#and zero percent female

[spydertrans]

my sexuality being tied with my gender is so weird 'cause if i identified as female in any way, i would be attracted to women again

[facingthenorthwind]

i've now been permabanned for "offsite doxxing and harassment campaigns against the community" which is a fascinating description of using a quote from Master Fredcerique that I already asked if I could post publicly (he said yes) and also a warning to [checks notes] not edit the website, which is definitely a harassment campaign against the community. because not editing = harassment, obviously.

Don't get involved with Wookieepedia

We all know Wookieepedia — it’s the Star Wars wiki, and an invaluable resource for fic writers everywhere. I’m not telling you not to look at Wookieepedia, but I do need to warn you not to get involved with the community. If you do want to edit it, then never join the discord or get involved with the forums (Senate Hall). It’s a cesspit of bigotry, and you cannot change it.

I tried. Along with a very well-known and vocal user named Immi Thrax, we tried to push back against misogyny and queerphobia. We thought we succeeded. You might have seen supposed “progress” on Wook: the addition of pronouns in the infobox, the addition of an anti-discrimination policy and an apology from the male wook admins for historical abuse towards marginalised editors. We did this. We, along with a small group of queer women and nonbinary editors, badgered the admins to write that apology for months, spoon-feeding them the things they needed to address and telling them that the early piss-weak drafts were unacceptable. We demanded infobox pronouns. We demanded an anti-discrimination policy and worked with them to add a glossary. 

And then they ran us off the website.

We had a side server specifically for women and nonbinary people, with a few channels that also contained men we trusted. A woman (who was voted in as an admin after Immi) took screenshots from this private server and then posted them publicly. The screenshots were taken completely out of context and misrepresented their contents. The woman who took the screenshots deleted messages in them to make us look worse. They slandered us and put us in danger, because Immi has been targeted by dangerous corners of the internet before (which they were well aware of), and we were terrified we would be doxxed. All of the men approved of this, forced Immi to resign, and spread blatant lies about us. Wook users attacked us, and it was deemed perfectly acceptable to do so.

When I wrote the initial forum post about sexism and misogyny on the website, Master Fredcerique, one of the admins, told me that he was in fear of losing his job during 2021 because of discord screenshot leaks, and that "Safety for everyone was of utmost importance" to him, hence requesting I not provide usernames for my examples of bigotry. It is clear that Immi, myself and others in those screenshots do not count in this 'everyone'. I wonder why he wanted to protect the perpetrators of misogyny but was happy to endanger women!

As a result of this horrific breach of trust and privacy, every single queer woman and almost every nonbinary wook editor has left the site. We were too radical, and they had to destroy us. Sure, a woman did this, but I don’t think it’s an accident that a cishet woman who self-describes as a Republican in Florida forced the two loud leftist lesbians off the site. And the men approved of everything she’s done and contributed to it. One (1) man (notably not an admin) stood up for us, and he was banned for doing it. 

So don’t join wook. If you do edit, don't trust anyone. Have every single conversation about wook in public, where people can never take your words out of context. Do not participate in DMs, group chats or any wook-related servers, including the official one. Marginalised editors' very existence is a disruption to the status quo of Wookieepedia, and there is every possibility you will be seen as a threat, even if you are not initially treated as one.

[nkogneatho]

𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘'𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐀 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄- 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐘 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

—cw: fem!reader, male and female masturbating, fingering, fistfucking, pillowfucking (put me in a cage pls), desperate gojo because i'll never shut up about that. not proofread.

—a/n: i wish his seiyuu had an asmr channel just like nanami's so this drabble would've been longer. enjoy though <33

You're used to stalking the social media of people you go out with. It comes naturally. Well you live alone in this city, and you sure as hell don't want to stumble across a creep with no defense. You never know what's crippling it's way across this sinful city at night. The questionable news reports just added the oil to the fire of your anxiety. So it was natural that tonight, you were stalking another one of your dates. Gojo Satoru. You knew he was pretty popular when those hand had to leave yours to dap or fist bump his peers on your first date. It's almost as if fifty percent of the city knew him, like a celebrity. If he was really so popular, it would be easy to dig up info about him.

That's what led to you eagerly scrolling past his Instagram, flipping through each highlight as if you were a child who just found the greatest comic book.

party,

party,

and parties.

it was like his mantra the way his entire feed was just him dancing under the influence, in outfits too expensive and champagne to rich. He bathed in the luxury and the people around him were pleasuring off the drops sprinkling. So perfect that he had everyone wrapped around his finger. But won't he do the same to you? Overpower you. All those riches and he decided to go out with you, just so he could make you one of his whores, you were sure about that.

"Ugh, fuck it." You groaned, tossing your phone away. "Guess i'll have to use my hand again."

You opened your laptop, went incongnito typing the first letter, but your autocorrect knew better. It's like it has memorised what you do at this hour. But autocorrect works on algorithms so you were sure it's your fault that you visit the site so frequently.

The porn website was open and you clicked on search button, specifically typing "hot men jerking off webcam." It was one of your favorite things to watch.

You scrolled through the popular videos you had already watched maybe a million times. There was a reason they were popular. So you just changed the filter and selected "new to old". After rummaging through some of the boring videos, your eyes landed on the preview of one with the most beautiful cock. longest even. Curiously, you click on it. The video starts with the man rubbing his boner through the boxers. You put a hand inside your panties, and all you want right now is for him to take his boxers off. After a few minutes, he does and his long light peach cock springs out. when he leans back, your eyes do a double take.

is that gojo fucking satoru??

And indeed it was. The man who earlier gave you the rich spoiled misogynistic son vibes was now moaning like a slut, begging his viewers to ride their imaginary pussy. He had zero shame. Although...why didn't you log out?? Why did you not switch to some other video?

Because holy shit he is fistfucking his cock like an animal in heat. The chair is shaking and making squeaking noises but fuck who cares about that. Listen to his moans. His fucking whimpers. He changed his placement and now he was on the bed, had the pillow folded in half only to start ramming his dick into it. God! Is this the real Gojo Satoru? Is this what he is? A camboy whoring his body out. Because he has generational wealth so there's no way he is foung that for money. So the only logical answer is because he is such a fucking pussywhore that his exhibitionist cock only cums when there are others watching it.

Your fingers starts vigorously pumping in your cunt. They weren't long enough to reach and you were actually wishing Satoru was fucking you instead of that pillow because look. Look at that long dick. Look at the pretty flushed tip with his precum glistening. Fuck, how'd he taste on your? Sweet? Sour? But you know it would taste warm and filthy for sure.

The man in the screen increases his pace and so do you, imitating him. you want to cum at the same time. you want to see what his cum looks like on the gray pillowcase. your middle finger starts stimulating your clit even more while Satoru in the screen is now snapping his hips rougly against the bed, in the pillow. you imagine yourself in the position. Prone Bone. Never tried it but if it is what he is doing, then you're sure as hell down. It's the way his thrusts can be heard banging against the wood under the mattress even if there's not skin for his to slap against. compared to what other camboys do, talk about how they're going to ruin your dirty little pussy, gojo's is different. he does say he'll ruin your pussy but it's hotter because it is followed by endless pleas.

"fuck—lemme ruin this pussy—anh! please, yeah? gonna make you feel so good, baby please?" almost as if he is actually fucking someone. and you don't think twice before assuming he is talking to you. It's okay to be delusional sometimes. Specially when his words make you cum so hard, that you are whining at the lack of more girth to clench around. you look at the screen and Satoru came too. And he was whimpering. Like actually whimpering because it felt so good. Hot strings of cum now soaked in the pillow. Shit.

When you come back from the bathroom after washing yourself, you hear a notification. you pick up your phone to find a "Free tomorrow night?" from the same man who indirectly made you cum so hard tonight. And after what you saw today, you would be a fucking idiot to miss a chance like this.

"Yeah, Of course. Can't wait to see you tomorrow."

*Sent*

[kwanisms]

Kinktober 「10:24」 — l.jihoon

» seventeen menu | woozi menu | kinktober masterlist «

➮ yuki-otoko!Jihoon × fem!Reader wc: 3.4k summary: As a snow demon, Jihoon can’t stand the heat and takes to staying in his apartment he shares with his roommate, Y/N. When the AC breaks down, Jihoon asks Y/N for help in keeping him cool. genres/themes/au: smut; supernatural, horror, thriller, roommates to lovers; non idol au, roommate au, monster idol au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, supernatural and horror themes, roommates; sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to reblogs join my taglists! kinktober taglist is CLOSED! Strikethrough means I cannot tag you.  MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: this was a LOT of fun to write. I enjoyed the ice aspect of it. It’s not heavy on the spitting but it is there lol it’s more heavy on the temperature play and now I wanna tie Jihoon down to my bed and tease him with ice cubes. Hehe anyway, thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging and supporting my ko-fi, linked on my pinned post! As always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), temperature play (m receiving), spitting (m receiving. Yeah, I know. That’s different haha), oral (m receiving), unprotected sex (don’t do dis), use of pet names (hers: baby, sweetheart, angel, etc. his: babe, baby, Hoonie, etc.), that should be everything but I might have missed some. Let me know if I did! kinks: Temperature play + spitting dialogue prompt: ❛❛ What? Does that feel good? ❜❜

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Jihoon let out a grumbled curse as he hit the hard plastic casing of the AC unit once more, as if that would magically make the blasted thing function. It rumbled for a moment before sputtering and dying, all the cool air blowing from the vent ceasing in an instant. He let out a groan of frustration as he stepped down from the step ladder.

