not going to have a traditional future or retirement anyway. is this incredibly stupid i’m being so genuine because i dont know

I think your ethical concerns are totally reasonable. Any investment in the stock market is pretty inherently fraught, even if you choose index funds that exclude the especially bad stocks of like firearms/military contractors/etc. Even something like a bond can be easily said to be bad, because it's a loan to the government, and most money market or high yield savings are not untainted either, because most banks themselves invest in fucked up shit like oil pipelines. The one avenue I think that would be mostly okay is a high yield savings account for a credit union, or a bank that you've researched and know doesn't invest in that kind of shady shit. I have also argued previously that it's not wrong to invest in an apartment or house -- as long as you're not landlording, vulnerable people having more secure housing and the ability to share that housing with others in their community is good and understandable. So on balance, I get where you are coming from, though I think having a financial safety net makes people less likely to have to take on unethical jobs and makes them less vulnerable to financial abuse and exploitation, which has merit ethically.

I tend to see the doomerism question a bit differently. If the US empire falls or the economy collapses, you'll either have much bigger problems than your 401k bottoming out (problems like the complete obliteration of the supply chain), OR we will be living in a financial paradigm so dramatically different and more just that you wont MIND that you dont have that money anymore. Whereas if the US economy continues to exist, you're gonna be fucked if you dont have a retirement to fall back on, so why make yourself needlessly more vulnerable by not saving? The ethical rub with this, though, is that it creates the moral hazard of rooting for the US empire and economy to never fall, and that rendering you more conservative... which is a possibility, but like, as i said, i think it's possible to have some money saved for a rainy day under capitalism while still praying for capitalism's downfall. if anything, being more financially independent makes it EASIER for me to risk unemployment & etc by doing more radical political actions and speaking my mind and saying no to things. but ymmv

[simp-ly-writes]

"Always, Sweetheart."

─────── · · A Black Ops 6 FanFic

Pairing: Russell Adler x Fem!Handler!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You were a handler of operators out in the field and Russell Adlers was your best and yet the biggest pain in your side with his constant flirting and desire to get under your skin. Yet as soon as someone else tries to annoy you or heaven forbid- flirt with you, it gets shutdown right away.

─ · · TAGS: men being dicks, female pronouns, no use of (y/n), protective!Russell, jealous!Russell, mutual pining, enemies (strong annoyance) to lovers, confessions, pet names, suggestive themes, hurt/comfort.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 2,477

─ · · A/N: I was going crazy looking at all the fan art. Don't think I will be coming fully back to COD like I was before, but I had to write something for this character. Hope you all enjoy!

─────── · ·

"Officer Adler!" you yell, bursting through the heavy oak doors and into the office space. Fellow agents, officers, and handlers all look towards you and then back at Adler frozen in time and space.

Adler takes a drag of his cigarette before waving his hand in a silent command for everyone to leave you both. Hands quickly pick up their belongings and feet scatter out before the doors enclose you both.

The man in question makes no further movement simply leaning against the corner of a desk, a smirk setting upon his features as his glasses slip down his face to watch as you near, hands gripping a manila folder.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he says in an even tone, observing the curves of your face that have fallen into a serious frown. "We have already gone over this before, agent. You cannot call me such, such-"

"Such what, honey?" He teases further, cigarette sitting between his lips as he leans closer and into your space. You take a half step back, pinching your brows together before letting out a breath. "The pet names, Adler. They have to stop, we are both professionals."

Adler hums out in contemplation, taking one last drag from his cigarette before putting it out in the nearest ashtray. He nods his head in direction to the folder in your hand. "No. Before this," you wave the folder around to further prove your point, "we are sorting this thing out. I need to hear you say you won't do it any longer. It causes way to many issues."

"Issues about what? If someone is bothering you, you'll let me know right?" Adlers face drops, hands forming into fists, his stare already demanding names.

"Yes of course! But it makes me appear less assertive in my role, Adler. I have other operators I have to account for since you left and I can't have the newer ones thinking they can disrespect me in any way!" you try and explain, a hand gripping your hair as you stress.

Adler stands, gently taking your elbow before his fingers trail up your arm and towards your hand and head where he eases your grip from your roots. Before he can go to fix your hair you shake his touch off with a huff. "This is what I mean, officer," you say, throwing the document on the now bare desk.

"Well then maybe you should drop your other agents, (last/name)," Russell counters, arms now crossed against his wide chest. A few buttons to his navy shirt undone as you do you best to not look at the skin showing underneath.

"See you would have been my only operator as you have demanded in the past but as soon as you left, you failed to see that I still need to put food on the table so what little choice did I have but to be given new recruits?" you retort, falling into the nearby swivel chair as you stare at the door.

Adler crouches down, blocking your view. His hand twitching to pick up your chin to see your eyes once more. "Hey, look sweeth-(last/name). I can't apologize for my reasons for leaving but I will apologize for leaving you with no other options."

You nod your head before meeting his eyes once more, "So no more petnames?"

"No promises," is all Adler can say before leaning over you to reach for the documents you threw earlier. You lean back into your chair, hands gripping the arms, "You know you could have just asked me to get those for you?"

"Yeah but I got them anyways." You roll your eyes, "Hey- none of that now," Adler shushes you before looking back down at the files. You watch as his large hands grip the corners of the page, careful not to bend them before flipping it to the other side, a series of photos close to falling out as he tips the folder towards you to stop them. "I'm not a child in need of reprimanding, save that for the field workers."

"Never said you were but seeing you leaning back in that chair while doing that plants some images in a man's head," Adler's familiar smirk haunts you once again in the daylight. "Fucking hell," you swear underneath your breath.

"So, why am I being shown these? I already completed this objective..." Adler closes the folder, placing it gently back on the desk.

"Yeah, thats the issue. You see, Adler, we needed more information on those guys. Not for you to shoot them and the information with them!" you yell, swearing that your voice rippled the coffee in a nearby cold cup.

"Well, I'm going to let you in on a little secret off the books."

"And what secret would that be out of your many?" You lean forwards, playing with a ring on your finger. Adler stares at the movement before turning his back to you.

"I already knew all that information years ago, just had to make sure nobody else got to it."

─────── · ·

You thought that after that whole fiasco with your officer Adler, thing would have cleared up since then but it seemed that life had thought differently.

You were in a board meeting with your fellow operators, their handlers, and council members. One of your officers, Roger was sitting beside you, a notebook shared between the two of you as you both passed notes back and forth on the meeting that was dragging on into your lunch break.

"Well if they are planning biological warfare we have to meet metal with metal! If we are acting as moderates or even submissive what the hell room does that leave the enemy to operate in! They need to be neutralized long before those chemicals get out of the port, fuck the rest of them!" A board member yells from the top of the table as you lean back gaining a headache from it all.

Roger places a hand on your shoulder, his head tilting down to your ear, "You holding up alright?" he asks politely, turning his head for you to whisper your answer. "Yeah, just need this meeting to be over or at least to be paused. We are getting nowhere with all this shouting and violence."

The officer nods to your answer. "Yes, we have been circling over the same-"

"Oi! Do you to have something to share? Or are you both gonna keep whispering sweet little nothing into each others ears? Should I tell Adlers' that your cheatin' on em'?" Another handler chimes in, sending a toothy-white smile in your direction.

