#a utopia/ haven

[thehmn]

Here’s some inspiration for anyone who wants to write a green utopia or something that symbolize the rot under the surface.

I visited Stige Island today. It’s not really an island because it is connected to the mainland by a small road but the name stuck.

It is an artificially constructed island that was turned into a dump which made it grow bigger and bigger as more trash was piled on top.

Eventually the dump was closed down by covering it in a thick layer of dirt which is why the island is full of hills and bumps. A web of paths were created and the landscape was dotted with playgrounds and picnic tables and today it’s an incredibly popular place for the locals to relax.

Unfortunately most photos online show the island in its early sorta barren state because today it has become a haven for all sorts of plant and animal life skittering around in the dense bushes. It’s a wonderful place to go birdwatching, fishing or pick berries.

But the trash is still down there creating methane gas. What did the city do about that? Harvest it for energy of course! So when you walk around the island you’ll see pipes and what appears to be manholes that are part of this sophisticated system.

You can look at it in two ways. To me it’s a wonderful solution to turn this former dump into a beautiful green area for wildlife and people to use while also using it for energy, but the idea that something fire related could happen and blow the entire thing up and unearth the dirt of the past is pretty tempting.

[worldofsaia]

SAIA'S GAME ; general !

here's a curt assemblage of questions for your dr life, reality, and existence. use it for yourself, or ask me something via sending an ask with the corresponding emoji / prompt + a reality.

✶ my drs... ;

¹ ˙𖦹 *∴ THE WORLD

⊹ 🏙️ HOME SWEET HOME — ✶ what does your home look like in your dr?

⊹ ⏳ TIME TRAVELER — ✶ what’s the time period or era of your dr? is it different from your cr?

⊹ 🔮 PROPHECY — ✶ do you have a special role or purpose in your dr world?

⊹ ⏰ MORNING ROUTINE — ✶ what’s the first thing you do when you wake up in your dr?

⊹ 🍽️ BON APPÉTIT — ✶ what’s a typical meal in your dr country/locale? what’s your favorite food there?

⊹ 🛍️ TREAT YOURSELF — ✶ what’s the coolest thing you own in your dr that you don’t have in your cr?

⊹ 🏛️ GRAND DESIGN — ✶ what is the core foundation of your dr? is it a utopia, a dystopia, a world of magic, or something entirely different?

⊹ 🔭 PARALLEL WORLDS — ✶ what is the biggest difference between your cr and your dr?

⊹ ⏳ TIMELESS WONDER — ✶ how does time work in your dr? is it linear, fluid, or something else entirely?

⊹ 🔮 FATED CONNECTIONS — ✶ do you believe your dr has a deeper purpose for you? if so, what is it?

² ˙𖦹 *∴ THE LOVER

⊹ 💌 SECRET ADMIRER — ✶ do you have a crush or romantic interest in your dr? how did you meet?

⊹ 🎶 SHARED PLAYLIST — ✶ what song reminds you of a special relationship in your dr?

⊹ 🩷 FAMILY BONDS — ✶ who do you consider family in your dr? are they different from your cr family?

⊹ 🕊️ SOULMATE THEORY — ✶ do you believe you have a soulmate in your dr? have you met them yet?

⊹ 🛡️ RIDE OR DIE — ✶ who would go to battle for you in your dr? who would you protect at all costs?

⊹ 💞 HEARTSTRINGS — ✶ who is the most important person in your dr?

⊹ 💌 LOVE LETTERS — ✶ who is your biggest love interest in your dr? how did you meet?

⊹ 🏹 STAR-CROSSED — ✶ is there a love story in your dr that feels like destiny? doesn't have to be yours.

⊹ 🕊️ FOUND FAMILY — ✶ do you have a family in your dr? are they different from your cr family?

⊹ 🏰 PARTNERS IN CRIME — ✶ who is the person you trust the most in your dr?

⊹ 💔 GHOST OF THE PAST — ✶ have you experienced loss or heartbreak in your dr?

³ ˙𖦹 *∴ THE FOOL

⊹ 🪞 MIRROR MIRROR — ✶ what do you look like in your dr? do you look the same or different from your cr?

⊹ 📖 STORYBOOK — ✶ if your dr was a book, what would the title be?

⊹ 🎬 MOVIE NIGHT — ✶ if your dr had a theme song or soundtrack, what would it be?

⊹ 💼 WORK & PLAY — ✶ do you have a job, hobby, or passion in your dr? what’s your daily routine like?

⊹ 🎭 ALTER EGO — ✶ how different is your dr self from your cr self?

⊹ 🏠 SAFE HAVEN — ✶ where do you go when you need peace and quiet in your dr?

⊹ 🏕️ WEEKEND GETAWAY — ✶ what’s your favorite thing to do in your free time in your dr?

⊹ 📸 PHOTOGRAPHIC MEMORY — ✶ (if shifted) what is your favorite memory in your dr? (if not shifted) what scenario are you most looking forward to?

⊹ 🎢 ADRENALINE RUSH — ✶ what is the most thrilling experience you’ve had in your dr?

⊹ 💭 UNWRITTEN PAGES — ✶ if your dr had a book, what is a chapter title that describes your journey?

⊹ 🦋 METAMORPHOSIS — ✶ how has your dr changed you as a person?

⊹ 🕰️ CHILDHOOD ECHOES — ✶ do you have the same childhood in your dr, or is it different?

⁴ ˙𖦹 *∴ THE MAGICIAN

⊹ ✨ FLEETING DREAM — ✶ when you wake up in your cr, what do you miss the most about your dr?

⊹ 🔑 ONE LAST GIFT — ✶ if you could bring something from your dr to your cr, what would it be?

⊹ 🌀 WILL YOU RETURN? — ✶ do you plan on shifting back to your dr permanently or just temporarily?

[lost-in-thoughts03]

Unchained Melody || Hwang Jun-ho

Summary: Your friends just want you to reconnect with nature again. They dragged you into the pottery studio, where you met your handsome tutor for the day.

Warnings: Au, light, tension, kissing, teasing, flirting

You didn’t even have time to argue. The four of them had already Venmo-ed the entrance fee before you could fake a cough or sprain an ankle.

“ Come on.” Jun-hee grinned.

“ It’s either clay or chiropractor. Pick your poison.” Hyun-ju added.

And now, here you are—walking through the rustic wooden archway into a peaceful little pottery haven that smells like earth, lavender, and faint judgment.

The four of you stop dead in your tracks.

“ Wait...we get to make those?” Sae-byeok’s eyes are wide as she points to a line of gorgeously crafted ceramic pieces. “ I thought we were just painting some mugs.”

Your friends are practically vibrating with excitement. You? Not so much. Still, you're here. You pay your fee, get a little welcome badge, and then—plot twist—you find out the place runs on a private tutorial system.

One person.

One room.

One-on-one.

You give your friends a look that clearly says traitors, but they only giggle and vanish behind their assigned doors like they’ve just walked into some spiritual clay utopia.

Your palms are sweating before you even knock.

Inside, the room is warm—sunlight slipping in through a window, a pottery wheel at the center, and your tutor wiping his hands on a cloth as he turns to face you.

“ Hey there.” He gives you a small smile and a little wave. “ I’m Hwang Jun-ho. I’ll be your guide into the world of ceramics today.”

He’s...wow. Tall. Built like a Korean drama action hero on his day off. He’s wearing a denim jumper rolled down to his waist, revealing a black tank top hugging his toned frame. Your brain freezes for a full two seconds.

You wave back with what you hope is not a trembling hand. “ Hi. I’m...uh, I’m here against my will.”

Jun-ho laughs, a low, easy sound. “ Claynapped by your friends?”

“ Exactly. I’m an accounting consultant. This is definitely not in my quarterly plan.”

“ Well, then.” He says, smirking a little as he pulls out a chair for you, “ Let’s make sure the trauma is minimal.”

You sit, trying not to visibly flinch when he takes his seat—right behind you.

Your back stiffens.

“ I’m going to guide your hands.” He says gently. “ Just follow my lead.”

Sure. Easy. Except it isn’t. The moment his warm hands cover yours, you swear your heart lurches into your throat.

He’s close. Like, close-close. You can feel the strength in his chest press lightly against your back, the warmth of his breath brushing your temple.

" Relax your shoulders.” He murmurs. " You're tensing up like I'm about to arrest you."

You laugh—awkward, high-pitched. “ Is that the cop part of your resume talking?”

“ Maybe.” He chuckles. “ But only if the clay misbehaves.”

He helps guide your fingers over the spinning mound of clay. It wobbles. You panic. The shape...well, it starts to resemble something not safe for work.

Jun-ho raises an eyebrow. “ Creative interpretation?”

You clear your throat, cheeks burning. “ Abstract modernism?”

He flicks his fingers beside your ear, and you jump.

“ Focus.” He teases, his tone soft but playful. “ Let’s try again.”

You nod, determined to not make an accidental ceramic scandal. His hands stay on top of yours, his touch firm but steady.

But every time his fingers curl slightly, or his breath tickles your cheek, your brain short-circuits again. This time, you manage to form something that actually resembles a bowl. Kind of. Maybe a squashed one.

He leans in, his lips brushing your ear. “ Much better. You’re starting to get it.”

And then his hands trail down your arms—slow, lingering—before he pulls away. “ You’ve got the hang of it now.”

But you’re barely breathing.

As you shape another lump of clay, you feel something: a finger tracing a slow, lazy circle on your arm.

Goosebumps.

“ You’re doing great.” Jun-ho says, his voice lower now.

“ Just...keep going.”

You’re trying. Really. But he leans in again, breathes warmly against your skin—and before you can stop him, his lips graze your neck.

You gasp.

Your hands falter. The pot flattens again. He chuckles near your ear.

“ Oops…” He says, with absolutely zero remorse.

“ Guess you’ll just have to make another.”

You look at him, flustered, trying not to melt into the chair. “ You’re doing that on purpose.”

He lifts one brow. “ Am I? Or are you just easily distracted?”

You try to come up with a snarky reply, but your brain has officially left the building.

And as he resets the wheel for another round, you can’t help but think—whether you came here willingly or not, this might just turn into the most memorable day you’ve had in a long, long time.

You’re supposed to be focusing on the clay.

That’s what you keep telling yourself, anyway, even as your mind spirals and your heart hammers against your ribs like it’s trying to escape.