“Stupid, fucking, thing,” he mumbled as he picked up the ladder, folded it, and put it away.

It was October and while most of the time, the world around him was starting to cool, summer was holding on, its claws embedded as he tried to stick out for as long as possible. Jihoon hated the summer. The unbearable heat, the unrelenting sun beating down on the world, scorching everything in its path. He hated all of it.

Which is why he was thankful for the fact he worked from home and hardly ever had to leave the apartment. He was even able to order the groceries online when you, his roommate, weren’t able to pick them up after work.

Jihoon walked into his room, grabbing one of the small hand held fans he kept in case of emergencies and turning it on, sighing as the fan whirred to life, blasting him with a small breeze. He started a search through the apartment, gathering every single fan he could find. He was on a mission.

Summer had been unbearably hot this year, the heat rising up near the hundreds almost daily. The humidity was no help, sitting comfortably in the eighty to ninety percent range, making it not only scorchingly hot but sweltering. And if you were dying, you could only image how the heat was affecting your roommate.

Jihoon was not accustomed to such high temperatures, having come from a very cold climate and built to withstand sub zero extremes. He always had a hard time with the summer but this season had been particularly hard on him and he had spent most, if not all, of his time in the apartment, unable to leave because of the extreme heat.

And you knew it was about to get worse. 

When you had woken up that morning, it was in a pool of your own sweat. The AC had stopped working and you only had your fan to cool you off which was not nearly enough. You tried to fix it yourself but you only had so much time to devote to your attempts before you had to get ready for work. Upon leaving, you left a note for Jihoon explaining that the AC was out and that you couldn’t fix it.

Upon arriving at work and after your morning meeting, you called the apartment complex manager, got transferred to maintenance and called in a work order. The woman answering the phone promised to put in the order and expedite it due to the climbing temperatures the coming weekend. You had sent a text to Jihoon, informing him of this and all you had received back was a sad frowning face.

As you finished up your work for the day, you checked your phone to find a few texts from your roommate. You checked them as you got onto the elevator, pressing the button for the lobby.

Hoon: i tried to fix it

Hoon: no luck )):

Hoon: it’s so hot ;^;

Hoon: i’m going to die

Hoon: help

You chuckled as you typed a response, letting him know you were on your way home and you would stop to get some ice cream on the way. You jokingly told him to stick his head in the freezer before slipping your phone into your purse as the elevator arrived at the lobby and you headed out the door onto the busy sidewalk.

The bus ride to the train station was uneventful and you were thankful to be out of the heat of the setting sun, underground where it was much cooler. The AC of the train didn’t even help with all the bodies crammed into the metal tube, heat radiating from one person to another. Upon arriving home, you were thankful for the AC in the lobby and elevator. Even the cool air of the hallway felt nice but entering your apartment, it felt awful.

You shut the door, turning to set your keys on the small table next to the door as you pulled your shoes off. Walking further into the room, you noticed the fans first and stared curiously at them. At least five fans were sitting in front of the couch. The three smaller desk ones sitting on the coffee table while two tower fans stood on either side, pointing directly at your roommate.

Jihoon looked like he was melting into the furniture, a small handheld fan in his hands pointed directly at his face. His brows furrowed, face twisted in what you could only assume to be agony. A thin layer of sweat coated his pale skin. He’d taken off most of his clothes, wearing only a white tank and a pair of gym shorts. “You look awful,” you scoffed as you leaned over, resting against the back of the couch.

His eyes fluttered open, head tilting back to look up at you. “I’m dying,” he croaked, his voice hoarse. You sighed, reaching down to feel his clammy skin. “You’re a little warm,” you said softly. “You want me to put a wet towel on your forehead?” you asked. He nodded weakly and you stood up straight, walking down the hall to the linen closet, grabbing a washcloth and walking back to the kitchen, turning on the cold water tap.

Once coating the cloth and wringing out most of the liquid, you returned to the couch, folding the cloth in half before setting it on Jihoon’s forehead. He let out a sigh of relief, eyes shut as he basked in the cool feeling of the wet cloth against his skin. “Have you tried taking a cold shower?” you asked, leaning against the couch again. Jihoon nodded. “Yeah,” he answered. “Twice!”

You clicked your tongue, reaching down to brush his dark hair back. “I need an ice bath,” he murmured as you stroked his hair. “If you had said something, I would have gotten a bag of ice from the convenience store on the corner.” You perked up, standing suddenly. “Speaking of…”

You walked over to the black plastic bag and pulled out two boxes of Melona, moving to the freezer to put both boxes away. You tore open one, grabbing a popsicle and shut the door before returning to the couch. “Here,” you said, holding the frozen treat out for Jihoon. His eyes opened halfway and he reached out for the popsicle. “You’re an angel,” he murmured as he gave you a weak smile.

“Have I ever told you that?” he asked. You shook your head, resisting the urge to smirk. “Well,” he said, tearing open the wrapper. “You are.” He opened his mouth, placing the frozen melon treat on his tongue, humming contentedly. “I’m gonna go shower,” you announced. “Did you take my fan, too?” you asked, glancing at the fans in front of him. He shook his head.

“No,” he replied, removing the popsicle from his mouth, licking his lips. “I left yours alone.” You patted his head before heading down the hall to your room, pushing open the door to find like he said, your fan was sitting in its usual place. You shut the door, moving to your bathroom to strip and get into the shower. You turned on the stream, stepping under it before it even heated up, enjoying the cold water against your hot skin.

You rushed through your shower, keeping the water warm enough to wash yourself but not scalding like you normally liked it. Once finished, you stepped out, drying off and pulling on clean clothes. A pair of shorts and a lightweight tank top. You headed back into the living room to find Jihoon hadn’t moved an inch. His popsicle had been consumed and he was breathing slowly as he basked in the fan generated winds.

You shook your head, moving to get a bowl from the cabinet. Jihoon perked up as you moved about the kitchen, peeking up over the back of the couch as you moved to the sink. You turned on the faucet, filling the bowl halfway before turning it off and heading to the fridge, opening the freezer and scooping some of the ice out into the bowl. 

You started back towards your room and noticed him peering at you over the back of the sofa. “You good?” you asked, raising a brow. He shook his head. “What’s that?” he asked, lifting his head more to see the bowl in your hands. “It’s an old trick,” you replied. “I’ll show you,” you added as you started for your room, stopping to look back at him.

“Bring the fans.”

Jihoon followed you, carrying the two tower fans with him to your room. You set up a stool from your vanity with the bowl on it near the bed before setting the fans up behind it, facing the fans towards the bowel and turning them on high. “Lay down.” you instructed. Jihoon climbed onto your bed, laying across it. You joined him and smiled as he sighed.

“The fan blows across the cool air that settles on the surface of the ice water and blows it out. It’s something we used to do when I was a kid. We didn’t have AC when I was growing up,” you explained. “It’s really nice,” he murmured.

The two of you lay there in silence, eyes shut as you enjoyed the cool air. Jihoon soon started to squirm and you opened your eyes, turning your head to look at him. “What’s wrong?” you asked. He sighed and turned to look at you. “It’s nice, don’t get me wrong,” he said softly. “But it’s not enough.”

You glanced at the bowl of ice and then back to Jihoon before an idea popped into your head. “Wait here,” you said as you got up, walking into your bathroom and returning with a towel. Jihoon watched as you placed the towel down on your bed. “Lay on the towel,” you instructed. He got up with a groan and started to move as you walked around to where the bowl of ice sat. 

“And take your shirt off.”

Jihoon froze, turning his gaze to look at you as you pulled the stool closer to the bed. “Take my shirt off?” he asked, watching you with wide eyes. You nodded. “Trust me,” you said as you sat on the edge of the bed, the stool with the bowl of ice between your thighs. Jihoon hesitated before slipping his shirt off and setting it aside. “Lay down,” you told him. He did as you said, laying on his back.

You dipped your hand into the bowl, scooping up one of the ice cubes and turned to Jihoon, placing it against his skin. He let out a gasp which turned quickly into a sigh. “Feel better?” you asked. He nodded wordlessly, licking his lips as you started to run the ice all over his chest, first across his collar bones and then down his sternum to his stomach.

You could see the beads of water rolling down his skin to the towel under him. The ice cube melted pretty quickly and you soon grabbed another, sliding it over his skin, up to his neck, letting it pool slightly before running it along his shoulders until it too melted. You continued this, going through a few ice cubes. “How do you feel?” you asked as you grabbed a smaller cube, popping it into your mouth.

“G-good,” Jihoon said, swallowing thickly. As you grabbed another ice cube, you noticed the slight bulge in his pants. Raising a brow, you turned back to look at his face. “Someone’s getting a little excited,” you said with a hint of amusement. Jihoon’s eyes opened and he glanced down, quickly covering himself with his hands. “S-sorry,” he muttered.