The other men around the table laugh as you lean on the table, threatening to stand. Roger makes no sudden movement in his chair, face set in a glare directed to the senior member at the unprofessional comment. Sighing you pick up your notes and crack your neck before reading your own radiant smile, eyes holding daggers picturing to stab through his eye-sockets.

"That will not be necessary, Paul," you spit out his name, "Nor is any of this discussion. We have all made no process since eleven! If we display strength with the military we risk our agents already operating within the operation and civilians. If we sit back and let it happen, we also risk a potential nuclear war. Our best option, which none of you men have brought forward and is embarrassing for our field is that we don't ship ourselves alongside the weapon, that way we can determine who has it, where it is meant to go, and where we want it to go."

You are nearly out of breath by the end of your speech as you stand and begin to walk towards the doors, Roger's hot on your tail as nods his head before all the members on behalf of you both, leaving the room in silence.

As soon as the door closes behind you both, you lean against it. "At times, I wish I had a dick like the rest of them but then I remember it's what makes them this way," you explain before picking yourself back up and continuing down the hall.

Rogers laughs, his eyes crinkling as he bumps your shoulder. You look up, casting him a smile as well. "You have a way of saying things, sweetheart. Would leave to see more of that mouth outside of work," Rogers says causing you to stand still in the hall as people walk around you both.

Turning to face your agent, your smile has turned into a glare once more. "Get back to work, Rogers. I expect a full report from last week still that I have yet to receive. Your co-worker has already sent theirs in with misinformation, I hope to not see the same things on yours. And please remember this, I. am. not. your sweetheart."

Turning back on your heels you continue further down the hall, Rogers left with your words before a whistle has you nearly breaking a heel by how much you want to throw it in his face. Russell. fucking. Adler. Standing there with that smirk yet again as he leans up against the break rooms entrance.

He holds out a hand, shaking it in a silent ask to carry your belongings. You shove them into his hand while using your other to press against his chest and to move him out of your way.

He does not budge, simply looking down at your lingering touch with a softening smile. "I am not in the mood, Adler. Please let me through," you use an overly sweet tone, you can feel him tense from underneath you.

"Hey, though I do love that tone when seeing you in a good mood. I do love viewing your rage. Lay it on, whats on your mind?" Adler asks, hand now resting atop your own.

"Move first and we'll sit and talk," you counter to his nod. Adler drops your touch, arm moving to welcome you into the empty space as everyone had already cleared back for work.

Coffee in hand, sandwich in the other, you took to your seat. "I'm so sick of men constantly stepping all over me when I worked just as hard- no. Fucking harder for this position and I still get treated like a little girl in their fathers suit and it does not help when after three hours of men shoving their dicks on the table a younger one then gets the audacity to be asking to see my mouth while calling me Sweetheart," you complain, downing the rest of your coffee before slamming the cup against the saucer.

Adler appears even more tense then you, his hands grips into fists allowing the veins across his forearms to appear most prominent. "Give me a name."

"Pardon?" you ask, embarrassed that you had became so easily distracted.

"Give. me. a. name, please," Alder asks once more, his eye staring deeply into your own. "Hey, whats wrong, sharing is a mutual affair," you reach across the table to grasp one of his hands, surprised when he pulls away. He's never done that before...

"Nobody gets to say that shit to you, not when I'm here. I'm sorry that you had to hear that, sweetheart." And for some reason you don't feel disgust except an overwhelming feeling of comfort as the word dances through your ears. You try and fake annoyance but Adler only takes that as further fuel against whatever man had wronged you so.

"Theres no need to apologize, Adler. I already told Rogers off-" you should not have said that, already regretting your words and Adlers chair screeches against the tiled floors, the door being slammed behind him as he storms off to find Rogers.

─────── · ·

The next time you are working with Rogers, he does not even look at you unless you command him to. He does well to hide his face to the best of his ability but it is hard not to notice the black eye or scarring underneath his chin. Tisking to yourself, you tell the agent his next meeting point in the south Mediterranean sea before setting off on your next mission, to find Adler.

It did not take long as he was already waiting in your office. First aid it open and displayed across the documents on your desk. He did not hiss or move as he poured the anti-bacterial fluid over his wounds, his teeth gripping a bandage in wait as he had yet to acknowledge your presence.

"Alder," you scolded like a tired mother before taking the wraps from his teeth and standing between his legs, gently wrapping his hand before pressing a kiss to your work that had both of you chuckling.

"You didn't have to do that, you know. Could have gotten you suspended-"

"You really think they would suspend me, honey?" you blush, shaking your head and taking a step away yet Adler catches your elbow, standing, chests touching as he leans down to get a better look of your face.

"All I'm saying is that you have to take better care of yourself, officer," you retort, eyes quickly casting to his lips before holding his gaze.

Alder smiles, hand now cupping your cheek as you allow yourself to lean into his touch. "Are you sayin' you care about me, (last/name)?" he teases, eyes already knowing the answer by the way in which they crinkle, mirroring your own.

"I care for all of my operatives, Russell Adler."

"But am I really just an operator to you, sweetheart?" his words now nearly a whisper upon your lips that part in wait.

"Well there's only one way to find out-" and his lips were on yours. His hand now holding the back of your head, nudging it upwards as you curved into his touch, hands gripping his shirt and around to his waist. Russell's other hand moved to grip your waist, thumb rubbing circles into your side as you felt his smile upon your lips.

Pulling away, lips puffy and eyes starry as you panted for air, Adler barely gave you anytime to breathe before he was kissing you again. Any papers on your desk were thrown to the floor before Russell was picking you up by the back of your thighs and placing you on the desk, legs spreading to keep you both close.

Standing back to full height, Adler looked at you sprawled out before him, hands morning their way up from the ankles that kept him locked into to place, up to your calves and towards your thighs and lower torso. Your breath gasped as his hands teased at the skin between your waist and shirt, skin tingling, his touch lingering with shared desire.

"Kiss me again," you pleaded.

"Always, Sweetheart."

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: If this is recieved well may make another one... 🤷

[sepublic]

I remember hearing that Dana was inspired by True Crime, amongst other things and people IRL, when writing Belos. And it seems that contrary to the notoriety of True Crime fans, she actually understood the assignment.

Because she opted to demystify the serial killer as this dark, unusual psychology that operates outside of societal borders and rules, disturbed by some secret reason, and instead literally pull off the mask to reveal he’s just some white manchild who hates women and minorities to a violent degree, because he feels threatened by them and their ability to say No in his entitlement. There’s nothing special or unique about his motives.

He’s no exception to the status quo, he is it unmasked of the veneer of civility, he’s the lynch mob and the cop (all of whom inherit the violence of white supremacy and colonialism) and fittingly a lot of serial killers were clocked by women and PoC as dangerous, but cops —largely white men— dismissed their claims because look at this dude, he seems like an upstanding citizen! And that’s really how he got away.

And because his victims were people the system was less likely to believe because they both operated on the same biases, you see why a lot of cops who commit brutality are drawn to an institution where they’re given violent power over brown and/or queer communities who are labeled as ‘suspicious’, because they enjoy easy targets they know the system doesn’t care about, and are enraged by body cams and accountability.