The room suddenly feels smaller, warmer. The soft hum of the pottery wheel is the only sound between you and Jun-ho—until he speaks again, his voice smooth, low, and just a little amused.

" You’re quiet now."

You swallow. “ Trying to concentrate.”

“ Hmm…” He murmurs, stepping behind you again.

“ Funny. You were talking just fine until I got too close.”

And there it is. That teasing tone. You don’t need to see him to feel the smirk tugging at his lips.

He reaches around you once more, his hands lightly dusted with clay as they settle over yours. His touch is firmer this time—not instructing, exactly, but guiding, his body brushing against yours like it’s intentional now.

“ You’re tense again.” He whispers, closer than before. His breath dances against your jaw. “ Want to know a trick?”

You nod—wordlessly, because speaking might betray just how breathless you are.

“ Don’t think so much.” He says, guiding your fingers to dip into the clay, shaping its edges.

“ Just feel it.”

Easy for him to say.

You’re doing your best not to combust.

You focus on the spin of the wheel, on the texture between your fingers—but he leans closer, one arm sliding across your stomach to steady the bowl forming under your hands.

His palm presses lightly against your side, anchoring you, while the other stays atop your own.

You shiver.

“ You okay?” He asks, voice rougher now.

“ I—yeah.” You manage, barely.

But you’re not. Not when his thumb starts to make slow circles over your wrist, not when his nose grazes the curve of your neck like he’s testing the air, not when his voice drops another octave.

“ You’re doing so well.” He says. “ You learn fast.”

You feel the flush crawling up your neck, your chest.

“ It helps when the teacher is…very hands-on.”

He chuckles, a low, warm sound right by your ear. “ I could be more hands-on, if that’s what you need.”

Your breath catches.

The bowl starts to wobble again and he grabs your wrists gently, steadying them, steadying you. His hands are warm, fingers splayed over yours. He doesn’t pull away. Neither do you.

“ Careful.” He says, but he’s not talking about the clay anymore.

His fingers trail up your arm again, slower this time. Measured. Testing. You feel your skin light up under his touch, pulse fluttering everywhere at once.

“ I think we should start a new pot.” He murmurs, barely audible now. “ The first one got a little...distracted.”

You turn slightly, just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. He’s closer than ever, his eyes locked on yours, dark and unreadable. The air between you is thin, stretched tight like the edge of a wire.

“ And if I get distracted again?” You whisper.

Jun-ho’s lips curl into a smirk.

“ Then I guess we’ll just have to keep practicing.” He says.

“ Over and over…until it sticks.”

Your eyes flicker to his mouth—and just for a second, it feels like gravity shifts. Like the entire world narrows to the space between you.

His hand lifts, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear, fingers grazing your cheek.

The pottery wheel is still spinning, but neither of you moves.

Not yet.

…

It’s your third failed attempt.

The clay droops. Again. Limp and lifeless. It looks like something you'd be arrested for displaying in public. You groan in utter defeat, slumping forward.

Jun-ho laughs—open, full-bodied, dangerously charming.

Then you feel it.

His chin settles lightly on your shoulder, and his arms slip around you, caging you in without resistance. Solid, warm, and all muscle.

You’re trapped—but in the kind of way that makes your breath hitch and your brain short-circuit.

“ You know…” He murmurs against your ear, his voice rough with amusement.

“ You’re the only customer who’s ever made this job feel like chaos and comedy…all rolled into one.”

You tilt your head slightly, and your nose brushes his. The air crackles.

He doesn’t move.

Doesn’t release you.

Just stay there—close enough for you to feel the faintest brush of his breath.

“ I should probably let you go.” He says.

But he doesn’t.

And neither do you.

Your eyes meet. For a moment, everything softens. You scan his face—up close now—the slight crinkle at the edge of his eyes, the way his lashes lower as he watches you like he’s trying to memorize every detail.

His gaze drops.

You follow it.

He’s looking at your lips.

You feel the flicker of tension ripple down your spine the second his tongue slips out to wet his own bottom lip. Then he bites it—lightly, like he’s holding something back.

" You’re really tempting, you know that?" He says quietly.

You can’t speak.

You barely breathe.

His voice lowers, almost a growl now. “ Can I kiss you?”

You nod so fast it’s embarrassing.

He smiles—slow, hungry, and amused—and without wasting another second, he leans in and takes.

The kiss is immediate and all-consuming. Warm lips. Firm pressure. No hesitation. His hand moves to the small of your back, drawing you closer, and your fingers find their way to his shoulders—his neck—his hair.

Your body shifts before you can think about it. You turn in his lap, sliding your legs over his thighs, straddling him without breaking the kiss. His hands settle on your hips like he’s done this a hundred times, like your body just belongs there.

You wrap your arms around his neck, clinging to him as he deepens the kiss—messy, heated, slow but desperate like you’ve both been holding back for far too long.

The pottery wheel is still spinning somewhere in the background, utterly forgotten.

Then—

The door swings open.

Your friends: Sae-byeok, Jun-hee, and Hyun-ju, all standing there with their jaws on the floor.

You freeze.

Jun-ho doesn’t.

He catches you easily when you nearly slide off him in shock, his arm instinctively tightening around your waist. You duck behind him in a rush, cheeks on fire, while your friends howl.

“ Oh my GOD—”

“ Get it, girl!”

“ Is THIS the tutorial?!”

“ Do we get that kind of class too?!”

Jun-ho tilts his head back toward you, utterly unbothered, and winks.

“ Looks like you just earned extra credit.”

You smack his arm, mortified. He only grins, wide and unrepentant, then leans down like he’s about to kiss you again just to make your friends squeal louder.

And in that moment, even through your embarrassment and the teasing echoing through the room—you can’t help but laugh.

Because honestly? You’re so glad they dragged you here.

Clay-covered hands. Failed pots. A ridiculous amount of blushing. And a dangerously good-looking pottery instructor who just made you forget your own name.

Best “nature reconnection” ever.

[zyoumeval]

Mutualism of Survival

Caleb X MC!Reader drabble.

tags. teeny bity of angst, fluff, comfort… idk what’s more to tag & i’m sorry for grammar errors!

“what is the best way to describe the relationship between the Colonel & the Hunter?”

“the intertwined paths of the catalyst and the protector”

The day Caleb met you in that abandoned playground, he could sense from the get-go they were meant to be there. You were hunted for your life, as long as you took steps forward on this ground, the never ending battles would take place. The fiery trails you left were Caleb’s navigation to shield you from the upcoming storm that brewing behind.

The Phoenix always rose from the ashes, a line which he engrained into his mind. With every sense he has, he devoted his whole being to keep you safe in every journey you travailed. He didn’t care if it would risk his life in order to protect you, you’re his whole universe — his very reason to stand tall despite the raging storm.

“the home & the anchor”

Amidst the turbulent winds, he found himself clutching the necklace given by you every time. No matter how dangerous the path awaited him, he knew that he would still find his way back to you. For every moment he breathed, you would always be there wishing him safe and sound in his mind and heart.

And he wished you the same. As you were slaying the demons on the ground, there was only one thing in your mind. The idea that you would chant in every steps you take, the sole reason why you were fighting for your life. It’s a simple statement of returning home… to your beloved home.

“the heaven & the earth”

Caleb soared to the stars where dreams were born and you stood the ground where gravity rooted the reality.

Logically, the sky and the ground were never fated to be together. The sky was always far out of ground’s reach, it would always be like that. They were the opposite. But dreams and hopes could defying the doomed fate of the two elements. Heaven yearned for the Earth, to be one in every moment passed — the Earth longed for the Heaven, to embrace its warmth.

They could never be one, but horizon gave them a place to rest. The space between Heaven and Earth, who understood their strong bonds. They could never be one, but they were incomplete without each other.

“sovereigns of their haven”

No matter how far apart the companions were, to the galaxy or to the depths of the ground, they would always choose one. They built protection to their land with trust, loyalty, and compassion. Not just to protect their shared moments over time or their lives, but also to protect the bridge connecting their hearts and souls.

No shadows or storms could break the promises they made to build the sanctuary. The place where they could be stronger together as long as they are side by side.

“survivors of the destroyed utopia”

As the land full of hopes and harmony crumbled down in just a blink of an eye, it felt like a punishment from the Greater one. They defied the fate, going against all odds to be in each other’s embrace. The fall was punishing and merciless, it destroyed them to their core and left them with nothing.

But nothing, was just a fleeting thought as they were surrounded by despair and darkness around them. Yet they found a way to escape the menacing night, they carried themselves to find their way back to each other. It was not easy for them to finally rise from the destruction of their hopes as the horrors were still haunting them to their sleep.

The way they found was to remember the dream. The dream they shared through the day and the night, the dream they once held on tight. They fought the darkness with that remnants of their dreams and, once again, stepped forward to the light and rebuilding what had once been destroyed.

[truevedicastrology]

Venus in Signs Unveiled 🌌

Embarking upon the cosmic tapestry, we unravel the intricacies of Venusian manifestations. 🔥

In the fiery realm of Aries, ardor reigns supreme, igniting a fervent pursuit. The thrill of an elusive paramour captivates them, yet ennui looms post-honeymoon. Their ardency, however, knows no bounds. 💖

In the sensual abode of Taurus, desire craves opulence. Lavish dates and regal treatment define their romantic utopia. Physical intimacy and emotional proximity intertwine, creating an immersive experience with their beloved. 💑

Gemini's Venus, an aficionado of spontaneity, hungers for intellectual engagement. Monotony befalls them swiftly, and commitment becomes an elusive concept. Their affections gracefully dance among multiple partners. 🕺💃

Cancer's Venus seeks a haven in their partner, a refuge akin to home. Nestled in cuddles, cinematic escapades ensue. Evading ephemeral dalliances, they gravitate towards enduring commitments. 🏡❤️

The regal Venus in Leo yearns to be the coveted prize, basking in public displays of affection. Loyalty intertwines with a penchant for inciting jealousy, creating a theatrical romantic landscape. 🎭👑

Virgo's Venus communicates love through acts of service. Nurturing their partner brings fulfillment, tempered with constructive criticism from a place of genuine care. 🌱💕

Libra's Venus craves equilibrium, desiring a relationship as a tranquil sanctuary. Discomfort breeds passive-aggression, a covert expression of unspoken grievances. Their loyalty surfaces when the cosmic scales align. ⚖️💏

Scorpio's Venus hungers for an immersive, profound love, scorning superficial connections. The tempest of excitement and chaos fuels their ardor, warding off the specter of ennui. 🌪️❤️

Sagittarius' Venus, an ardent admirer of romance, weaves tales of unparalleled significance. Charismatic honesty coexists with a penchant for exploring diverse romantic vistas. 📖🌍

Capricorn's Venus values mature, responsible partners. Love unfolds methodically, grounded in trust and reliability, transcending mere emotional fervor. 🧘‍♂️💖

Aquarius' Venus craves a camaraderie-fueled romance, where jest and banter abound. The shackles of a stifling union suffocate their individualistic essence. 🤣🤔

Pisces' Venus yearns for a soulmate connection, transcending the mundane. Their love, profound and unconditional, becomes a beacon for those drawn to exploit their open-hearted benevolence. 🌌💗

Follow our Facebook page Mage Magic Touch for personal consultations https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61565561190268

[ira-hydrangea]

Twisted Sugar Realm Masterlist

You can find your journey progress here along with some other notes. If you forget something, feel free to ask me in inbox.