You smiled slyly. “Don’t be,” you said simply as you brushed another frozen cube over his skin, paying special attention to his chest, dragging the ice around one nipple before moving to the other. He let out a soft groan, eyes fluttering shut as you continued to tease him with the frozen water. “Y/N,” he moaned softly as you pressed the ice against his skin, placing your palm over it and sliding it around, drops of water rolling down his skin as you guided your hand lower and lower until the ice was gone.

You grabbed another cub, pressing against his stomach with your hand, sliding lower and lower until your fingers worked under the waistband of his shorts. Jihoon’s eyes snapped open and he met your gaze. “Do you want me to stop?” you asked softly. He shook his head, holding your gaze.

Without taking your eyes off him, you slipped your hand into his shorts, finding him completely without underwear as you guided the ice down his groin. Jihoon let out a groan as your hand pushed the ice down to his cock, finding it already completely hard. “S-sorry about this,” Jihoon whispered as you let the ice melt at the base of his cock. “Don’t apologize,” you said as you grabbed another ice cube with your free hand, popping it into your mouth again.

You pulled your hand out, sticking your hand into the ice water for a few seconds before pulling it out and slipped your hand back into his shorts, your cold hand wrapping around the shaft of his cock. Jihoon groaned, hips bucking slightly. “What?” you asked, sounding slightly condescending. “Does that feel good?” you cooed. Jihoon nodded, biting into his bottom lip as your hand started to stroke him slowly.

You grabbed another ice cube, popping it into your mouth and climbed onto the bed, moving to kneel beside him. “What’re you doing?” Jihoon asked as you grabbed the waistband of his shorts and tugged them down. This was crossing so many lines but at this point, neither you nor Jihoon could be bothered to care. He lifted his hips as you tugged his shorts down, freeing his cock.

You wrapped your hands around him again. You glanced up at him before taking his cock into your mouth. The ice had melted already but your tongue had a lingering coolness to it and it made Jihoon groan as his head fell back, your head sinking down as you took more and more of his cock into your mouth. “Fuck, baby,” he gasped, his hand resting on the back of your head.

“Feels so good.”

You pulled back, letting his cock fall from your mouth. You moved to grab another ice cube, popping it into your mouth under your tongue before taking Jihoons cock back into your mouth. He let out a guttural moan as your head bobbed, your cold spit dribbling down his shaft. “F-ah. Holy shit!” he groaned as your tongue shifted, the ice under it slipping out and pressing against his cock.

Jihoon bucked his hips, thrusting up into your mouth and hitting the back of your mouth. “Don’t stop, god please don’t stop,” he groaned as you pulled off him, grabbing another ice cube before taking him back into your mouth. You slid the ice over his abdomen, enjoying the way his muscles twitched. You glided the ice down past his cock, pressing it to the base of the underside of his cock, beads of cold water rolling down past his balls.

He bucked again, his cock making you gagged but you made no attempt to move back instead letting him set a steady pace, thrusting shallowly into your mouth while you let the ice trail over his skin. “F-fucking hell. M’gonna cum if you keep doing that!” he gasped. You pulled back, tongue swirling around the tip of his cock as you let the ice finish melting.

“You wanna cum in my mouth or inside me?” you asked, your voice low and seductive. “Inside you, please,” he begged, his hand moving to the back of your neck. “C’mere,” he added as he pulled you towards him. You crawled over him, letting your tongue run up his stomach and chest before he pulled you into a sloppy kiss.

You pulled back, tugging your shirt off over your head and then shimmying out of your shorts and underwear. You grabbed two more ice cubes, popping one into your mouth as you straddled his lap. Jihoon grabbed his cock, lining it up with your slit as you hovered over him. “Wait shouldn’t I — oh fuck!” he gasped as you lowered yourself down onto his cock, sinking it into your cunt.

Once his cock was nestled inside your walls, you pressed the other ice cube against his chest. His hands moved to your hips, eyes rolling back as you started to move slowly, rolling your hips as you glided the ice over his skin. “Oh fuck that feels so good,” he groaned, hips bucking slightly as you rode him at your own pace.

You leaned over to grab another cube, popping it into your mouth and letting it melt on your tongue. Once it was gone, you leaned over, hips continued to roll as you grinded against Jihoon. His cock throbbed and twitched inside you as he matched your movements, thrusting up into you.

“Open your mouth,” you whispered, grabbing him by the jaw. He hesitated before obliging, parting his lips. You surprised him by spitting into his mouth quickly before kissing him roughly. It was much different than he was used to but with all the ice cubes you had let melt into your mouth, he would let you do anything if it meant you’d keep using the ice cubes.

His grip on your hips tightened, nails digging into your skin. “M’close,” he groaned against your lips. You grabbed another cube from the bowl, most of it water by this point. “Open your mouth,” you whispered, pushing the cube past his lips when he parted them. Your lips met his, tongue slipping into his mouth, making the ice cube swirl around his mouth.

You change the roll of your hips for lifting them, bouncing on his cock and driving you both towards the edge. “M’gonna cum,” he groaned against your lips. “Do it,” you urged. “Cum inside me.” Jihoon devolved into a series of curses, moans, and whimpers as he chased his high, hips rutting up to meet yours as he tumbled over the edge, his cum releasing into your walls until it started to spill out of you.

Your walls spasmed around him as you came, moaning against his lips as your hips started to falter. Jihoon held you in place as he thrusted up into you, riding out both your highs until he finally stilled, letting you sink down on his spent cock, his cum dripping out of your abused hole.

You let out a sigh, collapsing onto his chest as you tried to steady your breathing. Jihoon’s hand rested on your back, fingers trailing up and down your spine as he stared up at the ceiling. “That was…” you trailed off, searching for the right word. “Incredible,” Jihoon finished your sentence. “That was fucking incredible.”

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze, a smile spread across your face before you both broke into laughter. Your laughter lasted a few minutes as the reality of your situation settled on you.

“So,” Jihoon said, moving a hand to the back of your neck. “Where does this leave us?” he asked. You shrugged. “Where do you want it to leave us?” you responded with your own question. Jihoon’s other hand moved to cup your cheek, eyes dipping to your lips as he brushed over them with his thumb. “I kind of want to make this a regular thing,” he muttered. “Especially if we include the ice.”

You pressed a chaste kiss to the bad of his thumb. “Well,” you replied, pushing his hand back and leaning in to kiss his lips. “The AC won’t be fixed until tomorrow,” you reminded him as you reached up to brush his hair back off his forehead. “So we have the rest of the day.” 

A smile spread across Jihoon’s face. “You want to go again?” he asked. You nodded as you pushed yourself up. “Can you grab a new towel?” you asked as you climbed off him and off the bed entirely. “Where are you going?” he asked as he sat up, watching you grab the bowl from the stool. You turned to look at him as you moved towards the door.

“We need more ice.”

©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.

[mightyflamethrower]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[hvnnibalecter]

PUMPKINS AND CHOCOLATE. | S.R

surprise gift for my dear friend zo, @rhaerhaenyra.

PAIRING : Spencer Reid x GN!Reader.

RATING : FLUFF. PURE FLUFF.

A/N : English isn't my first language, so it is possible that there is some grammatical errors along the way.

summary : maybe you should have told Spencer that you were planning a movie night for halloween, with your favorite movie on the subject, and you probably should have told him it wasn't really considered as the most typical halloween movie ever made in the industry.

𖹭 Some people become incredibly gloomy as soon as the temperatures drop, winter depression according to specialists. However, autumn was your favourite season, the changing colours, the long days under the covers drinking hot chocolate.

Of course, it wasn't necessarily pleasant to have to put away summer clothes at the back of the closet to swap them for jackets and sweatshirts. However, you preferred sweatshirts to swimsuits, the sun was becoming far too aggressive to be appreciated anymore, no one wants to have sunburn that prevents you from sleeping properly.

So in itself, you were rather delighted with this change of season. A cup of hot chocolate in your hands, you ate marshmallows directly from the package, the promotion on the second package purchased had been too tempting for you to go home without it.

So that's how two hours later, you found yourself in the kitchen eating marshmallows with hot chocolate. Spencer was supposed to be home in ten minutes, you pulled your phone out of your sweatpants pocket to text him, asking if he had any plans for tonight. When he answered no, you felt a smile creep onto your lips, maybe it was time to educate Doctor Spencer Reid on Halloween movies.

Spencer had come back grimacing, you had raised your head from your sketchbook before frowning while he took his things out before understanding where his grimace came from, he had ink on his favorite shirt.

Spencer had started his first year at Quantico University, of course the former profiler had decided to be a criminology professor and you had pointed out to him, that ninety percent of the students, female -of course-, were only there for his pretty eyes.

He had raised his head and frowned, refuting that his students were in his class to study. Of course Spencer didn't realize that his students were too busy looking at him to take real notes on the subject. After eating a home-cooked meal, a roast chicken with seasonal vegetables -carrots, pumpkin, potatoes and green beans-, you had prepared yourself for the evening movie, putting on a sweatshirt ordered on Etsy with black cats and pumpkins.

Spencer had put his plate in the sink before approaching the couch, he put an arm around your shoulders while you launched the Disney+ app on the TV, Spencer frowned.