It doesn’t matter if they’re intentionally bigoted, their support of an inherently bigoted institution makes them the same; Internalized biases and “I don’t see race” and all that. You see how Philip wanted to be a witch hunter —the prototypical cop who is not exclusively violent towards women but still has a clear slant— or colonial savior so bad, because his violence could be legitimized by the authority of the state.

He leans into it hardcore when he feels threatened by the presence of an outside girl who challenges the Christian narrative of Gravesfield, to the point of violence; It’s a position that validates killing anyone who doesn’t agree with him in general, hence Caleb and the Grimwalkers, but of course his and society’s biases slant towards women and PoC. And while it ultimately doesn’t matter whether he’s intentionally racist/misogynistic, it’s worth addressing that he very much does have the intention due to his blatant Conservative backdrop.

And seeing how charming Philip is and the portrayal of him as a little kid playing games in his youth, a perception Caleb might’ve still had which led to his death, I can see the direct line to families who find out their sons are school shooters and are in disbelief because he was such a nice kid! While ignoring the obvious Red Flags because white men are allowed to express these without being immediately scrutinized by the community, by having it brushed off. On some level cops don’t suspect him because he’s the same type of guy as them.

Part of that denial comes from the fact that he’s not an “unfeeling sociopath” who’s wired differently. Philip can feel empathy and guilt like anyone else, but he’s still a hateful prick and these aren’t mutually exclusive; Not when people can be perfectly selective about who they extend these feelings towards, or even do things in spite of these feelings, because other ones —anger and pride and hatred— exist and they choose to prioritize those. There’s an assumption that empathy and guilt inherently make you a good person, but they don’t; That ultimately comes from what you do about it, not how you feel.

You could even say Dana and the other writers wrote him too well, because true to life, we have a similar issue but on a micro-scale via the abstraction of fiction regarding a very dedicated fan base who loves to romanticize him and his actions, attributing his issues to some secret trauma in childhood, a young man failed by society! While also scrubbing him of his racism and misogyny and reliance on the status quo, to make him ‘apolitical’ and you can see the same not just with fans but also in society.

Because society doesn’t want to acknowledge serial killers as just the truth behind their white sons and the system that absolved and encourages them, because that would require them to admit their guilt in how they’re structured. Rather, they’ll say these men reflect some dark truth inherent to humanity, and don’t exist within a certain sociopolitical framework.

And so he was a ‘loner’ whose problems can be pathologized via mental illness, his trauma can be traced back to a specific incident in his youth he just couldn’t get over. So you see how school shooters are made into victims, how serial killers are also made apolitical and even alien to distance them from the status quo.

And then you can lean into how unusual they are by writing characters like Dexter or Hannibal Lecter, you can not just defend the system but feed into it via the commodification of their violence as entertainment and consumption, and thus fuel the white supremacy train by letting their violence towards women and minorities be praised as something fascinating and interesting and conveniently clean of bigotry. This is the dichotomy of the hypothetical, romanticized Fantasy Serial Killer, and the banal IRL Serial Killer.

Thus we have the same cycle of white men’s violence being praised and validated by the system, and white men feeling entitled to this fame as a delusional fantasy. Because you’ve never heard of a black serial killer; Because black people are violent, that’s just the way they are, right? But if white men are violent, this is sensationalized as somehow unusual and fascinating and worth dedicating countless books and shows and movies towards. Obviously.

And even going back to witch hunters, sometimes I wonder about the constant consideration of, What if witches did exist? What if they were evil? Things like The VVitch or The Conjuring series, which have some framing of the Salem Witch Trials’ IRL violence towards women as legitimate in another universe, because of Satanism’s genuine predatory threat towards women, and how evil women sacrifice theirs or others’ God-given gift of a child, and now threaten another white Christian family.

And again there’s the the demystifying of the real life witch hunter too when we have a historical reenactment declare verbatim that IRL witch hunters were motivated by economics and other banal factors, not by any genuine belief in the dangers of demons; And even in a setting where the demons were real, they were not the predatory threat IRL witch hunters made them out to be, and so their very real biases and ulterior motives still apply in cumulative insincerity.

Hence, the Titan correcting Luz by explaining Belos as someone who only cares about being the hero in his own delusion; The fascist wet dream of a hidden invader here to corrupt even young white men, an outside monster to vanquish and whose destruction justifies the state, when in reality the monster IS the state, and before he was even presented as a witch (much less the human truth), his system’s destruction was called for.

Ultimately, a lot of True Crime and similar narratives are criticized for focusing more on this apparently inevitable mystique behind the perpetrators, who warrant far more attention than their victims. So when the villain is an example of True Crime, it’s worth noting how the show is so much more focused on the ‘weirdoes’ he targets, on women and/or PoC. The lives of Luz Noceda and her friends, them getting along and their psychologies, are just so much more important, and it really isn’t about that guy, who is informed as much as he needs to be.

But again, the True Crime fans dilemma; People genuinely salty at the show for not focusing on their favorite serial killer and his troubled backstory, his tragic motives and Puritan repression. The framing of his murders and motives isolated through the lens of his violence on undeserving white men, and not on the out-group he is specifically targeting and has committed much more violence on, esp if you look at the narrative’s actual framing of his impact on our protagonists, but also other victims who are witches or demons, and even his own self-professed motives; Hence, ‘Fratricide Georg’ as a joke depoliticized of his colonial violence, a violence that is not just adjacent to but fulfilling racism.

Because he hallucinated only those white men out of guilt, but that’s his biased perspective and priorities; And so you see how this is contrasted with a refusal to empathize with people like the Collector or Luz, who are put into the same situations as his white male victims via shared cinematography, yet are just as rejected. Luz is only put into this situation as convenient to Belos’ narrative, the closest replacement to a white male human he can get, but again if this girl of color says No, he tries to murder her and even does.

Yet again, people take genuine, personal insult at the creator for finding Belos to be her least favorite character to write, while ignoring that she still found him necessary to the story she was trying to tell; She just found the framing and focus should’ve been shifted to his actual victims’ deep and meaningful lives, how they matter. So people hate that S3 cares more about Luz Noceda’s relationship with her parents of color, as well as her female mentor and demonic brother, or her queer relationship with her girlfriend, etc.

And even when they get a bone of white boy Hunter, it’s still not enough; Fans inevitably gather themselves into an almost frenzied state of personal victimization, rallying into harassment of PoC who criticize their portrayal and discussion around their colonial serial killer fave, organizing dedicated trends and months to giving their white men the focus they ‘deserved’, because this is just White fandom in general.

Look at the entitlement campaigns regarding Ben Solo or Billy Hargroves deserving better, these young white men violent to women and minorities. It’s just the same thing but on a micro-scale, at least filtered via fictional characters. But Jesus you see how internalized biases bleed into everything. You’ve never heard of a black serial killer and fandom doesn’t fight for characters of color.

[balkanradfem]

I don't get to talk about feminism in real life, because it's not an accepted topic here, it's an 'evil harpy movement' still, despite it getting women the right to vote, own property, own a bank account, be able to be paid for work. The consenus is that normal women don't need to be feminists, we already have the right to vote so what more could we possibly want. I do get to talk with young women about it! When I have some teenagers or young adult women in my life, I am telling them all about it, showing them all the violence statistics, instructing them on all possible methods of abortion, and they are genuinely stunned to gain this information they've never had access to before.