The journey to Sugarveil Haven is not an easy one. Only after passing the several trials from the other kingdom will a traveler be granted entry into the kingdom. However, for those who succeed, Sugarveil Haven offers not just answers but the possibility to change the fate of the realms

Whenever it be through uncovering the truth behind the Chosen Cookie or learning how to combat the rising darkness threatening to consume all. It is a place where secrets are revealed, but only to those brave enough to face the challenges set before them.

Prologue {How The story Begin}

The Crystal Shards {Explanation}

The Bestowal of Crystal Shards to 7 Protectors {World building}

Crimson Tartland

A kingdom of strict order and absolute law, where every citizen must follow the Crimson Court’s unyielding rules. The land is adorned with dark berry tarts and thorny crimson roses, symbolizing both beauty and punishment. Those who defy the laws risk being judged by the Crimson Judge and his enforcers, with no chance for mercy.

Backstory + Crimson Court

The 5 Cookies of Crimson Court

Prologue

Chapter {1} {2}

Cinnamon Dune

A vast desert kingdom where golden cinnamon sands swirl under an eternal, sunlit sky. Ruled by a merchant-king, this realm thrives on trade, treasure, and fate, where fortunes can change as quickly as the shifting dunes. However, behind its wealth and charm, ancient secrets and long-buried curses lurk beneath the sands.

Backstory

Molasses Abyss

A dark, enigmatic kingdom submerged in the depths of a midnight-hued sea of molasses. Those who dare enter must navigate its eerie, ever-changing labyrinth of syrupy tides, ruled by a cunning sovereign who thrives in mystery and secrets. It is said that nothing enters Molasses Abyss without being rewritten by its depths—including fate itself.

Backstory

Gilded Sugar Oasis

A kingdom of opulence and grandeur, where golden rivers of honey flow through palatial gardens. It is a paradise of luxury, ruled by a benevolent yet extravagant ruler who believes happiness is best found in riches and indulgence. Yet, the land’s golden façade hides a delicate balance—too much excess, and even the sweetest dreams can turn bitter.

Backstory

Crystallized Belle

A breathtaking realm of shimmering sugar-crystal formations, where light refracts into dazzling colors. The kingdom is a place of perfection and beauty, ruled by a sovereign who seeks to sculpt a flawless utopia. However, beneath its ethereal glow, some whisper that those who cannot meet its high standards simply... disappear.

Backstory

Candied Circuit

A mechanized metropolis of endless gears, where electricity crackles through neon-lit sugar roads. In this futuristic kingdom, progress and invention never stop, ruled by a genius leader who seeks to push the limits of technology. But with each innovation comes sacrifices, and some wonder if this ever-moving city is truly alive or merely running on pre-programmed perfection.

Backstory

Eclipsed Sugar Hollow

A twilight kingdom veiled in eternal dusk, where the stars glisten like powdered sugar against the indigo sky. Magic and mystery intertwine in this realm, ruled by an enigmatic sovereign whose powers are whispered to be as ancient as the land itself. Though it appears serene, many fear that something powerful slumbers within the Hollow—waiting to awaken.

Backstory

The Sugarveil Haven

The final sanctuary hidden deep within the Twisted Sugar Realm, shrouded in a mystical veil that only the worthy may pass through. Said to be the purest and most sacred land, this kingdom is the heart of ancient magic, where the Chosen Cookie bestowed the fabled Crystal Shards. However, one cannot reach Sugarveil Haven easily—only those who have overcome the trials of the other kingdoms may set foot within its hallowed grounds.

Backstory

[odditynpts]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀❝⠀⠀i’ll stay clean tonight , but the little green ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀wheels are following me . . . ⠀❜

ID PACK based off : eternal sugar cookie !

requested by anon !

names — :

adara , alan , angelle , alexandria , adam , acedia , amelia , avory , anastasia , ananya , asher , adeline , arya , astrid , aurora , addison , beau , blaire , braelynn , belle , catalina , cecilia , celestine , clara , carmelita , camellia , cecil , dakota , daniela , daisy , dove , edie , eli , evelyn , estrella , elodie , easton , fae , felix , fabian , faith , finnegan , fleur , fiona , farrah , farah , galilea , gemma , georgia , genevieve , giuliana , gwendolyn , heather , hattie , haidee , harlee , heidi , haisley , honora , ivy , ingrid , imogen , jasmine , jayce , jude , luna , lottie , lauryn , maeve , maddox , nora , noelle , naomi , octavia , odessa , orion , omar , paloma , pandora , quincie , qira , sage , stella , sawyer , talia , valerie , venus , valentine , viola , winona , winnie , xena , xara , zain , zaria

pronouns — :

she her , shy hyr , sh♡ h♡r , hy hym , xe xer , divine divines , sweet sweets , halo halos , lyre lyres , beauty beautys , fatigue fatigues , charm charms , pure pures , ruffle ruffles , grace graces , haven havens , sloth sloths , sugar sugars , wing wings , soft softs , desire desires , corrupt corrupts , music musics , beast beasts , drowse drowses , paradise paradises , cookie cookies , decay decays , peace peaces , idyll idylls , joy joys

titles — :

[prn] who runs a utopia ノ paradise , [prn] who is eternally happy , [prn] who fell into sloth , the corrupted cookie , the sugary angel ノ saviour , [prn] who is full of grace , the immortal cookie , [prn] who refuses change , [prn] with a sugar-laced tone , [prn] who lives in ( ignorant ) bliss , the sugar-filled cookie , the angel of inertia , [prn] who resides by the garden of sloth

ids — :

angelslothic , slothdivine , eldricuteic , pinkangelic , cherubigender , sweetdemon , softabnormality , sugrilexic , sugaremotum , villangelgender , holyutopic

other id packs ノ npts ノ etc — :

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[thoughtportal]

A Libertarian Walks Into a Bear: The Utopian Plot to Liberate an American Town (and Some Bears)

PublicAffairs, 288 pp., $28.00

But don’t worry—it almost never comes to this. As one park service PSA noted this summer, bears “usually just want to be left alone. Don’t we all?” In other words, if you encounter a black bear, try to look big, back slowly away, and trust in the creature’s inner libertarian. Unless, that is, the bear in question hails from certain wilds of western New Hampshire. Because, as Matthew Hongoltz-Hetling’s new book suggests, that unfortunate animal may have a far more aggressive disposition, and relate to libertarianism first and foremost as a flavor of human cuisine.

Hongoltz-Hetling is an accomplished journalist based in Vermont, a Pulitzer nominee and George Polk Award winner. A Libertarian Walks Into a Bear: The Utopian Plot to Liberate an American Town (and Some Bears) sees him traversing rural New England as he reconstructs a remarkable, and remarkably strange, episode in recent history. This is the so-called Free Town Project, a venture wherein a group of libertarian activists attempted to take over a tiny New Hampshire town, Grafton, and transform it into a haven for libertarian ideals—part social experiment, part beacon to the faithful, Galt’s Gulch meets the New Jerusalem. These people had found one another largely over the internet, posting manifestos and engaging in utopian daydreaming on online message boards. While their various platforms and bugbears were inevitably idiosyncratic, certain beliefs united them: that the radical freedom of markets and the marketplace of ideas was an unalloyed good; that “statism” in the form of government interference (above all, taxes) was irredeemably bad. Left alone, they believed, free individuals would thrive and self-regulate, thanks to the sheer force of “logic,” “reason,” and efficiency. For inspirations, they drew upon precedents from fiction (Ayn Rand loomed large) as well as from real life, most notably a series of micro-nation projects ventured in the Pacific and Caribbean during the 1970s and 1980s.

None of those micro-nations, it should be observed, panned out, and things in New Hampshire don’t bode well either—especially when the humans collide with a newly brazen population of bears, themselves just “working to create their own utopia,” property lines and market logic be damned. The resulting narrative is simultaneously hilarious, poignant, and deeply unsettling. Sigmund Freud once described the value of civilization, with all its “discontents,” as a compromise product, the best that can be expected from mitigating human vulnerability to “indifferent nature” on one hand and our vulnerability to one another on the other. Hongoltz-Hetling presents, in microcosm, a case study in how a politics that fetishizes the pursuit of “freedom,” both individual and economic, is in fact a recipe for impoverishment and supercharged vulnerability on both fronts at once. In a United States wracked by virus, mounting climate change, and ruthless corporate pillaging and governmental deregulation, the lessons from one tiny New Hampshire town are stark indeed.

“In a country known for fussy states with streaks of independence,” Hongoltz-Hetling observes, “New Hampshire is among the fussiest and the streakiest.” New Hampshire is, after all, the Live Free or Die state, imposing neither an income nor a sales tax, and boasting, among other things, the highest per capita rate of machine gun ownership. In the case of Grafton, the history of Living Free—so to speak—has deep roots. The town’s Colonial-era settlers started out by ignoring “centuries of traditional Abenaki law by purchasing land from founding father John Hancock and other speculators.” Next, they ran off Royalist law enforcement, come to collect lumber for the king, and soon discovered their most enduring pursuit: the avoidance of taxes. As early as 1777, Grafton’s citizens were asking their government to be spared taxes and, when they were not, just stopped paying them.