"Since my husband seems to be unfamiliar with the most famous Halloween movie, I think it's time you savor the experience properly, you smiled while looking at Spencer, let's educate you, my dear doctor."

"I don't think Friday the 13th is really considered a Halloween movie, Spencer replied with an innocent look. I thought you couldn't stand seeing blood in movies?" he added with a lifted eyebrown.

It was more fun than you expected it to be.

"Come on, I'm not talking about Friday the 13th, Spencer, you replied with a laugh."

Oh, Spencer seemed to be at a loss for words, he just watched the TV while you pressed the button to start the movie, he looked back at you when the opening credits announced the movie.

"The Nightmare Before Christmas? he asked in surprise. Isn't that a movie for kids?"

"Oh, Spencer! This is one of the most wonderful movies, Zero is absolutely adorable." you whined while looking at him, Zero was truly the sweetest thing in your opinion

"Zero?" Spencer replied, the genus was definetly confused now.

Of course, the scene that was playing on the screen was with Zero, so you motioned for Spencer to watch the TV, he bit his lower lip before deciding to watch the movie without making any comments, after all who could make any scientific comments or data, variables etc on a Tim Burton movie? You glanced at Spencer after settling down against him, hugging a cushion against you, Spencer Reid seemed to be absolutely enchanted by the movie. It was a memorable fall evening, maybe you'll remember to buy him a Pumpkin King mug when you stop by Target to do some shopping.

[all-mirth-no-matter]

Time After Time | Chapter Thirteen

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: A significant death shakes up the Shelby household just as you find your way back inside. That events and those after make you start to wonder if now is the time to finally listen to Madam Despoina.

Warning: character death, language, yelling

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter 13: Ghost

I like the sad eyes, bad guys, mouth full of white lies. Kiss me in the corridor, but quick to tell me goodbye. You say that you're no good for me, ‘cause I'm always tugging at your sleeve. And I swear I hate you when you leave. I like it anyway. — Ghost, Halsey

Coming back to the Shelby household wasn’t exactly what you expected. Best case scenario, you expected to be greeted warmly by Polly or Ada; worst case, you expected to have the door immediately slammed in your face by Tommy himself. 

Instead, when you knocked on the door, little Katie greeted you. 

John’s oldest daughter’s eyes widened and a smile spread across her face when she recognized you, “You’re back!”

She grabbed your hand and pulled you inside as you used your foot to close the door behind you to keep out the cold. When you got into the kitchen, Finn jumped from his chair and threw something into the fireplace. 

“Finn,” you scolded. “That a cigarette?” 

“Don’t tell Aunt Polly,” he begged, cowering down more in his chair. 

Jack ran into the room, a smile on his face as he got ready to watch the show of his youngest uncle getting into trouble. 

You hung your jacket on the hook and sat next to Finn, noticing him flinch slightly as you scooted closer. The instinct made you swallow knowing he probably expected you to hit him — one of the discipline actions of the times that still made you cringe despite your attempt to shield your facial expressions. 

“I won’t. But you really shouldn’t smoke, especially while you’re still growing. It stunts your growth, ya’know. You want to be this height your whole life?” You tousled his hair playfully to emphasize your point. 

Actually, you weren’t a hundred percent sure if that was true — you remember hearing it when you were younger (that and coffee) but you never actually ever did research on it yourself. 

“It’s also bad for your lungs,” you added, closing the unattended box of sticks that were sitting in the middle of the table. “It’s bad enough the air quality here is practically smoke itself, the second hand smoke will probably kill us all—“

“Is that what’s happenin’ to mummy?” Katie asked, her hand resting on your knee as she began petting the material of your skirt. 

Brow creased, you looked to Finn and Jack, then around the house and noticed no one was around. 

“Where is your mum?” 

“She’s sick again,” said Jack, or J.J. as you’d immediately called him when you learned that his real name was John, and that he’d been named after his father (Junior). Another moment of instant regret, seeing as you had no idea if initial names or initial nicknames were a common thing yet. But the seven year old latched onto it immediately and you’d apologized to Martha profusely. After the initial shock of her son insisting everyone call him this, who she’d named after John proudly, she finally admitted to finding the nickname quite cute. 

That’d been the first substantial interaction you’d had with Martha after just starting in the house. Even before the boys returned, you’d offered to help watch the kids whenever Polly or Ada were babysitting. You’d built a bit of a rapport with the little ones over the months, which had honestly surprised you seeing as you had zero experience with children, being an only child and not having been around family outside of your parents your whole life. It’d taken a little longer to get friendlier with Martha, but eventually you’d found a mutual ease around each other when you were both in the house. But unlike Ada, you didn’t find yourself spending any time outside the house, or alone even, together. And that was okay. 

But when she first started getting sick, you’d tried to put in a little more effort to at least let her know you were there for her, or Polly, or the kids, if they needed you. Last you’d heard, Martha had started feeling better around Christmas. 

“It’s not smoke, dummy,” J.J. said harshly to his younger sister when she asked again if it was was because of the cigarettes. 

“Hey,” you said instinctively, “no need for name calling.”

“Auntie Polly said she’s cold—“

“She’s got a cold—”

“Where is she now?” You interrupted before they escalated, bringing all three of their attentions back to you. 

“Auntie Polly took her to the ha’pital,” Katie answered. “Teddy and Annie are with Auntie Ada, said they needed naps.” 

And with that, you launched into babysitter mode for the three downstairs. You kept out of the way of the kitchen, especially when the shop opened. When Ada returned with the youngest two, you all took a trip to the shop for food, per Polly’s instructions. By the time you returned, Polly was back and starting dinner. 

That’s when she broke the news silently to you and Ada. 

Martha had passed away. 

Polly was angry with the hospitals, ranting about how she didn’t trust them and how she never should have taken her there in the first place. 

“I’ve sent word to John, but he’s still in Digbeth. I’m afraid I’m going to have to break the news to the children.”

You offered to stay the night to help with the kids and housework. That first night had been filled with tears. You even caught Polly’s eyes damp a handful of times during the quieter moments. 

Over the next few days, whenever you didn’t have a shift at the Garrison, you ended up at the Shelby house, even sleeping in one of the unoccupied bedrooms most nights. Polly was spending most of the following days preparing for the funeral, while you and Ada tried to make this new world make sense to the children. 

You and Ada both had your own experiences of losing your mothers to draw on in an attempt to console the little ones. But it was still difficult, especially for the youngest two, who were still not completely understanding that their mother wouldn’t be coming back. Finn’s patience and kindness to his little nieces and nephews had been the most endearing part for you. He’d been too young to remember his own mother, but was able to explain this new reality in child terms that surprised you.  

Since arriving in this time and place, it was hard not to judge the living conditions and lack of opportunities that surrounded you, especially when comparing them to your own upbringing. You’d always considered yourself middle to lower class, but you still had so much more privilege than whole chunks of the world. 

Here, even with some of those privileges, you were beginning to understand just how much faster it seemed these children of the time had to grow and mature than you ever had to. Hardships like losing parents at a young age were just the beginning — poverty, malnourishment, lack of education opportunities — these were things that you couldn’t imagine having grown up through. It make you think about Ada and Tommy, your previous image of them running around as children suddenly shifting to something more heart clenching. 

Your respect for Polly and her role as matriarch was already high, but over the next few days it only grew as she handled the household, children, business, and funeral arrangements nearly on her own. There hadn’t been a peep from John or any of the brothers until the night before the funeral. 

Not yet asleep, you could hear the banging of doors opening and chairs moving in the kitchen. Instinctively, you rose from the cot and grabbed the fireplace stick. On your way down, you stuck your head in the kids’ room, seeing them fast asleep before shutting the door and heading for the noisy intruders. 

“Come on, Tom,” you heard Arthur’s voice coming from the kitchen. “She’s got a sister—“ 

“S’not tonight.” Tommy replying made you pause, your heart jumping at hearing his voice for the first time in weeks. “We’ve got— got the funeral tomorrow, then back to ‘beth.” 

His voice sounded lighter than normal, if not slightly slurred. 

“Ah fuck it — we’ve been over there for weeks now. The whores here know exactly what I like, them in Dig—“ 

You cleared your throat, startling both men, though only one reached for his gun to point in your direction. Despite your curiosity to hear more about their escapades, Arthur’s voice had grown louder and you were fearful he’d wake John’s kids, who’d been nightmarish already to settle down. 

Tommy’s throat bobbled as he lowered his gun, setting it down on the table. You noticed the dishevelment of his hair and collar of his shirt under his jacket. That, along with the way Arthur was swaying and both with nearly empty bottles in their hands confirmed what you suspected — the boys were wasted. 

“The fuck’re you doin’ here?” Arthur asked, his voice not holding as much disdain as you expected, despite the words coming out. 

“I’ve been helping Polly and Ada with the kids,” you answered softly, crossing your arms. “They’re asleep upstairs, if you wouldn’t mind keeping your voice down.”

Arthur’s brow creased, his voice still at the same decimeter despite your request. “You ain’t got kids—”

“John’s kids,” Tommy reminded his brother. He gestured toward the door, “Go on now. Don’t you have someone to meet?” 