But yesterday, I was at plant lady's house, and I breached the topic of feminism, because I had just entered a feminist book club, and joined a little group of croatian radfems, so I was all up in my ideas about it. And I love the plant lady, she's a beloved figure in my life, but she is both against feminism, and a huge fan of conspiracy theories. So when I started talking about feminism, she interrupted me to tell me that she heard that women, are not in fact, responsible for feminism, but it's actually males in power that are pulling the strings. I explained that we don't even allow m*n to participate in what we do, but she was sure she's right, because, males in power thought it would be cool for women to have jobs and pay taxes, so they invented feminism, to collect more taxes and have more workers. And I knew I couldn't argue her about it because conspiracy theories exist to null every argument against them, right, no matter what I say, she'll have a more incredible explanation. So instead I changed the topic to the problems of sexual violence against women, domestic violence, normalization of pedophilia, and treatment of women like objects due to rampant pornography.

And she's like, no, that doesn't happen, most people are normal and have normal marriages and treat women normally, and these problems, are not the problems of 'feminism', these are things everyone is against – and I say no they're not, m*n don't care, they don't fight against any of it, in fact they're the perpetrators of 90% of these crimes. Then she launches into a story of an abused woman who refused to leave her husband because she loved him. I explain to her that this is incredibly common and it's called 'cycle of abuse', and we can resolve this by teaching women very early on about this cylce, that it can easily happen to them no matter what kind of husband they choose, and to recognize the signs early, before it comes to worst, and for women who are going trough it, they need all this euducation too. What is happening currently is nobody is talking about it and we pretend it doesn't exist and then victim-blame women when they get abused. Most abused women don't even recognize they're being abused because they're being isolated and told it's their own fault. Then she launched into another story about a woman who she knows was battered who escaped. Then she mentioned another situation she knew with a violent husband, and another with a drunk one. And I'm listening to her like. Hey. You said this doesn't even happen, that it's incredibly rare, but you personally know this many cases? And you know me, I've been living in violence too, remember?

And she just looks at me. Realizing for a second that it's not that rare. She didn't argue with me. She previously really thought about each and every case she knew as an outlier, something so improbable and rare that it wasn't really a social problem. She told me then, that we can't really help these people, because police only makes it worse, so what do we even do. I told her it's important that we talk about it, that we offer resources and teach women early on to recognize abuse, and to make a point of not blaming women for it, to make it clear any male could do it to them at any point, to be ready for it, to reconsider marrying, to have a separate bank account, to never let their survival and housing be completely dependant on a male.

I also indulged her to think why women can find themselves in these situations in the first place? If we're so equal, how come it's possible women don't have anywhere to go to, and need to stay in the abusers house to just survive. I said it has something to do with parents usually leaving their houses and properties to sons, and expecting daughters to move into their husbands places, and she again said 'no this doesn't happen', and I went 'well why don't these abused women just move into their own houses they inherited from their parents' and she again, had no arguments. It's not the sole reason though, women earn less too, get less promotions, get paid less for the same job, still mostly do unpaid labour, dedicate a big part of their life to raising children on their own, they don't get to accumulate funds and properties in the same ways m*n do.

Anyway, while we were having this entire conversation, her 18yo daughter was there, listening to us, and miraculously, she seemed to agree with me! When the plant lady claimed 'there's so many normal ones out there', the daughter interrupted to say 'no mom, there's no normal m*n out there, I can't find anyone normal', and I immediately supported her claim with agreement. I was so happy to be a little feminist influence on her and to validate her point! She was also wearing a shirt that said 'grl pwr' and I was like 'yes this is great' even though it's just a liberal catchphrase, it's still a sign of wanting women to have power in the world that doesn't believe a word they say.

I think the type of attitude the plant lady has is extremely common for women in our country, in fact she was very receptive to what I was saying. She knew about this many cases of domestic abuse, because she was often the safe person for these women to tell, and she has been helping the ones who escaped, me included.

Most women I know will launch in defense of males and trashing of women as soon as you mention feminism, because it's the only socially accepted thing to do. I believe we all have women in our lives who are not malicious or terribly ignorant, but affected by the mainstream beliefs that women are asking for too much, already have everything, and are at fault for everything that happens to them; this is incredibly pervasive and impossible to debate in a conversation. It's so ingrained in women to go against anything that makes m*n look bad, it's almost considered a sin and a hate crime to even think this way. Like something a bad, selfish, bitter, irrational and greedy woman would do, and nobody wants to be dubbed that. I remember thinking this way myself when I was a teen; I wanted to hold males responsible so bad, but the shame of being seen as this hateful and bitter person was getting to me, to the point where I would silent down and not speak out.

I used to get so angry at anti feminists, and would avoid indulging with the topic because it would irritate me so much, but I've gained more understanding as I go on, and can now tolerate the opposing arguments when I know they've come from propaganda and social pressure, rather than ignorance or hunger for approval. I'm more effective being able to indulge a little! Not a lot though. If I spent a lot of my time trying to argue with anti-feminists I would in fact, wither and die.

[murdrdocs]

INTERVIEW 030. KICK-ASS murdrtober 2024 remnants. sex machines

Really, you and Kick-Ass should have a handler. Maybe that would keep the two of you from getting into irresponsible, and frankly, odd, situations. Such as this one. 1k+ words MDNI 18+

God, this is so irresponsible. The two of you are irresponsible. 

You originally offered to team up with Kick Ass to watch each other’s backs and hold each other accountable. A team, albeit a small one, nothing comparable to Justice Forever.

No other superhero is as active as the two of you, and being alone was never a good look, especially for you. So you needed someone with you, someone strong and recognizable. Someone who sent a message to anyone who even had the idea to threaten you. 

Who better than Kick Ass? Plus, you thought he was reliable. Save for the brief stretch where everyone assumed he abandoned his patrols, Kick Ass had been a steady figure in the community, always there to help whoever needed it. In the idea you conjured up of him, he would be that sort of figure in private, too. Someone who would keep you from dicking around as soon as there was a lull on the streets. 

Someone who would keep your head straight on your shoulders. 

Unfortunately, Kick Ass seemed to be as much of a dumbass as you—possibly even more. 

“I mean … when else are you gonna have the opportunity to use something like this.”

And Kick Ass does have a point. The two of you already got what you came here for—a tiny harddrive tucked in your top that you know to have intel about the latest crime boss to terrorize your neighborhood. The penthouse is empty otherwise, and the owner shouldn’t be back for a while, considering she's serving time and all. 

You and Kick Ass have the place all to yourselves, but that shouldn’t matter. You should be leaving the way you came out, but as Kick Ass claims: where’s the fun in that?

“What’s it feel like?” 

You swallow a moan before attempting to respond, and even when you do, you speak methodically, trying to ward off the way your voice threatens to wobble. 

“It feels like I’m being fucked by a machine.”

Kick Ass scoffs. You watch him put his hands on his hips, the muscles in his back flexing. Has his suit shrunk in the wash, or is he just getting buffer by the day? Knowing Kick Ass, it could truly be either. His head turns to the side as if he’s about to turn around,  but he stops at the last minute, likely remembering that the one thing you had asked of him was to not look. 

“Well that’s not very descriptive.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you want me to—” Whatever snarky comeback you were going to throw at him embarrassingly dies before it can be completely born. You can’t help but let out this moan, and to make matters worse, it’s loud. 