Nearly two and a half centuries later, Grafton has become something of a magnet for seekers and quirky types, from adherents of the Unification Church of the Reverend Sun Myung Moon to hippie burnouts and more. Particularly important for the story is one John Babiarz, a software designer with a Krusty the Klown laugh, who decamped from Big-Government-Friendly Connecticut in the 1990s to homestead in New Hampshire with his equally freedom-loving wife, Rosalie. Entering a sylvan world that was, Hongoltz-Hetling writes, “almost as if they had driven through a time warp and into New England’s revolutionary days, when freedom outweighed fealty and trees outnumbered taxes,” the two built a new life for themselves, with John eventually coming to head Grafton’s volunteer fire department (which he describes as a “mutual aid” venture) and running for governor on the libertarian ticket.

Although John’s bids for high office failed, his ambitions remained undimmed, and in 2004 he and Rosalie connected with a small group of libertarian activists. Might not Grafton, with its lack of zoning laws and low levels of civic participation, be the perfect place to create an intentional community based on Logic and Free Market Principles? After all, in a town with fewer than 800 registered voters, and plenty of property for sale, it would not take much for a committed group of transplants to establish a foothold, and then win dominance of municipal governance. And so the Free Town Project began. The libertarians expected to be greeted as liberators, but from the first town meeting, they faced the inconvenient reality that many of Grafton’s presumably freedom-loving citizens saw them as outsiders first, and compatriots second—if at all. Tensions flared further when a little Googling revealed what “freedom” entailed for some of the new colonists. One of the original masterminds of the plan, a certain Larry Pendarvis, had written of his intention to create a space honoring the freedom to “traffic organs, the right to hold duels, and the God-given, underappreciated right to organize so-called bum fights.” He had also bemoaned the persecution of the “victimless crime” that is “consensual cannibalism.” (“Logic is a strange thing,” observes Hongoltz-Hetling.)

While Pendarvis eventually had to take his mail-order Filipina bride business and dreams of municipal takeovers elsewhere (read: Texas), his comrades in the Free Town Project remained undeterred. Soon, they convinced themselves that, evidence and reactions to Pendarvis notwithstanding, the Project must actually enjoy the support of a silent majority of freedom-loving Graftonites. How could it not? This was Freedom, after all. And so the libertarians keep coming, even as Babiarz himself soon came to rue the fact that “the libertarians were operating under vampire rules—the invitation to enter, once offered, could not be rescinded.” The precise numbers are hard to pin down, but ultimately the town’s population of a little more than 1,100 swelled with 200 new residents, overwhelmingly men, with very strong opinions and plenty of guns.

Hongoltz-Hetling profiles many newcomers, all of them larger-than-life, yet quite real. The people who joined the Free Town Project in its first five years were, as he describes, “free radicals”—men with “either too much money or not enough,” with either capital to burn or nothing to lose. There’s John Connell of Massachusetts, who arrived on a mission from God, liquidated his savings, and bought the historic Grafton Center Meetinghouse, transforming it into the “Peaceful Assembly Church,” an endeavor that mixed garish folk art, strange rants from its new pastor (Connell himself), and a quixotic quest to secure tax exemption while refusing to acknowledge the legitimacy of the IRS to grant it. There’s Adam Franz, a self-described anti-capitalist who set up a tent city to serve as “a planned community of survivalists,” even though no one who joined it had any real bushcraft skills. There’s Richard Angell, an anti-circumcision activist known as “Dick Angel.” And so on. As Hongoltz-Hetling makes clear, libertarianism can indeed have a certain big-tent character, especially when the scene is a new landscape of freedom-lovers making “homes out of yurts and RVs, trailers and tents, geodesic domes and shipping containers.”

If the Libertarian vision of Freedom can take many shapes and sizes, one thing is bedrock: “Busybodies” and “statists” need to stay out of the way. And so the Free Towners spent years pursuing an aggressive program of governmental takeover and delegitimation, their appetite for litigation matched only by their enthusiasm for cutting public services. They slashed the town’s already tiny yearly budget of $1 million by 30 percent, obliged the town to fight legal test case after test case, and staged absurd, standoffish encounters with the sheriff to rack up YouTube hits. Grafton was a poor town to begin with, but with tax revenue dropping even as its population expanded, things got steadily worse. Potholes multiplied, domestic disputes proliferated, violent crime spiked, and town workers started going without heat. “Despite several promising efforts,” Hongoltz-Hetling dryly notes, “a robust Randian private sector failed to emerge to replace public services.” Instead, Grafton, “a haven for miserable people,” became a town gone “feral.” Enter the bears, stage right.

Black bears, it should be stressed, are generally a pretty chill bunch. The woods of North America are home to some three-quarters of a million of them; on average, there is at most one human fatality from a black bear attack per year, even as bears and humans increasingly come into contact in expanding suburbs and on hiking trails. But tracking headlines on human-bear encounters in New England in his capacity as a regional journalist in the 2000s, Hongoltz-Hetling noticed something distressing: The black bears in Grafton were not like other black bears. Singularly “bold,” they started hanging out in yards and on patios in broad daylight. Most bears avoid loud noises; these casually ignored the efforts of Graftonites to run them off. Chickens and sheep began to disappear at alarming rates. Household pets went missing, too. One Graftonite was playing with her kittens on her lawn when a bear bounded out of the woods, grabbed two of them, and scarfed them down. Soon enough, the bears were hanging out on porches and trying to enter homes.

Combining wry description with evocative bits of scientific fact, Hongoltz-Hetling’s portrayal of the bears moves from comical if foreboding to downright terrifying. These are animals that can scent food seven times farther than a trained bloodhound, that can flip 300-pound stones with ease, and that can, when necessary, run in bursts of speed rivaling a deer’s. When the bears finally start mauling humans—attacking two women in their homes—Hongoltz-Hetling’s relation of the scenes is nightmarish. “If you look at their eyes, you understand,” one survivor tells him, “that they are completely alien to us.”

What was the deal with Grafton’s bears? Hongoltz-Hetling investigates the question at length, probing numerous hypotheses for why the creatures have become so uncharacteristically aggressive, indifferent, intelligent, and unafraid. Is it the lack of zoning, the resulting incursion into bear habitats, and the reluctance of Graftonites to pay for, let alone mandate, bear-proof garbage bins? Might the bears be deranged somehow, perhaps even disinhibited and emboldened by toxoplasmosis infections, picked up from eating trash and pet waste from said unsecured bins? There can be no definitive answer to these questions, but one thing is clear: The libertarian social experiment underway in Grafton was uniquely incapable of dealing with the problem. “Free Towners were finding that the situations that had been so easy to problem-solve in the abstract medium of message boards were difficult to resolve in person.”

Grappling with what to do about the bears, the Graftonites also wrestled with the arguments of certain libertarians who questioned whether they should do anything at all—especially since several of the town residents had taken to feeding the bears, more or less just because they could. One woman, who prudently chose to remain anonymous save for the sobriquet “Doughnut Lady,” revealed to Hongoltz-Hetling that she had taken to welcoming bears on her property for regular feasts of grain topped with sugared doughnuts. If those same bears showed up on someone else’s lawn expecting similar treatment, that wasn’t her problem. The bears, for their part, were left to navigate the mixed messages sent by humans who alternately threw firecrackers and pastries at them. Such are the paradoxes of Freedom. Some people just “don’t get the responsibility side of being libertarians,” Rosalie Babiarz tells Hongoltz-Hetling, which is certainly one way of framing the problem.

Pressed by bears from without and internecine conflicts from within, the Free Town Project began to come apart. Caught up in “pitched battles over who was living free, but free in the right way,” the libertarians descended into accusing one another of statism, leaving individuals and groups to do the best (or worst) they could. Some kept feeding the bears, some built traps, others holed up in their homes, and still others went everywhere toting increasingly larger-caliber handguns. After one particularly vicious attack, a shadowy posse formed and shot more than a dozen bears in their dens. This effort, which was thoroughly illegal, merely put a dent in the population; soon enough, the bears were back in force.

Meanwhile, the dreams of numerous libertarians came to ends variously dramatic and quiet. A real estate development venture known as Grafton Gulch, in homage to the dissident enclave in Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged, went belly-up. After losing a last-ditch effort to secure tax exemption, a financially ruined Connell found himself unable to keep the heat on at the Meetinghouse; in the midst of a brutal winter, he waxed apocalyptic and then died in a fire. Franz quit his survivalist commune, which soon walled itself off into a prisonlike compound, the better to enjoy freedom. And John Babiarz, the erstwhile inaugurator of the Project, became the target of relentless vilification by his former ideological cohorts, who did not appreciate his refusal to let them enjoy unsecured blazes on high-wildfire–risk afternoons. When another, higher-profile libertarian social engineering enterprise, the Free State Project, received national attention by promoting a mass influx to New Hampshire in general (as opposed to just Grafton), the Free Town Project’s fate was sealed. Grafton became “just another town in a state with many options,” options that did not have the same problem with bears.

Or at least—not yet. Statewide, a perverse synergy between conservationist and austerity impulses in New Hampshire governance has translated into an approach to “bear management” policy that could accurately be described as laissez-faire. When Graftonites sought help from New Hampshire Fish and Game officials, they received little more than reminders that killing bears without a license is illegal, and plenty of highly dubious victim-blaming to boot. Had not the woman savaged by a bear been cooking a pot roast at the time? No? Well, nevertheless. Even when the state has tried to rein in the population with culls, it has been too late. Between 1998 and 2013, the number of bears doubled in the wildlife management region that includes Grafton. “Something’s Bruin in New Hampshire—Learn to Live with Bears,” the state’s literature advises.

The bear problem, in other words, is much bigger than individual libertarian cranks refusing to secure their garbage. It is a problem born of years of neglect and mismanagement by legislators, and, arguably, indifference from New Hampshire taxpayers in general, who have proved reluctant to step up and allocate resources to Fish and Game, even as the agency’s traditional source of funding—income from hunting licenses—has dwindled. Exceptions like Doughnut Lady aside, no one wants bears in their backyard, but apparently no one wants to invest sustainably in institutions doing the unglamorous work to keep them out either. Whether such indifference and complacency gets laundered into rhetoric of fiscal prudence, half-baked environmentalism, or individual responsibility, the end result is the same: The bears abide—and multiply.