Arthur perked up, “Right! Suppose you won’t join me now, eh? You’ll know where I’ll be!” He gave a final shout before leaving the room and closing the door loudly behind him, causing you to cringe and listen for the stirrings of awakened little ones. 

After a moment of silence, you turned back toward the kitchen where Tommy was beginning to remove his jacket. 

A deep red stain on the shoulder of his shirt sleeve caused you to gasp, walking toward him without realizing what you were doing, setting the fireplace poker on the table.

“What happened?” You asked, touching his arm gently as you rotated it to see a slash in the fabric. 

Tommy shrugged, unsteady on his feet as he instead reached for the fuller bottle of rum on the counter. “Just a scrap ‘fore we went to the pub, ‘s nothin’—“

“I can help—“

“Just go back to the room—“

“Sit down,” you instructed more sternly. He glared at you, but you didn’t let it stop you. “Take off your shirt, that’s going to infect if we don’t clean it.”

“I can do it m’self,” he mumbled and turned to leave, but began to stumble as he became imbalanced.  

You caught and stabilized him before guiding him back to the chair. “You’re drunk as fuck, Tommy. Just sit down and let me help you.”

He huffed, but began to slide down in the chair until it creaked with the extra weight. Satisfied, you finally turned to get a fresh bowl of water and clean towels, then the bandages you’d seen Polly use a few times before. He was unbuttoning his shirt when you pulled up a second chair closer to him, ringing the cloth in the water. 

“What were you gonna do with that?” You caught his gesture to the fireplace poker on the table, his voice laced with condescension. “Should learn how to handle a real weapon.”

By the time you sat down, Tommy had his bad arm out of his shirt. 

“I know how to handle a gun,” you answered plainly, your voice serious as he watched you examine his wound. 

Well, you knew how to handle a gun in the 2000s, that is. With your father being a military man, he wanted to make sure you and your mother went through the proper gun safety and etiquette classes since there’d likely be some weapons in the house. You hadn’t been to a shooting range since your father was alive, but you imagined if you had to handle a gun today you’d at least not make a total idiot of yourself. Now, whether you could actually shoot a live person was another question. 

Concentrating back on Tommy’s arm, the blood had begun to crust around the cut, but began to bleed slightly as you started to put pressure on it. He hissed slightly at the contact. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled slightly as you continued to work. “Why’d you let this go so long? You know better—“

He scoffed, “Do I?” 

“I would have assumed so,” you answered honestly. Someone with the military backing he had, he must have known the dangers of infections and exposed wounds. Though as you worked you began to realize it wasn’t as bad as it’d originally appeared. 

He took another swig of the bottle before handing it to you. 

“No thanks,” you answered, not in the mood to drink tonight. 

“For the cut,” he said as he shook his head, a breath of amusement exhaling from his nose at your reaction. 

Sterilizing, you realized, giving yourself a duh as you took the bottle and carefully poured some on his skin. He hissed again as blood started to flow once more before you applied proper pressure. You sat there silently for a moment, just holding the rag to his arm, when you noticed him looking down at the cut sleeve, running his thumb across the red stain. 

“So much blood for such a small cut,” he said softly, mostly to himself. 

Your brow creased as you lifted the rag to look at his arm. The cut itself wasn’t that deep, but it was pretty substantial, at least in your opinion. Maybe comparatively it wasn’t as bad as some of the other injuries he’d had in his lifetime. The thought made your heart clench as your eyes began to notice other scars along his arm and uncovered chest. 

You kept going back to a particularly gnarly scar just above his chest as you lifted his arm to wrap the bandage. 

“Did you get this fighting?” you finally asked, turning your attention back to the cut, your curiosity getting the better of you. 

He grabbed the bottle and took another drink. “‘Cause that’s all we do, eh? Drink, fight, and fuck—“

“I didn’t say that,” you interrupted, your voice strong in defense. 

You wouldn’t mention how his brother was just talking about whores. Or how they were both currently drunk. Or how the last time you’d seen him in this kitchen he’d been bloody and bruised from an altercation. 

Probably wouldn’t be helpful at this point. 

Instead, you tried to appeal to the logical side of him. “Just with the Digbeth expansion, I’d imagine that can be pretty dangerous.”

You finished the tie of the bandage as you looked back up at him. He was already watching you, his eyes red and glassy, causing the already bright blues to appear more translucent against the candlelight. You noticed how much darker the skin under his eyes were, and couldn’t help but wonder when the last time he slept was. 

“You’ve got some on your hands,” he pointed, gently wrapping his hand around your own. He lifted it, revealing the deep red smear on the pad of your hand. He used his good hand to squeeze out the rag and began to clean your palm. 

“It’s just blood,” you shrugged, trying not to let on that your heart was racing at the intimacy. “Blood doesn’t scare me, Tommy.”

He looked between your eyes. For a moment you felt like he’d suddenly become sober as he lifted his good hand and gently ran his thumb against your cheek. “It should.”

You swallowed. “Tommy, I—“

“You don’t belong here.” 

At his words, you felt your back straighten in defense, not realizing how close you’d been moving in toward him. Your heart began to race even faster as you tried to decipher what exactly he meant. 

Part of you knew he must have been talking more in general terms. That you deserved something more than Birmingham in a gambling den with gangsters. 

But there was something in the rawness of his words. Something that made you feel like he knew what such a phrase could actually mean to you — that you didn’t belong here, in this time or this place. 

“I don’t,” you answered honestly, not helping the sincerity of the words falling from your lips. “But here I am. And here is where I want to be.”

Tommy’s expression remained unreadable as his eyes flicked between both of yours, looking for the lie. His adam’s apple bobbed, then he whispered, “With me?”

The sound of soft whimpering caused you both to jump, turning back toward the kitchen doorway. Katie stopped at the archway, dragging a blanket as she used the end of it to wipe her face. 

You rose from your seat to collect the little one — this wasn’t the first time she’d woken up crying since her mother’s passing. 

Katie nuzzled her face into your shoulder as you turned back toward the kitchen. Tommy was already standing, putting his arm back in his shirt and grabbing his coat and gun, still slightly uneasy in his footing as he headed for the door. 

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“Tommy—” you called as the door shut behind him. 

—-

The next morning was hectic as everyone prepared for the funeral. You didn’t see the brothers again until that afternoon, John’s eyes red despite the stone expression he kept on his face as everyone offered their condolences. 

You felt Tommy’s eyes on you as you both navigated through the house, stealing a few glances at him yourself when he wasn’t looking. Neither of you spoke to the other though, and you were beginning to wonder if he even remembered your conversation the previous night. But each time you found yourself thinking in that direction, you shook your head to remind yourself of the bigger picture of the day.

Polly explained that they would start at Charlie’s Yard and walk the body through the town Martha had grown up in before reaching the graveyard. There, the priest would perform the ceremony. Apparently most of Martha’s family was already gone, so the guests would be mostly John’s family and her friends. After the burial, the Shelbys would return to Charlie’s Yard to burn the caravan filled with Martha’s mementos and pictures. Apparently this was more of a Shelby family tradition, something you were greatly interested in learning more about, at a different time of course. 

The preparations reminded you of your recent conversation with Polly over spirits. It got you thinking about the tea Madam Despoina had given you again. 

Excusing yourself to get ready for the events of the day, you left the Shelby house to change in your lodgings, doing your best to find something black. The only thing you didn’t have was a hat, but Ada had promised to bring you an extra. Your eyes kept shifting over to your dresser drawer. 

It’d been almost a month since you’d received the gift. You’d spent months desperate for an answer as to how or why you were here. And it seemed that just as you were given some sort of clue, some key to unlock something — you were rejecting it. You’d gotten caught up in the found family of the Shelbys and the unshakable pull you felt from Tommy. This new life you’d created for yourself had become a distraction and disassociation of the still very real mystery of your circumstance. 

Your eyes moved again to the dresser as you looked over yourself in the mirror. Could the answer be in that cup of tea? 

A knock at the door caused you to jump, your heart racing at being caught with your own thoughts. Half expecting Ada with the hat she’d promised, you were surprised when it was Tommy instead who stood on the other side of your door. 

He had his hands shoved in his pockets as he stood there uncomfortably. He cleared his throat, “Ada wasn’t sure if you’d know where Charlie’s Yard was, so I offered to come collect you.” 

“Oh,” you replied, wondering if it was true. “I just need to get my coat then—“

“Tommy? What are you doin’ here?” You heard another man’s voice down the hall as you turned back around to poke your head through the still open door of your apartment. 

Benji approached the doorway in a button-up and small bouquet of flowers in his hands. 

Tommy’s brow creased as he appraised the man, then looked between the flowers and you before his face hardened and back straightened. 

“What are you doing here, Benji?” 

He smirked, “We were going to get dinner, remember?” 

You hadn’t. The man hadn’t even been a speck on your mind the past week. 

“I’m sorry, Benji,” you began, your voice sincere, “um— Martha passed away this week. We’re on our way to the funeral, I can’t see you tonight.” 

“Oh,” he turned to Tommy. “Right I heard about that. I’m sorry for your loss, mate.” 

Tommy shook his head. “Save your condolences for my brother, Hancock. We’re going to be late, if you’ll excuse us.” 