Louder than the mechanical whirring of the machine working. Louder than the squelch of your cunt sucking up the silicone dildo attached at the end of the mechanism. 

You think you see Kick Ass physically shudder, but you can’t tell when you’re struggling to keep your eyes open. 

“Is it …” Kick Ass hesitates. He clears his throat and tries again. “Is it better than … you know … a guy?” 

You don’t say anything for a minute, too busy trying to balance focusing on the pleasure and attempting to figure out where to go from here. Eventually, you simply say, “Kick Ass?”

When he says, “Yeah,” his voice cracks, but neither of you acknowledge it. 

“You can turn around.”

You expected him to question your change of heart. Maybe ask if you were sure. But he doesn’t. He just turns around, the heavy thud of his Timberlands knocking against the hardwood floors one after the other. 

You watch his light eyes settle on your face at first, and then slowly crawl down until he’s watching the faux-cock slip in and out of you. His lips part, a voiceless word slipping past them and out into the air. 

You don’t have to tell him to come closer, he does that completely on his own. He kneels beside you, attentive eyes flickering back and forth between your spread legs and your eyes with a slight squint that leads you to believe he might need glasses.

Whatever barrier that existed between the two of you before has been completely broken down. You’ll never come back from this, so you might as well feed into it. 

When you tell him to kiss you, he doesn’t hesitate. His gloved hands hold your face in place as he practically assaults his mouth with his. It’s sloppy, uncoordinated, and so hot. You’re feeding him moans and he quickly swallows them. You’re sliding your tongue and tongue, mimicking the action of licking ice cream. At one point, you suck Kick Ass’ tongue into your mouth, and he whimpers like a girl. You think he might wet like one, too. 

Only one way to find out. 

When you pull away, unattractively heaving in breaths of air, you ask him, “Do you wanna fuck me instead? Help me see which is better?”

The pressure is definitely on for him, but he’s so eager with the way he slips his suit and Timberland’s off that you don’t think this could go wrong. And you’re so, so right. 

Kick Ass’ eagerness is as useful as it is attractive. You expected his thrusts to be strong and jack hammering, and for a second it is, until you tell him to slow down and then he has passion behind it. Grinding his cock into you, sending all of his length deeper and deeper and gliding his girth along the ridges of your walls. It’s so much better than the unforgiving pace of the machine, and you make sure he knows, too. 

Scratching his back, threading your fingers into the curls you’d never seen before today, wrapping your ankles around his back and pulling him as deep as you can get him. You don’t know what you expected, but he certainly exceeds your expectations. 

He does wet like a girl, too.

And he’s loud. So vocal as he sings praises about how good your cunt feels (your pussy, as he calls it), how thankful he is that you’re letting him do this, how he’s thought of this ever since the two of you teamed up for the first time.

“I know, Kick-Ass,” you tell him, minutely nodding as you dig your fingernails into the cushion beneath you. “I know. Me too.”

“Dave,” he corrects.

You tell him your name, and then not even a second later you’re moaning his name. He slumps forward, nestling his head into the crook of your neck. His hand comes to the top of your head, holding you to him as you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“You close?”

You nod, your nose brushing against his shoulder as your breathing increases. “I’m so close, Dave.”

“Yeah? You gonna come?” Dave asks, and you can hear the smile when he says it.

You hit him, because you just said that, but all of the strength in your body is focused on getting you there so it’s nothing more than a weak punch that actually makes him laugh.

“Prove it to me,” he taunts, the competitive side to him that you're so used to coming out. “C’mon. Show me.”

[olderthannetfic]

I hate that deleting fic is so stigmatized. Yeah, when my shitty pharmacy wouldn't give me my meds for ten days, I had a manic depressive episode and deleted something. Sorry that makes me evil or entitled or trying to milk the audience for sympathy. You'd think putting it back up and apologizing would be enough. You'd be wrong. People keep chiming in to let me know this was manipulative. They let me know they won't be reading any more of it. They say they know someone who's Bipolar and their friend's Bipolar Disorder isn't like this so I'm faking for internet sympathy. Thanks to my selfish "attention whoring" they've lost comment threads they loved rereading and it's my fault.

Everyone says they're sympathetic to mental health issues. Then you make one single mistake that annoys them. And then it turns out you're unforgivable. They had to go a whole two days without one story. I had to go ten days without medication that keeps me sane and stable during the election and I didn't self-harm, I didn't try to kill myself and I didn't do anything self-destructive. But I briefly deleted a story.

I'm honestly thinking about making a new AO3 account and, after I finish this story, just swapping over to a new account. I'm tired of being treated like shit.

--

Listen, a fuckton of artists throughout history have destroyed their work for mental health reasons. Their personal friends did care about their mental health. Strangers care about their art.

These commenters are being rude, but you are hoping for something that is unlikely.

Make a new account if you want to escape these specific people. Don't expect the stigma around destroying art to change.

[hrrtshape]

FAME DR — moments, in which i knew, i’ve made it. 

⋆  hearing my song at a random café – i’m just vibing, sipping an espresso, and suddenly my voice floats through the speakers. people around me are humming along, totally unaware that it’s…..ME!!!! me!!!??

⋆  seeing my face on a billboard in times square – i’m there with friends, acting all casual, but inside i’m screaming because it’s just… me. huge. in times square. 

⋆  getting DMs from celebrities i used to fangirl over – notifications blow up, and there’s that blue check, THEM, sliding into my DMs saying they’re obsessed with my new song or film or whatnot want to meet up.

⋆  having a designer send me clothes with a handwritten note – just open a package to find an exclusive jacket with a note: “this piece is so you. can’t wait to see you wear it.” WHAT?

⋆  walking into a room and people literally gasping – at a party or event or literally just a whatever place, and the whole place goes quiet for a beat when i walk in. heads turning, whispers starting—everyone is in awe. okay, beyonce. okay…

⋆  finding fan art of myself online – fans post these breathtaking drawings and edits, capturing every tiny detail of an outfit, facial expressions, and they’re actually better than anything an official team could come up with. 

⋆  watching paparazzi chase after me in a cute outfit – i just.. step out, dressed, and suddenly there’s a whole crew of photographers losing their minds trying to get shots of. 

⋆  hearing my voice as someone’s ringtone in public – walking in the streets, chilling, and someone’s phone goes off with my song. 

⋆  a little kid dressed as yours truly for halloween – like, full-on little diva mode and their parents are so proud of their mini-star!!!!!! internal screaming.

⋆  seeing fans camped out with signs hours before an event – i’m arriving, and there’s personalised signs. i feel like madonna or someone. like, people like me that much!!!! me!!!! 

⋆  seeing a poster of me in someone’s room — it can be super casual; film or one of those music posters but they still have it in their rooms?? on their walls??? 

⋆  hearing other artists name-drop me in their interviews – people i’ve perhaps looked up to, who inspired me, are now saying things like, “well, I’d love to work with her; she’s killing it right now.” it’s giving favourite artist’s favourite artist !!!!

⋆  my favourite high-fashion brand using my song in their runway show – watching videos of the models walking to my beat during paris fashion week. It's iconic. it's cinematic. it’s unreal. it makes me squeal for a bit. just a bit.