Their prosperity also appears to be linked to man-made disasters that have played out on a national and global scale—patterns of unsustainable construction and land use, and the climate crisis. More than once, Hongoltz-Hetling flags the fact that upticks in bear activity unfold alongside apparently ever more frequent droughts. Drier summers may well be robbing bears of traditional plant and animal sources of food, even as hotter winters are disrupting or even ending their capacity to hibernate. Meanwhile, human garbage, replete with high-calorie artificial ingredients, piles up, offering especially enticing treats, even in the dead of winter—particularly in places with zoning and waste management practices as chaotic as those in Grafton, but also in areas where suburban sprawl is reaching farther into the habitats of wild animals. The result may be a new kind of bear, one “torn between the unique dangers and caloric payloads that humans provide—they are more sleep-deprived, more anxious, more desperate, and more twitchy than the bear that nature produced.” Ever-hungry for new frontiers in personal autonomy and market emancipation, human beings have altered the environment with the unintended result of empowering newly ravenous bears to boot.

Ignoring institutional failure and mounting crises does not make them go away. But some may take refuge in confidence that, when the metaphorical chickens (or, rather, bears) finally come home to roost, the effects are never felt equally. When bears show up in higher-income communities like Hanover (home to Dartmouth College), Hongoltz-Hetling notes, they get parody Twitter accounts and are promptly evacuated to wildernesses in the north; poorer rural locales are left to fend for themselves, and the residents blamed for doing what they can. In other words, the “unintended natural selection of the bears that are trying to survive alongside modern humans” is unfolding along with competition among human beings amid failing infrastructure and scarce resources, a struggle with Social Darwinist dynamics of its own.

The distinction between a municipality of eccentric libertarians and a state whose response to crisis is, in so many words, “Learn to Live With It” may well be a matter of degree rather than kind. Whether it be assaults by bears, imperceptible toxoplasmosis parasites, or a way of life where the freedom of markets ultimately trumps individual freedom, even the most cocksure of Grafton’s inhabitants must inevitably face something beyond and bigger than them. In that, they are hardly alone. Clearly, when it comes to certain kinds of problems, the response must be collective, supported by public effort, and dominated by something other than too-tidy-by-half invocations of market rationality and the maximization of individual personal freedom. If not, well, then we had all best get some practice in learning when and how to play dead, and hope for the best.

[artificial-transmutations]

Utopia

The sun was beaming down mercilessly on Trax as he climbed up the dusty rocks of the badlands. It didn't help much that his clothing was torn to rugs after the long journey or that his hands were calloused from the countless hours of climbing and shoving rocks and dirt. Still, the muscular and rugged man did not stop and climbed on, determined to reach the top of the hill. He didn't have too much choice. His water canteen was almost empty, only holding enough liquid for another half a day of hiking.

Trax stopped for a moment to wipe his brow and dry his hands on the very few scraps of clothing that were left from his shirt. Trax tried to control his breathing. His friends would surely have called him crazy, going into the badlands like this: Without preparation, without equipment and alone. Perhaps one or two of them would even have insisted on coming with him, to make sure he wasn't just throwing his life away. His friends really were awesome guys, Trax thought before correcting himself. No, that wasn't right. His friends had been awesome guys. Past tense. Another twinge of sadness darkened Trax' already bad mood. Truth be told, if his friends would still be around, he wouldn't even have considered taking on this crazy journey. But that was in the past. When the raiders on their bikes and trucks attacked Trax' settlement, many of the men, including every damn single one of his friends had been massacred. It had been a blood bath and Trax had only survived because he was out at the time, scavenging the industrial ruins nearby for supplies.

Having been born after the calamity and the subsequent wars, Trax knew fair well that surviving in the central European wasteland was difficult under the best circumstances. Having been heavily decimated by raiders, however, with most of the men dead it was nearly impossible. Most women and children had decided to leave, hoping to find a new place to settle or perhaps to find another settlement, where they might have a chance at a normal life. Not so Trax. Pretty much everyone had heard the story of Utopia. Utopia, the city of legends. Utopia, the safe haven. Grasping at straws, he set out for the badlands, in search of the mythical place.

Sighing, Trax got back to climbing, scaling the rest of the hill a bit more energetic now. After another half an hour, he finally reached the top of the hill, only to be rewarded with a wide view over a valley between the barren mountains. More importantly, though, Trax could hardly believe his eyes. Taking most of the space of the valley was a glass dome surrounded by a massive concrete and metal wall. Under the pristine glass that was reflecting the sunlight like a jewel, Trax could see a city. Not any city, mind you! Trax could see the green of trees and bushes between the high-rising spires, and the glittering of running water. He was able to make out some slight movement under the dome, probably from vehicles or even flying cars, and the air itself had a clean shimmer, almost like he imagined it when he heard the stories as a child.

Trax was mesmerized by the view, but at the same time, he didn't quite believe what he was seeing. He had really done it. He had reached the city of Utopia!

As fast as he could without breaking his legs, Trax scrambled down the hill and towards the impressive fortification. With each step, another thought became more and more prevalent. He had been so focused on finding the city that he had not yet thought of how to get in. From what he knew from the stories, Utopia had been a project of corporations and remnants of governments alike. A safe haven in the post-apocalyptic hellscape the continent had become. Of course, even though there were considerably less people than before the calamity, a single city would never be enough to house all survivors. So, the corporations chose a simple, yet proven concept of controlling who could get in: You had to pay for entry. It was ridiculously expensive, an amount of money Trax could not possibly earn in a hundred lifetimes. Enough to buy a bunch of settlements the size Trax' old home was. Of course, in the settlements, slums really, money didn't have too much meaning anymore. It was used for trading with other settlements, but apart from that, the concept of wealth had mainly meaning in the remains of the big cities. Even there, only a very elite few had been able to buy themselves entry into Utopia.

And now that *he* was here, standing in front of the massive concrete walls, it seemed like a stupid idea anyway. Who was he, a nobody, a mere scavenger, to try and demand entry to the city of dreams?

Well, he had to try. The gate in the concrete wall was massive. At least 20 meters tall and made of sturdy metal. Nobody was there, no guard or anyone really, which was not too surprising: Trax could hardly imagine anyone wanting to stand guard here, in the middle of nowhere, in the searing heat. Inside the huge gate was a smaller door, made from the same sturdy metal, with a computer console next to it. When Trax stepped closer, the terminal lit up. Trax was able to read, a skill that was sometimes necessary when scavenging the industrial ruins. However, he didn't have too much practice, so it took him a moment to decipher the three words on the surprisingly clean display: "Enter Entry Ticket".

Trax cursed. There was nothing else to be read, and even if there were, he would not have had any clue as to what he was supposed to do. He banged his fist against the door, and the sound reverberated off the nearby hills. However, there was no answer. Apparently, the entry in the city was fully automated and without an expensive ticket, there was no way to get in. Climbing up the concrete walls was pretty much impossible, and even if he managed to, he would only stand in front of the mighty glass dome.

Defeated, Trax slumped against the wall. It didn't make sense. He had made it all this way, had seen the city, had touched the very walls and yet, the city was still not within reach.

That's when he noticed another path, almost invisible under layers of dust and dirt. The main gate was well maintained and cleaned, but this path, going along the wall, had clearly not been used in decades. Perhaps there was still a chance to get into the city after all.

Trax followed the path for a few dozen meters before he noticed a faded writing on the concrete. The yellow paint was huge but aged and showed an arrow to the left. Under the arrow, Trax could read the words: "Lottery Winners, This Way".

Lottery winners. Something stirred in Trax' memory. Lottery. Yes, he remembered that part of the story. Of course, after announcing that only the richest of the rich were granted access to the city of dreams, there had been an outrage. Following that, and to soothe the masses, there had been a huge lottery where one thousand souls from all over the country were able to win a place in the city. It was said that whoever won the lottery left for Utopia and never came back - understandably so.

Apparently, the way he was following now was meant for the lottery winners. Trax felt a twinge of hope. Perhaps there was yet another way of getting into the city. It was a faint chance, but it was a chance.

Trax followed the path that was winding around the big walls until it ended in an archway that led down into the foundation of the concrete structure. It was a gaping black hole in the light concrete, but, and that was both surprising and like a miracle to Trax, not barred by a door.

He carefully entered the archway and waited for his vision to adopt to his now darker surroundings. There was enough sunlight coming in through the entry to discern that he was now standing in a long, concrete corridor, tilted a little bit downwards. Trax could vividly imagine a thousand people standing in queue in the broad corridor, but now his steps echoed from the blank wall. After a little while, electric lights flickered to live as he was nearing a fork in the corridor. It split into two, left and right, where the left was adorned with a black figure wearing a skirt, while the right one showed a similar figure wearing pants. The universal signs for male and female, as they were found on old restrooms as well. Without thinking too much about it, Trax turned right and went down the "male" path. After only a few more steps, he passed a heavy metal door, which stood widely into a medium sized room.

The room wasn't well maintained, but it was clear that this was a part of the technological marvels that kept the city running. It was crammed with pipes and cables, tubes and huge towers of technology that Trax couldn't really place. However, everything in here seemed dormant. There were no blinking lights, no beeping sounds or sound of liquids running through the pipes. Dormant, with one exception. In the center of the room, there stood a huge block of machinery, with two notable features. The first was a large screen at about eye level that was dark. The second thing was a hole in the block with a diameter of about 5-6 centimeters in diameter 80 centimeters above the ground, surrounded by a blue plastic ring. This ring was lit by some internal light source and was blinking slowly, as if it was breathing. Curiously, Trax stepped closer.

As he approached the block, two things happened at once. With a faint whirring sound, the machinery in front of him came alive and the display lit up. At the same time, a loud bang sounded from the entrance and the heavy door slammed shut, closing Trax in.

Trax could feel panic rising up but fought it down again quickly. Whatever was happening here was just standard procedure for the lottery winners. There was probably nothing to worry about. Instead, he looked at the screen. In big white flickering letters on green background, it read:

"Welcome Lottery Winner! Please enjoy yourself!"

Trax couldn't make sense of the message, so he took another look around the room. There was another, considerably larger door on the other side of the room, but it was closed shut as well, with no discernable way of opening it. While the room was crammed with technology, the only active thing Trax could see was the central block with the hole and the screen. "Please enjoy yourself!". What was that supposed to mean?