Without waiting for you, Tommy began to walk down the hallway toward the exit. You rushed to grab your coat and lock your door behind you before apologizing again to Benji and hustling after Tommy. 

“Suppose that answers my question,” was the first thing out of Tommy’s mouth when you finally caught up with him, still looking straight ahead as you both walked down the lane. 

“What?”

“Last night—“

“You remember last night?” you asked surprised. He had been really drunk 

He scoffed, still not slowing in his walk nor giving you a glance. “I remember a lot of things. Including you telling me you weren’t interested in Hancock.”

“I wasn’t,” you answered, trying to catch your breath. 

He scoffed again and your eyes narrowed. 

“But then nearly a month went by after you ghosted me so I thought what the hell, give the guy a chance.” 

“Ghost?—“

“You told me to stay away—“

“And staying away means being courted by a Peaky Blinder, ya?”

“Courted?” Your brow creased at the use of phrase. “It was going to be one date — just a dinner, we weren’t getting married.”

He rounded on you, pulling you abruptly into an alcove off the sidewalk until your back was against the brick. His eyes bore down at you as the fire returned to his eyes. “Do you know what happens to people who cross me?” He started, his voice lower than it had been moments before. “They lose their ears, their tongues, their eyes. You have no fuckin’ idea who you’re talking to.” 

“I do,” you said, your voice just as strong despite the threatening tone of Tommy hovering above you. His eyes simmered for a moment. “You think you’re a monster. Maybe you are— maybe you have to be, maybe you don’t. I don’t care. I said I was going to help you. So shove off with the chauvinistic ‘I’m pushing you away to keep you safe’ bullshit — I don’t want it.”

You surprised yourself at your own words, though you tried to keep your face from showing it. Deep down, you’d always believed what you said, but you hadn’t known exactly to what extent. Did you not care if Tommy Shelby was a monster? No. And you couldn’t shake why.

“You’ll regret it,” he said, his eyes icy once again with the same hint of desperation you saw the night before. 

“Not as much as you’ll regret going from ‘I need you’ to ‘stay away from me’—“

He shook his head, finally taking a step back from you. “I was being selfish—“

“Well then be selfish!” You took a step back toward him. “Because dammit, Tommy, I need you too!”

He pulled your body into his so quickly you nearly pushed him away. But your body immediately reacted to the feel of his lips against yours as you pulled yourself in closer, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

You broke away first, the whistling of pedestrians on the sidewalk making you remember you weren’t as concealed in this alcove as you thought. Though Tommy didn’t seem to care, his eyes still focused on you as you caught your breath. 

“Don’t think just kissing me absolves you from giving a proper explanation for your actions,” you tried to say as serious as you could muster between breaths. 

You were still mad at him. He’d put you through a roller coaster of unnecessary emotions the last few weeks. For him to get jealous at the prospects of you moving on? There was something more, you could feel it. And there was no way you were letting him get away with not explaining himself fully before you felt you could open back up to him again. 

The corner of his mouth rose in amusement, “Come to the races with me when I return.”

“What?” your brow creased, though the corner of your mouth tugged upward at the prospects of what sounded like a date (you really were delusional when it came to this man). 

“I want to take you to the races. Join me?”

You shook your head, “Is this the Tommy Shelby version of an olive branch?”

He smirked, “Maybe. We can talk more then.”

“Deal,” you answered, pulling his smirk into a genuine smile as you both turned back to continue down the sidewalk. 

—-

The funeral was beautiful. Honestly, you hadn’t any idea what to expect when Polly talked about the arrangements. But the words, the songs, and the beauty of the traditions had you in tears. John held his children during the entire procession, and gave a lovely send off before lighting the fire. 

Despite the grief you were feeling for the family, your brain hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the tea in your bedroom. Tommy had informed you that they’d be wrapping up Digbeth soon, returning properly in a few weeks.

That night was the first night you’d been back in your own apartment. The first thing you did was open your dresser drawer and remove the box. 

You left it on your counter top as you started the fireplace, then the kettle. As you reached for the tea cup, you wondered if it was smart to be alone while you did this. You were, after all, still about sixty percent sure that the old tea was just going to give you either a stomach ache or seizure. But, you guessed that was better than the ninety-nine percent that you’d been at upon first receiving. 

You gently removed the leaves and vial of water, following the instructions from Madam Despoina as you made your cup. 

Holding the warm tea in your hands, you made the last minute decision to sit on the floor — reasoning that if you collapsed or something, at least you wouldn’t have as far to go. 

You settled on the rug, inhaled deeply, closed your eyes, then brought the edge of the cup to your mouth. 

You could feel the hot water run through your throat, then down to your chest before the warmth began to spread through your arms and hands, down to your stomach, then legs, then toes. 

With your eyes still closed, you sat for a moment, waiting for something to happen. 

When nothing did, you took another sip. Again, nothing happened. 

Sighing, you sent a small thank you to whomever was listening that you at least didn’t go into any kind of shock, then opened your eyes. 

“Hello, darling.” 

>> next chapter &lt;;< chapter masterlist

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[winchesterszvonecek]

You’re All I Want - [ Crowley ]

Prompt: “You came?” “You called.”

Word Count: 1201

Warnings: female!reader, human blood!crowley, angst (if you squint), fluff

Masterlist | Crowley Masterlist

For the entire elevator ride your stomach was in knots. You didn’t know what to expect. You didn’t know what was going to go down when you crossed the threshold into that room and if you were being honest, you didn’t know whether you even could step into it.

You never thought you’d hear from Crowley again, not after what you told him. How you shot him down. How you hurt him. The look on his face that day in the dungeon was one you’d never forget but how could you keep your promise when he was still a demon?

How could he think you’d still agree to be with him when the chances of him becoming human had dropped from one hundred percent to zero in a matter of seconds?

Of course you were happy Sam wouldn’t die from completing the trials but it had gone and messed everything up for you and your future, which is exactly why you weren’t sure you could face opening that hotel room door once you’d approached it.

But Crowley seemed… out of it, to put it lightly, when he called you and no matter what he may be, or may still be rather, you loved him and therefore you simply couldn’t bring yourself to walk away.

Sucking in a deep breath, you slid the card you’d swiped from the maids cart on your way up into the slot, the door beeping within seconds and when that lock flicked open, you almost jumped out of your skin. Your hand grabbed the handle before your mind could tell it to and when you pushed open that door, it took every ounce of strength you had in you to step inside.

And when you did, your heart almost dropped at what greeted you.

Bodies lay scattered about the place, their skin grey and pallid, as though they’d been drained of their blood which was only confirmed when you spotted the syringe full of it on the table. One body was different from the others, it was a woman, clad in a black dress and knee high boots, with an angel blade sticking out of her stomach.

But your eyes didn’t linger long on the mess around you before you spotted him. Crowley. Sitting slumped against the wall in nothing but a pair of silk, black pyjamas and looking like he’d been through the ringer. He was pale, sweaty, with dark circles underneath his eyes and if you didn’t know better you’d have thought he was a junkie.

“What happened to you?” You whispered to yourself, the door clicking softly shut behind you as Crowley’s head slowly lifted, having heard your voice no matter how low it had been.

“You came?” Crowley all but choked out, surprised to see you as he was unsure whether or not you’d gotten the mess that was the voicemail he’d left you.

“You called.” You replied, smiling warmly as you moved slowly across the room and kneeled down in front of him. Your hand landed on the side of his face, your thumb wiping away a speck of blood that sat upon his scruffy stubble. “I told you that day, Crowley… I’ll always be here for you.”

“But you just can’t love me.” Crowley finished, repeating what you’d said to him that day you broke his fragile heart.

“I do love you.” You said softly, your own heart breaking as you couldn’t stand seeing him like this. “But I can’t be with you.”

“Right, because I'm a demon.” Crowley scoffed out, raising his own hand to pull yours off his face, throwing it back at you as he clumsily got to his feet. He walked away from you, keeping his back to the room you occupied as he stared out of the window. “I never should have called you.”

“But you did.” You replied, taking one step in his direction. “And I’m here… So let me help you.”

“Help me?” Crowley huffed out, an emotionless chuckle leaving his slightly cracked lips. “Why on earth would I want your help?”

“Because you asked for it.” You exhaled, closing the gap between the two of you and clasping his shoulder, turning him to face you, which was surprisingly easy but Crowley wasn’t exactly in a place to stop you. “And because I know you want it.”

You softened your voice as you cupped his face again, gently brushing your thumb over the dips beneath his eyes. His glistening, saddened eyes that broke your heart to even look into as you knew you were the cause of the pain that was behind them.

“I know I hurt you.” You began, Crowley scoffing lightly as hurt was an understatement. He dropped his gaze from you, only for you to lift it back up to eye level almost immediately. “And I’m sorry.”

“You’re all I want.” Crowley whispered, feeling pathetic and embarrassed. But frankly he didn’t overly care how he was coming across as it wasn’t anything but the truth.

Even before the trials he’d always wanted you, deep down from the moment he met you and all it took for him to realise that, to confess that to you was one syringe full of human blood. And by the fourth he was certain.

He loved you.