⋆  random people copying my hairstyles and outfits – i go on instagram and tik tok to find tutorials on how to get my curls, my makeup, or even my attitude. fashion style. body type?! oh my god. i’m a BLUEPRINT!!! 

⋆  fans quoting my interviews back to me – they remember all of those cheesy one-liners and even throw them back in comments and in person. 

⋆  being the reason someone starts making music or art – a fan gushing, saying, “i only started singing because of you.” 

⋆  catching people on the metro secretly taking photos of me – i’m reading or vibing with a friend, and i glimpse at someone trying to snap a photo discreetly. i get that little downturned smile because?? hello?? COME HERE I DON’T BITE??

⋆  fans running entire accounts just for paparazzi photos – i find out about multiple fan pages dedicated to catching and sharing every single glimpse of me, from coffee runs to red carpet shots. wild. also very smile-inducing.

⋆  people naming their pets after me – i hear fans saying they have a dog, cat, or even a fish named after me. it’s cute, and it makes me feel like i’ve officially entered pop culture.

⋆  meeting someone who cries when they see me – they’re sobbing, overwhelmed, and i’m trying to hold their hands, saying, “it’s okay, it’s okay, oh my god, stop crying, i’m going to start crying!!” 

⋆  being used as stantwt gif’s — okay. yea, i’ve made it. no comment.

⋆  people selling out an outfit as soon as i wear it – i wore a certain dress, and boom, it’s immediately sold out everywhere. i’m officially. officialy setting trends without even trying.

⋆  fans knowing my coffee order by heart – people are out there replicating my exact coffee order and sharing recipes, so everyone can feel a little more like me??. spreading soy milk propaganda <3 

⋆  being an inspiration behind fan tattoos – people are getting my quotes, my NAME, or even my films or albums inked on their bodies. okay. OKAY….wow.? 

⋆  people taking photos at places just because i’ve been there – spots i’ve casually visited are suddenly iconic locations for fans, and they recreate my exact poses.

⋆  finding out my song were played at someone’s wedding – it’s their special day, and my voice is part of their love story??? 

⋆  getting letters from people who say i’ve changed their lives – fans sending handwritten letters, saying how i saved them, made them stronger, or helped them believe in themselves. <3 :( :) (:AWE. 

⋆  noticing my name carved on trees – i’m literally engraved in people’s memories and spaces. can i cry now? 

[stoat-party]

Every Fallout 4 Companion’s Approximate Birth Year (Part 3/3)

CVRIE — 2076

I assume Miss Nannies went out of production when the world exploded.

Codsworth — 2077

His box is still in your house during the prologue.

He also mentions enjoying the “months” he’s spent with you, though he might mean since Shaun was born.

Nick — 2175

We know it was over a century ago, but it can’t have been too far prior to the Gen 3 rollout around 2227.

I think Nick is the older brother, because it makes sense to start by creating a synth with stored personalities before trying to make one that develops a personality autonomously.

Longfellow — 2223

This man is only in his SIXTIES, they are LYING TO YOU

The Children of Atom were full-fledged on the Island when Longfellow was young. Confessor Cromwell is the one who sent them to Maine.

But he couldn’t have become Confessor until the mid-2250s, because he’s only FORTY-FOUR in Fallout 3, and he had a background as a trader before that! AND there still had to be time for the Children to travel all the way to Maine.

So Longfellow was born in the twenties, had his sad backstory in the fifties, and is about 65 in Fallout 4.

Strong — 2230

Strong could have been anyone, but I think he was either a divorced dad who would’ve been an accountant in another life, or just Mayor McDonough.

Hancock — 2235

Is 53-year-old Hancock controversial? Let me cook.

There’s support for the theory that synth McDonough was created before the election in 2282. We can assume the human had full gray hair at that point, because synths don’t go gray. So he was probably in his fifties at least.

John was younger, but he can’t have been that much younger. So he was probably ghoulified in his late forties.

Deacon — 2245

If you accept the John D. theory, this does put him a little on the young side, but it fits.

Gage — 2251

There’s not much backstory from his teens up to 2286, and I’m tempted to believe it was a shorter period. But he has late-thirties eyes.

…Eye.

Cait — 2260

Her parents helpfully drew the line at child trafficking, so we have a good idea of her age. She was 18 when she went into slavery and about 23 when she left.

Some time later, she spent about three years at the Combat Zone. Assuming some buffer room between the two periods, I put her at 27 years.

Danse — 2261

He’d have lived in the Institute for awhile, then Rivet City, then the Brotherhood.

He was already a paladin in 2277, but Maxson says it took him “many years” to become one.

Preston — 2262

I don’t know what it is about him that screams 25-year-old to me.

He joined the Minutemen at 17, then had “a few good years” before 2282 when Becker died.

MacCready — 2264

He was twelve in August 2277, and at that point he’d been mayor for three years.

He became mayor at ten. So he’s got to be nearly thirteen at the start of Fallout 3, which would make him 23 in Fallout 4.

Piper — 2166

Nat seems 13 to me. 

If Piper is old enough to have taken care of her as a baby, but not old enough to have significant memories of their mother, 21 sounds about wright.

Curie — 2277

Glory escaped the Institute in 2280, and she and G5 had known each other for some time before that.

Ada — 2281

Jackson seems to have created her reasonably recently.

Dogmeat IV — 2285

I think he is ouppy:)

X6-88 — 2287. 

Yeah, I said it.

This man thinks he’s so evil but he’s an actual baby.

My reasoning is that he wishes he had been there to see the University Point massacre in 2286, but apparently wasn’t.

It makes the game so much funnier.

If he was born earlier in the year, he could have been trained in time for the Kellogg flashback.

Part 1

Part 2

[ao3-shenanigans]

my mom likes fandom stuff, so she's subscribed to my ao3. i'm trying my hand at smut. i wouldn't get in trouble, but i just don't want my mother getting a notification about what my kinks are. do you know of any way to keep subscribers from getting emails about a specific fic? if i were to block her before posting the fic, and then immediately unblock her after posting, would she still be subscribed to me?

Hi! So sorry it took ages for me to respond to this! I have been, as they say, Going Through It™️

Blocking someone on ao3 is a little goofy, in short it only stops the blocked user from commenting but not seeing your works

That doesn’t mean you don’t have options however:

1. You can add your work to an anonymous collection

- you will still have control over the fic but your user name won’t be shown to readers and no subscription emails will be sent; readers will not be able to find it under your user but can still search for it via tags

- I will link a great post that the lovely @ao3commentoftheday wrote explaining how posting to the anon collection works

2. You can create a second account and post your more spicy fics there

- it’s pretty normal to have a second account, although sometimes it can take a while before you can get one as Ao3 has an invite system to control how fast the website grows

- you would have to make a second email for the account

Link to post explaining anon works in more detail:

[piranhaincaps]

✨ You can do that. You make your bookmark private. ✨

Regardless:

Honestly no one cares if you've used the bookmark comments to make a 13/23 chapters read or similar note. Logistics are inherently neutral.

If you are adding thoughts and commentary that are negative, why are you bookmarking it in the first place? Close the fic. Move along to something else. This is fandom, stop using your space to collect things that make you unhappy.

If you think your words might be walking on eggshells to say, see above paragraphs.