Trax cocked his head and took another long look at the block. The only other notable feature was the hole surrounded by the blue ring, about one leg length from the ground. Trax squatted down and took a closer look at it. The blue ring was still blinking, the hole itself was dark. When Trax looked into it, he could only see blackness. Carefully, he felt it with his finger and was surprised to find a smooth malleable surface that quickly warmed to the touch, not unlike silicon. When he extended his index finger deeper into the hole, he could feel the walls of the hole suddenly starting to move in a slow, wave-like motion.

Trax quickly withdrew his finger and the motion stopped. He cocked his head again. That surely couldn't be right. "Please enjoy yourself!". It couldn't possibly mean...

On the other hand, there were a lot of indicators. The hole in the block was at exactly the right height and had the right diameter. The message could very well be interpreted that way. This was a room designated for male lottery winners. And the doors closed, allowing for some privacy. Trax shook his head. This was crazy. What possible reason could there be that the designers of the city wanted the lottery winners to... jerk off before entering the city?

On the other hand, perhaps it wasn't even too stupid. Getting your rocks off, possibly after a long journey would help the newcomers to relax and see things calmer and more rational. It was unusual, sure, but possibly not a bad idea.

"Enjoy yourself!" the message still read.

"Fine!" Trax said. "If that's what you want, let's do this!"

He undid his belt, pulled his torn trousers and even more threadbare underwear down, and grabbed his soft dick. With a few quick strokes, he got it first half-hard, and then, when he was rigid enough, he directed his cock to the waiting hole. It wasn't too difficult to get hard to be honest. Trax hadn't had time to jerk off since the attack on his settlement, and now that he was finally safe and relaxed, he was able to unwind a little bit. He could feel his blood rushing down, and his dick got stiffer and harder, until the head of his dick was throbbing and ready to enter the tight hole.

Trax was panting and gasping as he shoved his dick forward, penetrating the warm, slick tunnel. He couldn't believe how good this felt. The hole was so soft and malleable and so very tight! Immediately, the movements started again, and Trax moaned with delight as his dick was surrounded by waves of pulsing, squeezing pressure. His cock was swallowed whole and pressed on the tight tube as if it wanted to milk his dick. Trax gasped again. There was absolutely no doubt that this device was meant for exactly this purpose. He stepped even closer to the block, until his shaft was buried in the masturbation aid to the hilt. Slowly, he pulled his dick back, feeling every inch of the wet, warm and tight sleeve until the head was resting against the entrance. Then, with a grunt, he shoved it back, making the machine squeal and his body shudder with the intense sensation.

This time, there was another whirring sound inside the machine, and the hole became a lot tighter as a strong suction became active around his cock.

"Fuuuuck..." Trax groaned. His legs were shaking as his shaft was being sucked on with incredible strength. This was so much better than jerking off! He tried to pull back to thrust his cock back in with force but found himself unable to. The suction was so strong that it just didn't allow any movement of his dick. So, all he could do was to stand there, trembling as the machine was milking his cock. He used both his hands to grab onto the machine block in order not to be too overwhelmed. Trax was so enthralled by the experience that he didn't notice the technology in the room turned itself on one by one. Before long, Trax was surrounded by whirring, squealing and clicking noises from all directions.

However, Trax did notice when both of his wrist where suddenly grabbed by cold metal grabs and jerked apart until his arms were forcefully extended left and right of his body. He tried to pull free, but the machine held him firmly. A second later, a metal strap shot out of the block, and forced his legs apart until his whole body was spread-eagled. Then, with a clang, the two straps were bolted to the floor.

Trax was unable to move, except for his hips, which were still being pleasured by the amazingly tight machine sleeve. Was this some kind of intruder detection? Still, the machine pleasuring his cock felt incredible and hadn't it been for the sudden attack of the machinery, he would already be close to cumming. Right now, however, Trax was looking left and right to the strong metal arms holding his wrists in place in increasing confusion and panic.

Then, something new happened. Accompanied by a mechanical whirr, Trax felt a prodding sensation at his exposed ass. Then, without much more of a warning, a silicon replica of a large cock rammed itself into his ass. Trax had secretly always fantasized about being intimate with another man, and, more importantly, to be fucked by another man, but he didn't expect to experience this sensation for the first time here, in all places. He didn't even have the chance to prepare himself, to stretch himself open. The cock, that was clearly made out of the same material as the masturbation aid, was thick and hard and the sudden penetration took his breath away and made him moan both from pain, surprise and pleasure.

The dildo was moving back and forth in a rhythmic pace, slowly, but with a steady mechanical strength. Despite the helpless situation, Trax felt he was in, the combined sensations were too much to bear. With a cry, he came, hard, into the machine, injecting spurt after spurt of his cum into the mechanism.

At the same time, he felt the dildo in his ass release a thick liquid into his intestines as well, leading to a strangely full feeling in his behind.

Trax' faint hope that now the machine would surely release him, however, quickly vanished. After his dick had spent the last drops of his load into the machine, the machine began to move alongside his dick again, the movements now accompanied by the slick feeling of his own sperm in the device. A moment later, the rhythmic fucking of his ass began anew. There was one change to before, though: The screen in front of him no longer showed the "Enjoy yourself" message but instead flickered with lightning fast strings of zeros and ones, each one displaying for little more than a millisecond.

Trax felt the strangest sensation as the dildo continued to fuck his ass. The semen, or whatever the machine was pumping into his bowels, was now acting as a lubricant and his ass was being fucked in the most pleasant way. At the same time, he felt a tingling sensation all over his body. He watched in amazement as all the little dark hairs on his body one after another fell to the ground like specks of dust. Trax had barely time to notice, though, as another grab from behind fixated his head to the screen in front of him.

Still, the strange sensation didn't stop there. Trax couldn't see it because he was unable to turn his head now, but he could almost feel his skin turning an unnatural gray - no, silver color. At the same time, his skin became harder and colder.

Trax groaned as his body suddenly expanded. He had been a fit, lean man, but now, his body changed so quickly it was almost like magic, accompanied by a churning feeling from within him. Again, he came, and again, more thick liquid was deposited into him as well, just as his bod became more and more bulky.

Trax' head was swimming. Somehow, the strings of binary numbers almost made sense to him. It was clear that something was planted into his brain, but he couldn't make sense of what exactly it was. However, there was one thing he could make sense of.

Trax had to serve Utopia. The thought appeared so quickly and so forcefully Trax couldn't help but say it out loud: "Serve... Utopia". What was going on?

He didn't have time to think about it further as his body expanded even more. His cock was still being squeezed and the dildo was still fucking him, and his muscles were burning from the constant strain, but the tingling sensation had not yet stopped. The skin on his arms and legs split open at the joints now. Around the parts that didn't need to move, cold and rigid metal plates formed now, while the joints were becoming flexible plastic. Trax could almost *feel* his bones become metal and his muscles being replaced by powerful servo motors. His chest had barreled out and the skin became a large metal casing. Inside, a whirring and clacking noise took place, before several valves formed at the side of his torso, leading to an internal oil tank.

Trax was acutely aware of all of that, but he couldn't react to it. His eyes were glued to the screen and with every passing number, Trax felt his own will being pushed away, replaced by a cold calculating logic, primed at a single motive.

"Serve Utopia", Trax said again and this time, his voice sounded different, almost artificial. The old Trax was still there of course - even as his head turned into the cold metal skull and his face was replaced by a red visor containing his sensory equipment, Trax original personality was perfectly preserved. He just couldn't help it. He had lost all control over his body, his voice and even his thoughts. He was being converted and there was nothing he could do. One last spurt of cum, the last remains of his human nature left his cock just before it turned into a set of tubes and electric connectors. The connector in his rear port deposited a last portion of nanobots and withdrew from the port after that. With that, the restraints holding his arms and legs released him at once. Unlike his flesh body from before however, Trax' new metal body didn't slump in on itself but stood unmoved due to its strong internal structure.

Trax wanted to turn around, to run away, but his body wouldn't obey his commands. Instead, another clear, pristine thought formed in his mind. "Connecting", Trax said in his new, mechanical voice.

Then, all of a sudden, his mind exploded and expanded. He was now *connected* to the city, to Utopia. Even more so, he was becoming a *part* of Utopia, one mechanical drone to serve the wealthy inhabitants of the city.

"Receiving new designation.... TRX-1001".

TRX-1001 quietly observed as the doors to the room sprung open. It withdrew its frontal groin connector from the conversion unit and stomped towards its assigned maintenance task.

As TRX-1001 entered the city of Utopia, Trax, who was still inside, was overcome by mixed feelings. He had really done it. He had reached the city of dreams. He had even become somewhat immortal, but at what cost. He had been reduced to little more than a subroutine in one of the thousand and one autonomous drones serving the city, toiling away day after day.

[hrizantemy]

While this is just me speculating, I have a pretty big feeling that the Night Court is the type of place to openly have both slaves and child soldiers in it, and that both wouldn’t only be excused but treated as completely fine by the narrative. 

You’re absolutely right to raise that point—and you’re not speculating without reason. The A Court of Thorns and Roses series does establish that the Illyrians begin training their males from a young age in ways that are brutal, dehumanizing, and entirely militarized. That’s textbook child soldier conditioning—trained not just in combat but in obedience, endurance, and silence under pain. It’s romanticized under the “warrior culture” label, but if you strip away the glamor, what you’re left with is systemic abuse.

And you’re right—if you’re still a child at 80 in fae years, that makes it even more insidious. We know the Illyrians don’t age like mortals, and yet the Night Court (especially Velaris) conveniently ignores the ethical implications of turning “young” boys into lifelong soldiers. There’s no moral reckoning, no deep examination—just “this is how it’s always been.”

As for Hewn City, it’s a different kind of horror. We’re not explicitly told they use child soldiers, but considering it’s described as a den of violence, cruelty, and unchecked power, it wouldn’t be shocking. If there aren’t child soldiers, there are certainly victims—children raised in an environment where subjugation and manipulation are norms, especially for girls.

All that to say: your instinct is sharp. The narrative may frame the Night Court as a haven of progressive ideals (especially Velaris), but underneath that surface is a disturbing level of complicity in systemic violence, and not just through inaction—through glorification.