He’d been ready to turn human if it meant being with you, or rather, if it meant you wanted to be with him. But as always, the Winchesters went and fucked everything up, meaning not only was he now a blood junkie who’d abandoned his throne, but he was without you too and he didn’t know just how long he could keep things up.

“I know.” You nodded, your voice cracking as your free hand took his, easily lifting it between you to place a soft, loving kiss against his knuckles. “I can see now that you’re different. That whatever happened to you in that church changed you and if you’ll give me the chance, I’d like to make good on that promise I made you.”

“But I’m not human.” Crowley pointed out, his brows dipping a little and he’d never felt his heart beat so fast. Hell, he hadn’t even thought it was possible for it to do so.

“I don’t care.” You said through a quiet sob, shaking your head as though you were trying to rid yourself of the emotions clouding your insides. “I love you and I want to be with you whether you’re a demon or not.”

“You have no idea how badly I’ve wished to hear those words.” Crowley breathed out, pulling his hand from yours to place it on the side of your neck, his other joining it swiftly and before you knew it his lips were on yours.

And you wouldn’t be lying, it felt strangely wrong to be kissing a demon, the King of Hell at that, but you didn’t care. It felt more right to you than anything ever did and if being with Crowley damned your soul to hell then so be it. He ruled the place after all, which meant no matter what the future held for you, you’d get to spend eternity with him one way or another.

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[gretavangroupie]

Drift

Word count: 7.2k+

Pairing: Josh x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Smut, Fluff.

 “Two percent?!” you screech.

Looking down at the cellphone in your lap as you follow the winding directions you see the red battery icon and your anxiety starts to bloom. Your signal has been spotty at best and the constant in and out of service has drained your battery quicker than anticipated. With another hour to go you are starting to panic. Of course your phone would die while you are somewhere in the mountains. 

It started snowing last night, and unfortunately has stuck around. So when the snow didn’t stop this morning you knew you would be in for an eventful drive home. Six inches turned into ten very quickly, and the roads were becoming slick. Your little sedan was not equipped for this type of weather, something you were pretty sure you wouldn't experience in Nashville but boy were you wrong.  

The two lane road you found yourself upon currently was slightly off the beaten path, on the side of a mountain. Houses sprinkled in here and there, with their long winding driveways, painted white in a wintery scene. In different circumstances you would think it was quite beautiful, but right now, your white knuckle grip on the steering wheel has made you feel differently. Your windshield wipers are going full blast, further obscuring your view of the winding back road. You glance down to your phone to check the directions.

Four miles until you turn right.

As you read the directions out, you're met with a loud thump as your car moves 60 miles per hour over a perfectly placed pot hole, jostling you, your car and its contents.

“Shit!” you cry out as your head bounced back on the headrest.

Reaching down to pick your phone up off the floor, you type in your password and unlock it. But that was all it took. That measly 1% was gone in an instant. Panic swept over you, all you knew was that you had 4, maybe 3 miles now until you turn right. But what about the rest of the directions?

Okay, next shopping center I see, I will stop and grab a car charger. 

The snow is falling quickly, and the sun is setting, leaving you to only rely on the light from your hi beams. You swallow thickly as you squint to see the lines on the road. You haven’t seen a car pass you in what feels like forever. 

I knew it was a bad idea to get off the interstate.

You saw it, but it was too late. You couldn't react in time. If you slammed on your breaks your car would go sliding into the ravine. So you hit it. Whatever it was. It looked like a crow bar or some type of bent metal. That's what it sounded like too. As your car met with the object you heard a loud popping and you knew your night just got ten times worse. Your car began to limp further down the road with a metallic clatter against the wet asphalt.

You see a driveway in the distance and decide to push forward to pull into it, against your better judgment. As you pull off into the entry of the long driveway you put your car in park and immediately get out and see that your front left tire is completely blown out. The combination of the pothole earlier, and whatever that metal thing was, has left you stranded in the drift of someone's driveway. 

You get back into your car and grab your phone, realizing that it died 15 minutes ago. As you sit back into the seat you rub your hands over your face and wonder what you did to deserve this. You turn on your hazard lights and pray that someone drives by and stops. But you know the likelihood of that happening is slim. Anyone with half a brain knows better than to drive in conditions like this. 

As you wrack your brain for what to do, it occurs to you. 

Maybe, there is someone in the house at the end of this driveway…

You know that this area that you are in is home to most peoples vacation homes, tucked deep into the side of the mountain. The chances of someone being here are small, but not zero. You grab your coat out of the backseat and put it on. From the looks of it, this driveway is fairly long and the snow is piled high and growing by the minute.

Turning off your car, you grab your dead cell phone, and your keys and get out. Now that the sun had set it was dark, and the wind was cutting like a thousand knives. You lock your useless car and shove your keys into your coat pocket. You pull your hood over your head and thank yourself for choosing a pair of sensible boots this morning. 

As you walk the long snowy, gravel lined driveway you think to yourself that it must be a mile long, and uphill at that. Just as you think it could stretch on for another mile, you see a soft yellow light ahead of you. A light is on in the house. 

Oh my god, someone is here.

Knowing that the house more than likely is warm, has your feet picking up their pace and landing you at the edge of the trees, opening up to the clearing where the occupied house sits. There is one car parked outside of the house and you can hear the soft vibrations of noise from inside. The house is large, old, and wooden. You can see that there are two stories and the ivy growing on the side of the house gives it a certain type of rustic charm you don't see too often anymore. There is smoke filling the air, coming from a chimney, and huge glass windows adorn the entire front of the house.  

As you step up to the porch you brush the snow off of your coat and hood, pulling your frozen hand out of your pocket and nervously knocking on the black wooden front door.  

The large glass window set into the door has you holding your breath as you see a figure approaching from across the house. Pulling a hoodie over their torso, they peer through the glass to see you standing there and run their hand over their face, as the door opens.

“How did you get this address?” he says. 

You nervously stare back at him, “I– I didn’t…my car –I hit something. My phone is dead– I…” you stammer.

“You hit something?!” he asks, shocked.

“Yeah, it was dark, and the snow – I couldn't see. I think it was a crowbar or something.” you reply anxiously.

“Are you okay?” he asks, looking concerned.  

“Yeah, I am okay. I am so sorry to bother you. My front tire blew out and my phone is dead so I can’t call Triple A…Do you think I could borrow your phone or, could you call, or…” you stammer.

“Yes, absolutely, come in. It’s freezing.” he says, opening the door. You can feel the warmth radiating from inside and graciously step into the house.

“Do you have your phone? I can plug it in?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah!” you say fumbling into your coat pocket and handing him the freezing device. 

“My god, your hands are freezing! Here, come sit here by the fire.” he says, leading you from the front door, and into the open, spacious living room. He points to the couch next to the fireplace and says he will be right back. He runs up the wooden staircase and you can hear some banging around upstairs before you see him quickly flying back down the stairs, waving a phone charger in his hand. 

You look around the house, and are intrigued by the charm of the renovated old home. The cobblestone fireplace, the wooden beams adorning nearly every inch of the walls and ceiling. It’s a split level home but it has an open floor plan, granting you visual access to almost every part of the house. Small sets of stairs lead to various rooms and loft areas. It’s a very uniquely designed floor plan, and you are interested in the history of the home. Admiring its charming old quality, your eyes flit around but stop when you see the massive windows. You are instantly taken with the wall of windows providing a picturesque view of the snowy scene outside. It’s very charming and you find yourself relaxing into the cozy couch by the fireplace, staring into the snowy sight. 

“Better?” he asks, walking down the steps into the living room, before sitting in a chair across from you. 

Realizing how you must look, you shoot straight up and fix your posture. “Oh, yeah. Yes. Thank you. This is a really cool home.” you say nervously fidgeting with your coat. 

“Oh, thank you, I moved in about two years ago now. Still fixing things up here and there. Trying to bring it up to date without losing its rustic qualities.” he smiles. “I’m Josh by the way.”

“Oh, god, how rude I didn't even ask your name before I made myself at home on your couch.” you laugh. You introduce yourself and shake his hand, which is much warmer than yours and oddly soft. The room is dimly lit by the floor lamp in the corner and the small fixtures illuminating the bookcase in the upstairs loft. The fireplace is glowing brightly behind you. You can see the flames dancing along rhythmically in his eyes. Honey brown and glossy, he must have been drinking before you interrupted his night. 

“When my phone turns on, I will call Triple A and I’ll be out of your hair in no time.” you say biting your lip.

“What in the world are you doing driving in this weather?” he asks.

“I was driving back home. I went to visit my parents for the week. The traffic on 40 was so bad, I decided to take a back road thinking it would be faster, but then I got lost and my phone was dying, then this happened... It was not a good choice in hindsight.” you laugh. 

“You’re brave. I’m from Michigan and even I wouldn’t be driving right now.” he smiles, his cheeks scrunching tightly beneath his eyes.

He is sort of…cute. Maybe in different circumstances…

“I know, it’s not too much farther…I think? I feel really bad that I interrupted your night.” you say pointing to the movie that is paused on the TV screen.

“Ahh, don’t worry about it. I’ve seen it a thousand times.” he says, waving his hand in the air.