If you are analyzing a free labor of blorbo love like you're in 9th grade English Lit. (or your school system's equivalent), bust out that friend discord/private discord/google goc account. The AO3 bookmark comments box has next to no formatting and will turn into the text equivalent of Do You Love The Color Of The Sky anytime anyone looks upon your page, and genuinely why would you do that to yourself?

(Going to go ahead and put a disclaimer here that I am ABSOLUTELY using the general version of you here.)

Been hearing this is a problem again. Don't be a dick in bookmarks, folks. And yes while I made this image, I'm giving free reign. Take it. Spread it far and wide. Because I'm hearing that some readers don't know that their bookmarks are visible.

[awsugar]

speaking of questions that exercise very mcr specific muscles in your brain. i was perusing mychem tumblr the other day and came across a masterpost about the SS/mayo blog frerard lore (i’m aware frerard is not PC these days thanks obama). i’ve been a dedicated fan for over a decade now and my brain is an mcr lore bank but i had literally never heard of this. do you know about it and if you do what are your thoughts

omg yea. ss/mayo is crazy. and unfortunately a lot of it has been lost to time and its not even saved on wayback. theres some stuff thats convincing, theres some stuff thats not.

so like lets preface this by saying that the ft willz myspace? confirmed to be frank. and obviously the stuff posted on skeleton crew, those screenshots of ft willz works that look like theyre on burnt paper? yea so those are confirmed and those are real fully frank no questions.

i personally am a skeptic of other accounts that claim to be ft willz. like the tumblr? i do not think thats frank. and i think that came at a time when people had already really speculated or figured out that ft willz WAS frank. so like i think the tumblr is honestly just someone who was pretending to be frank and managed to sort of emulate his style but yea i don't think it's him. i think the reason some of the stuff hits so hard in a frerard sense is because that was intentional by the person writing it. you know.

anyway ss and mayo. there were two blogs on blogspot started in 2007 i believe that fans thought were frank and gerard. well it started with mayo (its-mayonaise.blogspot.com). that blog is still up and so are a lot of the posts but i think a lot of them have been deleted as well, and not saved anywhere on wayback. im sure theyre on someones hard drive out there but i haven't seen them. then a blog appeared called iamthemodernprometheus.blogspot.com. some of those posts are still up but most are gone. that was ss/sss/shitsubou shita/frank (allegedly). ss started interacting in the comments on mayo's blog. and i think i may have read some mayo blog posts back in the day but i haven't been able to find them to answer this one. i just remember when i joined the fandom most people thought it was gerard.

now here's a couple things of evidence. THIS is a blogspot comment thread where people who have saved some of ss' blog posts put them in the comments. and yes obviously it could be an elaborate hoax by two fans who were invested in frerard. but like these things were being posted as it HAPPENED. you know? idk i wasnt there in 2007. but 2007 was when the fanfic took off and we really informed a lot of our perception of what happened with frerard on things like ft willz/stuff that happened on stage/and a lot of these posts really fit into the timeline. i would recommend reading that because its kind of hard to believe its like. a teenager pretending to be frank. it really just SOUNDS like frank. and he's really writing blog posts. basically to gerard lol. it gives the impression that they were on tour together (projekt rev) and doing the Thing but like there was def tension going on behind the scenes and we already know that thats true. frank didn't like eliza and thought gerard was moving too fast, the imnotokay.net post came from someone in mcr's camp that ppl thought was frank (or maybe brian) and then tbh its happening again?? just months later? it makes complete sense that if frank thought gerard was moving too fast with eliza that he DEFINITELY thought he was moving too fast with lynz getting MARRIED to her backstage just a couple months? after breaking off his engagement with eliza. anyway just read the comments. its very easy to believe its frank.

and then the other peice of evidece i found in this reddit thread: x comment in particular by u/ReallyKapu. they say that they have always gone by Kapunua online and that they met frank at a lm show, gave him a hat with the inscription 'sss' inside and later on he thanked them for it on the blog.

sure enough:

from what i've read it seems like the blog was actually a community. there were people who followed it and made friends in the comment section. and it does seem implausible but it looks to me like frank saved all of his gifts from tour and then made this post specifically thanking people for them. the person who claims this is them also says that they don't think mayo is actually gerard but that frank thought it was.

and i've seen stuff saying that if it wasn't gerard it was probably someone close to the band because they had like information that was posted on the blog that wouldn't come readily available (or make sense) until the show the next day.

anyway, i wasn't there for this. i was on the forums and twitter and tumblr for a LOT of mcr history but this was a little before my time and i think if i had been there OR if the blogs had actually been preserved in some way that i might be able to form a better opinion. i think theres a lot of evidence for frank, not sure about gerard. but i won't claim that it's true either bc we really don't know and this one i don't think we ever will!

[passengerprincessblog]

“Lewis, Next Door” ~ pt 2 Lewis Hamilton x reader

Warning: age gap (lowkey?), alcohol.

Summary: Y/N’s night out spirals into chaos, leading to a desperate late-night call to Lewis that she barely remembers making. But when he shows up to help-, slightly annoyed, and undeniably magnetic—she finds herself teetering between embarrassment and intrigue.

The bass thumps in my chest, so loud I feel it in my bones as we sway and stumble together under the neon lights. MK Club in Monaco is packed, bodies pressed together in a wave of glitter, laughter, and the haze of way too many drinks. Winter break has finally started, and my friends—Janelle, Isabella, and Séraphine—and I have decided that tonight is all about celebrating our freedom. Maybe we’re overdoing it, but who cares? We’re young, we’re back from school, and we deserve this.

I lean into the music, my head spinning in the best way. “We’re out of money,” I realize, looking down at my half-empty drink, frowning. Not a cent of parental allowance had dropped in any of our accounts yet. My own savings were being bled dry by all this fun, and, seriously, what’s the point of being a rich kid in Monaco if I can’t order bottles of Ace of Spades?

Séraphine slings an arm around me, her face flushed and eyes glassy as she shouts, “We should just try to flirt with some guys! Get ourselves a table!”

Janelle shakes her head, looking a little worse for wear, her lids drooping as she slurs, “No… Alain will kill me if he finds out I pulled something like that again…”

As they debate, an idea pops into my head, striking like a flash of drunken genius. I grin, barely able to focus, but sure of one thing: I have Lewis’s number. Lewis, my neighbor and friend of my dad, but also ridiculously rich, famous, and possibly my ticket to a few more rounds. So what if it’s 2 a.m., right?

“I’ve got it, guys. I know someone,” I announce proudly, though the words come out like a tangled mess.

Séraphine squints at me, laughing. “You’re drunk, Y/N. You don’t know anyone.”

“Oh, yeah?” I pull out my phone, holding it up triumphantly as I squint at the screen, fingers fumbling over the contacts. “There it is.” I hit the call button, holding the phone to my ear, my friends watching me with barely-contained curiosity.

The call rings a few times, and just as I’m about to give up, a low, groggy voice answers.

“Hello?”

The confidence I had fizzles, but I swallow my nerves. “Lewis?” I slur, hearing my voice in that weirdly bold way only a couple of drinks can make possible.

There’s a pause. “Y/N?” He sounds confused, and I hear him shift like he’s sitting up.

“Yeah. Are you out?” I ask, the music blaring through the phone. I feel the eyes of my friends glued to me as they wait, wondering who I’m talking to.

“What? Where are you?” he asks, voice sharper now, more alert.