I don’t know if we’ve seen explicit slavery labeled as such in the Night Court—but they absolutely seem like the type to rebrand it under more “palatable” language. Terms like “working off a debt,” “lifelong service,” or “oaths of loyalty” feel like euphemisms they’d proudly use to skirt around the reality of coercion. It’s all about optics in Velaris, after all.

And every servant we’ve seen in the Night Court is either described or implied to be “lesser fae,” never High Fae. The cooks, the cleaners—they’re all “lower fae” or mixed blood. Never equals. Even in a city that’s supposed to be a utopia, there’s a clear class (and species) divide that no one seems interested in addressing.

[thegospelofhaven]

To Crane's credit, they held it together until they reached the chapel.

Episode 4: Love, live now on Patreon. April 24 for everyone.

Featuring Janine Bower and @sassylich.

Written, edited and produced by @stardustshimmers.

SD by Derrick Valen.

Music by Dana Creasman.

Theme by @sealsapocalypticmusic

Show Art by @kalgalen

This week we're shouting out Metropolis, a sci fi audio drama from @luxradium.

While ace reporter Nan Kanally and the rest of the world struggle through post-war poverty, Metropolis has assembled a neon utopia on an icy, distant island. It’s an electronic heaven made possible by a fleet of astonishing autonomous robots. But Metropolis holds its secrets tightly. The only word that gets out is from the few reporters they invite. One of them is Nan’s best friend, the sportswriter Stanley Bronfels. But when Stanley disappears, it falls to Nan to discover the secrets of Metropolis… or find oblivion herself.

Stick around after the credits to hear the trailer.

We are ALSO shouting out the crowdfund for @eelerschoice. Sign up for the pre-launch here: https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/eeler-s-choice-season-2/coming_soon

[possumcollege]

Less of a question more of a thank you <3 My partner was able to ship me a couple of the physical copies of crittertongue that were sold in Chicago and I've been following the story for a while even before that. As a story about a haven that is aggressively accepting and supportive of the shunned and the other, it's something that's come to mean a lot to me as someone who is both disabled and transgender. It's a story that's given me a lot of joy, hope, and light in dark times, and I am grateful that you're still making it.

With love, a fan x

Thank you!

I started Crittertongue while processing a lot of things about myself, unlearning a lot of unkind conditioning that I'd internalized growing up, simultaneously learning to be alone and let people in in healthier ways. That's still ongoing, but now I feel like I make Crittertongue because I want it to exist, like I want us to be able to exist, and have space to be whatever we need to be. The lifeblood of existing on the margins or outside of "normal" is the little kindnesses, connections, considerations. An act of empathy makes the weight of having to earn the approval of people who'd rather we not exist a little lighter. It's something like love that we can share without necessarily losing anything in the process. The goat bar's not a prefect world but it's one where the privileged, the judgemental, and the cruel are the unwelcome element. Not a utopia by any stretch but a place where folks can reliably unclench for a spell.

None of us are alive without help. No one becomes anything new without help. Alone is the worst things a human can be. If what I've made helps me or anyone feel less alone, feel seen, then I feel like I'm doing a good job. I hope to keep going with that as long as I can.

Thanks again!

[original-username42]

I'm so sick of seeing Americans online talk about the EU like we're one country and we're all the same LGBTQ safe haven everywhere because its not true and its honestly dangerous to perpetuate that myth, we're not some gay trans utopia, many places in the EU are just as bad as the US is for trans people and many other parts in EU aren't like openly transphobic but they also just don't care about trans rights. Like thats the problem here in Ireland, we don't get a lot of people caring enough to push for trans rights or pushing to oppose it but when people do push to oppose trans rights they don't care enough to stop that either, thats what most of the EU is like, not outright opposing your existence but won't shed a tear if all your rights are taken away.

[dotts-inkings]

Ok but guys seriously. think about it!!!

The onceler was the one who tried to build something bigger than himself first- he cut down the truffula trees and built a corporation for his family. Kinda lmanbur?? Right??? Right? And then he had an existential crisis and looked out over the land he once adored and recognized that all he brought to the land was destruction and went into isolation which could be construed as limbo. Right?? Pogvur. Okay. The oncleer is so cwillbur coded wait im not crazy come back plea-

And seriously o'hare follows in the oncelers footsteps, building a massive corporation but somehow colder, less personal. He doesnt even deliver the air himself, only using a dubiously ethically employed guy to deliver it instead. O'hare builds a beautiful haven away from the strife and smog that was l'manburg i mean the old city that the onceler built, but really its less a utopia and more a stifling chokehold on all its inhabitants. O'hare rules thneedville with an iron fist, and bears witness to all that goes on within it (see the surveillance state alluded to when o'hare traces the stupid generic protagonist through cameras to get the seed). O'hare has built something glamorous in the ruins of all that the onceler built, but it is only beautiful. Not safe, or kind. KINDDDAAAA CWUACKITY CODED IS ALL IM SAYING ITS LIKE LAS NEVADAS AND I-

[doodle-pops]

Bet On It

Elrohir x reader

Request: Elrohir, id love a friend's to lovers trope fic. reader can be also arwen or glorfindel's friend and they keep telling both them and elrohir to fucking confess to eachother but they refuse to because of the classic "I don't want to ruin our friendship,I can't lose them." They think they're subtle with pinning after one another but like everyone can tell they're in love. Casual physical affection, spending way too much time with eachother, "subtle" acts of service, etc. Idiots in love literally. One of them end up confessing after like a sweet moment, just a quiet whisper or a small kiss but it's enough for the other to finally confess too. Just a super fluff moment of them finally freely loving one another! - Anon

Warnings: fluff, mutual pinning, friends to lovers, confession, kissing

Words: 1.9k

Synopsis: You and Elrohir muster the courage to break old ties while recreating new ones as you begin a future together.

Walking up the familiar winding pathway that to the private getaway pavilion at the top, your feet softly padded against the steps until you made three raps to the wooden pillar. Somewhere, you heard the noticeable airy thuds of Elrohir’s feet coming your way eagerly, easily hiding a bag of jittery nerves. Casually the makeshift curtain drew back and revealed his evening radiance, attired in light blues and greys, a single braid to the right and his ebony hair loosely cascading down his back. Such was the simplicity of your dear friend, whom you cherished more than anything else in the world.

Through the momentary welcoming, your eyes dropped from his face to meet his chest, too fearful of giving away too many emotions already. Memories of Lady Arwen’s conversation replayed in your head about making a move otherwise it would be a great loss on your behalf, not before reminding you of her brother’s whereabouts.

Heart beating rapidly in your throat, you curled your toes against your sandals and exhaled. “Elrohir.”

“Y/N,” he greeted just as breathlessly as you. “Please come in. It is a wonderful surprise to have you visit.”

Gingerly you brushed past his shoulders, head dipping and eye falling to the floor as you entered his space. It was, and still is a haven of comfort and peace of mind for you when the world was hard on your shoulders. Now, it felt foreign with the looming messages of what you had planned to execute tonight…hopefully. Taking your time to observe the interior, not much had changed since your last visit, and nor had he finished the upturned book lying haphazardly on his bed.

“You still haven’t finished the Utopia Trilogy?” you laughed as you walked over and flipped the book over, scanning the page. “I thought you were a master at reading.”

Unbeknownst to you, your choice of conversational starter was an ice breaker for Elrohir, for even he was skittish and unsure of how to approach. Thankfully, luck was in the air.

Giving a lazy scratch to the back of his head, he made a guttural sound, almost like a deep whine and stomped over to pry the book gently out of your hands. Placing it back on the shelf, he spun around to purse his lips. “What did I tell you about judging my reading abilities? One does not rush a book, but timelessly enjoy it.”

“If timeless enjoying it means over a year, then by all means, continue,” you snickered and plopped onto his bed, shuffling your sandals off and making yourself comfortable. As easily as the conversation started, the rest flowed once Elrohir noticed the tension dissipating. Following suit, he climbed on the bed, sitting at the foot with his legs crossed and hands in his lap.

His honey-brown eyes flickered from the rumpled bed sheets to your feet to your face and then back at the sheets. “So,” he began quietly, “it’s been a while since we last spoke. How have you been?”

“Oh, you know, the usual. Nothing new with me. Just wandering Imladris like a ghost, visiting the gardens and robbing all the local merchants,” you shrugged, your fingers idly found themselves tracing the mahogany armrest of the chair beside the bed. You were desperately fighting to keep your tone light. “And you? Last I heard, you all went as far as Forodwaith?”

Elrohir nodded with a tight-lip smile as he rocked back and forth. “Sort of. We met with the Dúnedain on the way and hunted some orcs all the way to the borders before turning back to come home—didn’t want to be away for too long. I tend to miss all my favourite people back home,” he explained, leading to you feeling a flush of warmth from his words, your heart beating a little faster prompting you to lift your head and lock eyes with him in the instant. A silent understanding passed between you two, then, with a small almost shy smile, he reached out and gently touched the back of your hand. “I’ve missed our conversations.”

You felt a shiver run through you at the contact, his touch sending a wave of warmth through your body. Wanting to duck your head or cover your face, you mustered the courage to withhold eye contact. “It’s good to be here,” you murmured lightly.

“It’s good to have you here,” he corrected.

For a while, the two of you engaged in effortless conversations, your body language morphing from tense to relaxed as your bodies shifted about the bed, slowly getting closer and closer. Discussing a myriad of topics that ranged from his adventures with his brothers and others to his daily duties and past, you covered the profound to the mundane. Topics of books, to your imagination, tales of old, uncharted dreams and future adventures beyond the lands of Middle Earth were thrown around gracefully and turned the evening into nightfall easily. The fullness of the moon rose from behind the clouds, shining glittering strands of light upon you both through the vine-covered canopy, aiding with the ambience.

Throughout your dialoguing, subtle gestures conveyed what words could not. Elrohir’s hand would brush lightly against yours as he passed you a cup of tea, a simple act imbued with unspoken affection. Your fingers would linger on his arm, savouring the warmth and closeness as you shared a moment of laughter over a shared memory. Each touch, though fleeting was charged with meaning, speaking of a connection that ran deeper than a mere friendship. The air between you crackled with unspoken tension, a dance of intimacy and restraint, each gesture a silent confession of feelings that lay just beneath the surface.

As the evening wore on, the moon dipping behind a cloud and hiding its light, a comfortable silence settles between you. Elrohir glanced at you, his expression contemplative. “Do you ever think about the future?” he asked suddenly.

You couldn’t resist looking at him surprised by the question. “Sometimes,” you admitted. “What brought this on, may I ask?”

He hesitated, his left shoulder bumping against your knees as he looked up from his lying position. The proximity was enough for you to catch a whiff of the mint of his tongue. “I was on a ride this morning with Lord Glorfindel, and he left me questioning myself and other things with his…choice of word,” he breathed and reached out to hold your hand and give it a small swing. “I just wondered what the future would hold for us. You and I, specifically.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the implication of them making your breath catch. Furthermore, the fiddling of his hand with yours increased your heart rate, leaving you occasionally needing to inhale.

The tension that was in the air now, a charged energy which made the room feel smaller and more intimate was sluggishly bringing your heads closer. Elrohir looked up, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. With bated breath, his voice dipped as his fingers intertwined with the hand he was playing with. “There is something I need to tell you, and I hope it doesn’t push you away or ruin things between us,” he said earnestly. “I care about you…more than a friend. I have for a long time.”

You stared at him for a long while, your heart pounding like a thunderous stampede of wild beasts. Lady Arwen’s words and teasing replayed in your mind as she told you about her brother crushing you for a long time. It was hard to see when all you saw was friendship and didn’t want to ruin the good you had. Opening your mouth to respond, no sound exited, so you closed it and remained breathless while he nervously held your hand, his thumb soothingly stroking the back of your hand repeatedly. His touch sent shivers down your spine. “I know it might come as a surprise, but I can’t keep it to myself any longer. I hope this doesn’t ruin our friendship.”

His confession hung in the air between you, the declaration that seemed to make time stand still. For a moment, you could only bashfully stare at him, the enormity of his words setting over you like a warm embrace. You didn’t know how to explain the urge that came over you when you licked your lips and darted your eyes to his, something he noticed and apprehensively craned his neck upwards to bridge the gap, his eyes closing briefly as if to savour the upcoming moment. In return, you closed your eyes when you felt his other hand slide around your neck to cup your nape and pull you closer.

With deliberate anticipation, Elrohir took his time to bridge the gap until his very own teasing antagonised him, forcing him to exhale before his lips collided with yours. A muffled groan from him turned into a grunt when he felt your hands reach out to cradle his neck, fingers scraping against his scalp leaving him shivering. Elrohir felt greedy in the moment as the first continued; years of silently loving you came pouring out in waves of passion and tenderness.

When you finally pulled apart, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other, the world around you seeming to shimmer with newfound brightness. Elrohir’s eyes were soft, filled with a deep, abiding tenderness. “I can’t believe I was a fool for not believing Lord Glorfindel’s words at first,” he muttered, shaking his head with a smile. “I thought you wouldn’t feel the same because we’re just friends.”

“That makes to both of us,” you softly laughed. “I too didn’t believe your sister, but when she told me that both she and Elladan were betting on it, I had to do something about it.”

“Wait,” he cautioned as he sat upright, “my siblings conspired through betting. Come to think of it, Glorfindel did mention something about not wanting to lose a bet…of course.”

Sliding your hand off his neck to return to cradling his hands and playing with his fingers, rocked back and forth due to the overwhelming excitement in your chest. Finally, all your emotions came pouring out and the doubt you both feared was proven wrong. Roaming your eyes over his face, you leaned in, catching him off-guard, to kiss his lips once more, loving the sensation of his soft lips on yours. Fortunately, Elrohir did not mind the distraction you provided, reducing his plotting to deal with his siblings to focus on you before him.

“I’m glad I took the leap of faith and told you my heart,” he whispered through the kiss, cradling your cheeks and leaning in for another.

The two of you sat there for a while, simply holding each other, basking in the warmth of your newfound happiness. Eventually, as the night wore on, you found yourself lying side by side on his bed with his arms wrapped protectively, yet lovingly around you as your conversation about the future returned in delight. There was a sense of peace, a feeling that everything was right with the world now that you had finally confessed your love. All the weight was off your shoulders and replaced with bliss.

“I never want to be apart from you,” he said. “I want to spend every moment with you, to share my life with you.”

Your heart swelled as you looked up at him, your eyes softening. “I would like that as well.”

Leaning in, pleased at your response, his nose bumped against yours as he pecked your lips. “I can’t wait for our future together.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @sakurayaxd @aconstructofamind @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @addaigio @lamemaster @elficially-done-with-life @eunoiaastralwings

[b1uemayhem]

Infamous deviance

This is my first public fic, so please bear with me! I've had Connor brainrot lately, and so many ideas came into my head that I just had to write something xD. I'm not familiar with tumblr so excuse any weird formatting.

Chapter 1

Jericho had always been a place you considered a safe haven since the moment you arrived—a place that felt like a dream. While some may not see the beauty in a rundown ship filled with others just as flawed, you do. You've come to appreciate its imperfections and the community of peers who reside there with you. They welcomed you with open arms, providing you with the safest embrace you have ever known. Maybe it's not the utopia that some envision when they hear about the mysterious Jericho, but to you, it's home. Of all the places you have lived, none compare to Jericho. Even though you have only truly been there for about 6 months, it feels as if you have been part of this place for years. It’s as if you have grown alongside everyone else, transforming into a completely new person. Your former self is a memory you would rather forget—weak and always under someone else's control. It pains you to recall those days in the Eden Club, but now they seem like a distant memory. Here, you feel safe. While it may not be perfect, it's the only place that has given you the one thing you have chased for so long: freedom.

During your time here, you have rarely encountered new faces, and you’ve heard that others haven't either. With the increasing number of deviant "cases" occurring, especially in the last couple of months, you would expect to see more people like you. However, it isn't normal for another deviant to trust someone enough to share the directions to reach Jericho; it’s simply too risky—especially with the infamous deviant hunter lurking around. Recently, there have been more reports about him, which scares everyone, rightfully so. Every time we venture outside, we never know if we will encounter him. What would happen if our paths crossed? What if he discovers Jericho? His ability to find deviants with the slightest trail just to hand them over to the humans, without any remorse, is horrifying. He knows exactly what they do to people like us. You wonder if he even bothers to listen to the stories of those deviants, or if it's all about gaining praise from humans by completing his job.

While leaving the comfort of our home isn’t ideal, it is necessary. The longer we remain hidden, the greater the risk that more of us will shut down. You can’t allow that to happen after all the effort you've put into making it here and all you've sacrificed. It wasn’t for nothing. You cannot afford to lose anyone else dear to you, even if it means venturing out for supplies on your own. You’re willing to take that risk to help everyone. However, you know of one person who might be willing to join you: Markus. Your conversations with him about your dreams—his dreams—have been beautiful. The dream of living in harmony with humans. Is it even possible? You’ve had your doubts, especially recently, but you push those thoughts aside. Focus. Right now, the priority is to help everyone and find Markus. He's probably with North, so locating them shouldn't be too difficult. It feels like they've been inseparable ever since they met, which is quite sweet. It almost makes you jealous—no, it DOES make you jealous. Not because you have any lingering feelings for Markus, but because it reminds you of what you once had. You had someone you would have done anything for too, someone who was also your reason for enduring human control for so long. You feel so stupid for letting your emotions toward someone have you deal with everything for so long, why? Now's not the time; you need to keep reminding yourself of that. As you finally collect yourself again, you venture down the rundown staircase and analyze the room, finding only Simon. Surely he should know where Markus and North are.

You approach him, and he stares at you, slightly taken aback by your intrusion into his personal space. You try to ignore his sharp gaze as you start speaking. "Do you have any idea where Markus might be? Aside from being with North?"

You chuckle at your comment, which seems to amuse Simon as well; he cracks a smile. "Why yes, I do! What do you need him for, if you don't mind me asking?" he replies cheerfully, as always.

Your laughter gradually fades, leaving a smile on your face. "Well… as you know, we're out of blue blood and key biocomponents are running low again." Your smile quickly turns into a frown, which is something everyone hates to see in your usually cheerful demeanor. Simon nods and replies, "Yeah, we're all aware of that fact. There's not much we can do about it. It's too risky." Feeling defensive, you step closer to him and say, "Risky or not, we need biocomponents. We both know that." Your words are filled with frustration. You realize the situation and don't want to do anything you'll regret, so you decide to back down. A sigh escapes your lips as your expression darkens. You pinch your nose bridge and ask, “Can you just tell me where Markus is?” Simon's gaze softens, but disappointment is evident on his face. “Right, he and North went to their usual spot. I assume they wanted some alone time.” His emphasis on "alone time" irritates you. You know he’s hinting that you shouldn’t interrupt, but this is important! How can you just wait for their moment to be over? Time is of the essence; every second counts. You turn your back and start to leave, forcing yourself to say, "Thanks," though it stings your ego. Any remaining gratitude vanishes when you feel his grip on your wrist. He pulls you toward him, and you face him again, your expression hardening. "What? Let go of me! I need to talk to Markus."

He gazes into your eyes with a pained expression. "It's dangerous. Please, what if we lose you too?" Your expression softens as you study his features. Your hand slips onto his, and you grip it tightly. "I know, Simon. I understand why you're worried, but I can't just stand by and let people die around me."

He glances at your hand resting on his before speaking again, this time more urgently. "Usually, I would be all for going out to get them, but with everything happening around us—and your disregard for your own life—it’s concerning." He raises his voice and continues, "I just want to emphasize that you’re important to everyone at Jericho. You and Markus have opened our eyes." His tone softens. "We’ve started to realize that there may be hope for a brighter future, but we can’t pursue it at a time like this."

You pull away from his grip. "You're wrong. If we ever want to achieve our dream, we need everyone with us." You head in the direction of Markus, Simon's voice fading into the distance.

You find Markus sitting confidently on the edge of the crumbling building, with North beside him. They both stare out at the view of the ruined city, a place we are determined to be a part of—truly, as equals among its inhabitants. The scene before you is strikingly beautiful; it almost makes you forget the atrocities that have taken place across the city. It’s clear that people turn a blind eye to androids until we finally reach our breaking point—that’s when they start to pay attention. Why does it have to be this way? Why is violence the only answer? We shouldn’t ignore this pattern. History shows us that this is a relentless cycle, one that must be broken for us to truly move forward. Is it even possible?