“I’m at MK,” I say loudly over the noise, feeling smug.

There’s another pause, and then he says, almost to himself, “MK? You’re not even old enough to be there… And, wait… are you drunk? It’s 2 a.m.—”

I cut him off, a playful edge to my tone. “I was just calling to see if you wanted to come and get us more drinks,” I say, though the words tumble out in a barely coherent mix of slurs and giggles.

There’s a long, exasperated silence on the other end.

“Hello?” I ask, annoyed he’s taking so long to answer.

His sigh is audible over the phone. “Do you… need me to pick you up?” he asks, his voice lined with something that sounds like he’s already resigning himself to it.

“No! I don’t,” I reply with confusion. “You’re so boring,” I add before hanging up. My friends laugh, and we go back to dancing, somehow managing to snag a few more drinks from guys around us.

It’s 3:00 a.m. by the time I manage to stumble my way back to my parents’ penthouse, swaying down the hallway in my heels. My purse feels like a black hole as I dig through it, searching for my keys. They have to be in here somewhere, right?

But after minutes of searching, I realize they’re not. “Shit,” I mutter, slumping against the wall, the reality sinking in. I don’t want to wake up my parents like this—tipsy, disheveled, and very obviously not sober.

I slide down to the floor, feeling my frustration tip dangerously toward tears. I’m too drunk for this. I stare at my phone, desperate for some kind of solution, and in my daze, I remember… Lewis. Again, I don’t recall that I just called him an hour ago, and with no other option, I hit his number.

After a few rings, his tired voice picks up. “Yes?” he says, clearly woken up again.

“Lewis?” My voice breaks a little, the earlier playfulness gone.

He sounds a little more awake, sensing something’s off. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

“I… I can’t get into my house.” My voice trembles with a mix of embarrassment and frustration.

“Wait… are you outside right now?” he asks, the tone of his voice shifting instantly, more alert.

“Yeah… I don’t have a key,” I mumble.

He sighs deeply, and I hear him rustling, like he’s getting up. “Okay… give me a minute.” He hangs up, and I wait in the dimly lit hallway, feeling stupid but relieved.

A few minutes later, the door down the hall opens, and there he is, looking tired, standing there in nothing but sweatpants. Even through my drunken haze, I can’t help but notice how he looks, the way his gaze meets mine across the hall, his face softening when he sees me.

“Come here,” he says, his voice a low, quiet command. The authority in his voice stirs something in me as I pull myself up, stumbling toward him, heels clicking with each unsteady step. His eyes drop to what I’m wearing—a short dress, tight enough to get the attention of every guy at MK tonight—and he looks away, maybe to save me from feeling self-conscious. Or maybe to save himself.

“Come in,” he murmurs, stepping back and letting me walk inside. His place feels dim, warm, quiet—a stark contrast to the loud, chaotic energy I’d just left. The moment I step in, I sway, and his hand catches my arm, steadying me.

“How much did you drink?” he asks, his voice edged with concern as he leads me toward the living room. “Why did you drink so much?”

I flop onto his couch, letting out a lazy laugh as I lean back. “I don’t know,” I reply, slurring, barely caring how much of a mess I must look to him right now.

He disappears for a second, returning with a glass of water, holding it out to me. “Drink that. You need it.”

I take a sip, and he watches, standing over me, his expression somewhere between annoyance and amusement. “Look… I don’t have a key to your parents’ place, so you’re kind of stuck for now. Do you have a friend nearby?”

I shake my head, setting the glass aside and sinking further back into the couch. “No… I don’t know.” My voice is soft, almost defeated.

He sighs, glancing at the clock. “It’s 3:17 in the morning…” he mutters, and I let out a giggle, finding it all absurdly funny.

He shakes his head, but there’s a small, reluctant smile on his face. “You’re a mess,” he says, voice teasing.

I sit up, pouting. “No…” I argue, slurring as I try to mimic his mock-scolding tone.

“Yes…” he says, meeting my gaze, and for a moment, his eyes linger on me, trailing down to my dress. His hand reaches up, almost instinctively, to brush a stray lock of hair from my face, his touch surprisingly gentle. I look at him, something bubbling up in me—a boldness from the alcohol, or maybe just the thrill of being near him like this. I reach out, letting my hand rest on his thigh, feeling the solid warmth of him.

He looks at my hand, then at me, his gaze suddenly intense. He reaches down, covering my hand with his, his grip firm as he lifts it off his leg. “No… no, Y/N. You need to sleep this off,” he murmurs, voice low but soft.

“Hm? No… I’m fine,” I insist, leaning closer, letting my eyes half-close as I give him what I hope is a sultry look.

He lets out a breath, amused but resolute. “Yeah… that’s definitely the alcohol talking.” He stands up, guiding me gently to follow him. “Come on. I’ve got a spare bedroom. You can sleep there, okay?”

I frown, feeling my hazy hopes sink, but I’m too tired and too out of it to argue. I stumble along behind him, my heels clicking down the hallway as he opens the door to a guest room. I step inside, feeling the plush carpet beneath my feet, a cozy contrast to the cold, hard floors of MK.

“Just get some sleep, alright?” he says, rubbing his eyes, clearly exhausted.

“Wait,” I call, almost whining, as he turns to leave. “Can you…” I pause, heart pounding, barely believing my own boldness as I turn around, showing him the back of my dress. “I can’t sleep in this…”

He sighs, and I can tell he’s fighting an internal battle. “Y/N…” he starts, his tone edged with caution, like he’s about to refuse. But then he relents, stepping forward. His hands come to rest on my hips, strong and steady, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin fabric. I feel my breath catch as he pulls me closer, his fingers brushing against the small of my back.

For a moment, his hands linger, almost as if he’s hesitating, feeling the weight of the moment as much as I am. Then, with deliberate slowness, he raises one hand to the top of my zipper. His fingertips graze the bare skin at the base of my neck, and I can’t suppress the shiver that runs down my spine.

He inches the zipper down slowly, each pull of the zipper loud in the quiet of the room, his touch leaving a tingling trail down my back. I can feel the soft brush of his knuckles against my skin as the dress loosens, exposing more of my back, inch by inch. His breathing is steady, but there’s a tension there—a restraint that feels almost tangible.

The zipper finally reaches the base of my spine, and his fingers linger there, as if reluctant to break the contact. My skin feels electric, every nerve heightened, and for a moment, he doesn’t move, his breath warm against the back of my neck. It’s like he wants to say something, to break the charged silence between us, but he holds back.

He clears his throat softly, his voice a quiet murmur in my ear, almost a command. “There. Now… get some sleep.” His words are gentle but firm, like he’s trying to steady both himself and me. And then, just as slowly as he approached, he pulls away, letting his hands fall from my back, the absence of his touch leaving my skin cool and craving the warmth of his hands.

As he steps back, he meets my eyes briefly, a flicker of something unreadable passing between us. For a second, I think he might close the space between us again, say something, or do something that will change everything. But he only gives me a small, careful nod, a final reminder of his restraint, and turns toward the door.

“Now… sleep,” he says once more, his voice soft but unwavering. With one last look, he leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.

———————————————-

As always, thank you for reading and appreciating my works.

I hope my writings help you unwind and escape your life in a way that is exciting to you.

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Хохо

Princess