You focus on it, and recognize the character on the screen. “Is– Is it A Clockwork Orange?” you ask, suspiciously.

He seems taken aback as he replies, “Yeah. Yeah it is…” a twinkle of intrigue in his eyes.

“Cool, that's a great film.” you say, politely.

A small smile forms at the side of his mouth, “Yeah, it really is...” he looks like he wants to say more, but stops himself.

Why do I feel like I am supposed to be here?

“Well, I should go see if my phone is turned on. I have bothered you long enough.” you say standing up, and walking up the small set of stairs into the kitchen. 

“It’s on the kitchen counter by the fridge.” he calls out to you.

As you grab your phone you see it has come back to life, and you quickly dial out the number for Triple A. You lean over onto the counter as the call rings out. You stare out the windows at the snow still continuing to fall and explain to the man on the phone exactly what happened.

“What do you mean…But I don’t…. I can’t get anywhere…. Okay. Alright. Yeah, thank you.” you end the call staring at the screen dumbfounded. 

As you stand there silently trying to figure out your next move you see Josh walk into the kitchen to join you at the counter. He leans his hip onto the countertop, facing you.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, his curly brown hair falling onto his forehead. 

You turn to face him and with a blank face you set your phone back on the counter. “No. Apparently they can’t send any trucks out until the morning after they plow the roads. The snow is too bad on the mountain?” you question.

He shakes his head, “Yeah, I was afraid of that. Listen, I don’t want to sound forward but, you are welcome to stay here until the morning. I have a guest room, and anything you might need.” he says kindly.

“Oh wow, that is so nice of you to offer, but I really feel like I am intruding. I mean, you don’t even know me.” you say. 

“The alternative is what? You sleeping in your freezing cold car? No. I know we don’t know each other, but I am a human being and from one human being to another, please. Stay. You can leave as soon as you’d like in the morning. They should have the roads plowed by 7:00.” he says, scratching the back of his neck. 

You stop for a second to think, but something is pulling you to stay. 

“Are you positive that I am in no way putting you out?” you ask, hesitantly.

“Absolutely not. Glad to lend a helping hand. I mean, you must be alright if you knew I was watching A Clockwork Orange.” he smiles.

You nod your head, agreeing and his face lights up with a smile.

“Should we… finish it?” he asks. You bite your lip and stare at him. You know his brown puppy dog eyes have never been rejected in his life. You can feel it.

“Okay, I guess we could. But can I use the bathroom first?” you ask.

“Oh, of course. If you step through that guest room, it’s in there.” he says pointing across the kitchen. 

“Thank you.” you say nervously.

As you make your way into the bathroom, you quickly relieve yourself and wash your hands, noticing the eclectic artwork hanging on the walls in the bedroom. He has very interesting taste in furniture and decor, but it kind of fits the feel of the house perfectly.  As you make your way back into the living room you step down into the warm space, and see Josh waiting for your return sitting on one side of the couch with his feet crossed on the coffee table. 

“All good?” he asks, he has noticed you have removed your coat and grants you a smile.

“Yeah, thanks. I am sure you didn’t see your night going this way.” you laugh as you sit down on the opposite side of the couch. But you feel it. A magnetism to be closer to him. 

What? You don't even know him…

“You’re right I didn’t but I’m kinda glad it did.” he smirks with sultry eyes.

Maybe he feels it too…

You feel your cheeks blush as he unpauses the movie, and it roars back to life. 

You spend the next hour talking instead of watching the movie, discussing the theories surrounding it and even further discussing Stanley Kubrick. You have a lot of the same opinions on his work and career. Josh is super knowledgeable about film making and even tells you how it was always his dream to be a filmmaker himself. Your heart warms at the fact that he is passionate enough to tell a complete stranger about his dreams.

You talk until the fire in the fireplace dies down and you find yourselves sitting in a dark living room, lit only by the small lamps on the book case. 

He looks over at you and stares for a second, “Let me go grab you some clothes for you to sleep in, I'll be right back.” 

“Oh, that's not necessary, I will be okay, really. I can just sleep in this.” you reply.

“Please, I insist.” he says standing and walking up the stairs, his bare feet padding up the wooden steps. 

You stand awkwardly in the living room, waiting for him to return. You walk over to the windows and stare out at the snow, still falling. You walk back into the living room, and notice the bookcase on the second floor loft. You look around to see if Josh is coming back and when you see that he isn't, you make your way up the stairs and over to the full book shelves. 

Browsing the titles you see a lot of classics. You run your index finger over the spines, stopping on names you recognize. The leather bound books are beautifully displayed and lit with tiny sconces on the front of the shelves. Bending down to look at the next row of books, you are surprised when you notice Josh standing next to you.

“Well, what do you think? Any good ones?” he laughs.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn't mean to pry. Well, actually. Maybe I did.” you smile. “But yeah, all the classics, you are well read.”

“I spend a lot of time traveling, and books are a great way to pass the time. I pull a lot of inspiration from these old books.” he says. He reaches a stack of clothes out to you and your hands brush his. You both recoil and look at each other like you have been zapped by lightning.

Surely he felt that?

You grab the stack from him, and look down. “Thank you.”

He bites his cheek like he wants to say something, but again, doesn’t.

“Come on, I will show you the guest room and get you some blankets.” he says, gesturing for you to follow him.

After a few minutes he has retrieved a few blankets for you and provided you with an extra phone charger, handing them to you with a soft smile. In the dim lighting you can see the dimple that forms in his cheek, perfectly situated above a tiny scar.

“I will turn the heat on a little warmer, sometimes it gets cold because of the windows. If you need me, I’m at the top of the stairs to the left.” he smiles, and shuts the door behind him.

You sit on the bed examining the pile of clothes he has so graciously brought you. A long sleeve white tee shirt and a pair of well loved sweatpants. You peel your clothes off of you, and slide into the much comfier attire. Maybe he was right, this will be warmer.

You plug your phone into the charger and spread the extra blanket over the twin size bed. You flip the switch on the wall and climb into the bed. You lay there hearing the wind whip against the old house. You think about your evening and how it went so completely different than you imagined. You are sleeping in a stranger's bed? The room is quiet except for the sound of the snow falling on the windows. You drift off to sleep and think of the beautiful curly haired man sleeping right above you. 

You wake yourself up shivering. Your eyes open and you're met with total darkness. The light from the alarm clock long gone, the air growing colder by the second. The distant whirr of the refrigerator reduced to nothing. The power must have gone out. Your feet are frozen, hands too. Trying to pull the blankets closer to yourself you realize they are already as close as they could be. Your body shivers under the sheets. If only you had some socks you could make it through until morning. 

You lay there for a few minutes trying to rub your feet together to create some warmth, but nothing was working. Your brain remembers the fire in the living room. It had been a few hours since it had gone out, but surely the hearth was still warm. You grab your phone, and turn on the flashlight, illuminating the floor below you. You quietly twist the door knob on the old door, and tiptoe through the hallway into the kitchen. Looking around, you see that the power is definitely out. Walking quietly down the small set of steps you find a place on the hearth of the fireplace, only to find that it too, has grown cold.

Rubbing your freezing cold hands together you think back to what Josh told you. ‘If you need anything, I’m up the stairs to the left.’ You think about going up there to ask for socks but quickly talk yourself out of it. As you look out the large windows it seems the snow has finally stopped falling, but it has accumulated quite a few inches. More than likely making the power fail. 

You scroll through your phone on the couch, but your service is weak. You can't get anything to load. Tiredness begins to creep in on you as the stinging stiffness in your hands and feel remind you of their temperature. 

Okay, just do it. Just go ask for some socks. Tell him the power is out. He will understand. 

Setting your phone on the coffee table you swallow deeply and quietly make your way up to cold wooden stairs. When you reach the landing you turn to his door, which isn’t a door at all. There is no door, it’s just an open archway. The sight in front of you nearly takes your breath away. He has a fireplace up here, and it is still glowing with embers. Your legs carry you over to it where you place your hands and are greeted with the feeling of warmth. 

Inadvertently you release a sigh as you feel your extremities warming. You hear the bed rustle behind you and you flip around, not even fully realizing that you are standing in this mans bedroom. He leans up on his arm, and you can see his eyes slowly opening as he sees you standing in front of his bed. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks, his voice light and groggy. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I just– the power went out, and I was so cold I was just going to come ask you for some socks…” you stammer. “But then I saw the fireplace from the doorway, and my legs carried me here. I thought maybe if I could just warm my hands and feet I would be okay.”

He peels the blanket off of himself and stands up pushing his hair out of his face. His body clad in only his black boxer briefs, showcases his chiseled torso, glowing in the fireplace embers. You have to peel your eyes off of him as he walks across the room. 

He returns a minute later with a pair of wool camping socks, “For your feet.” he says, handing you the socks. You reach out to grab them and his hand brushes yours sending that same electricity through your system.

“My god, you are freezing!” he says. How long have you been awake and cold?” 

Bending down to pull the socks over your feet you answer, “I’m not sure, maybe twenty minutes?” 

“Why didn’t you come up here sooner?” he asks, grabbing your cold hands in his warm ones, rubbing them together to attempt to warm them. 

“Well, you were already nice enough to let me stay here, I didn't want to wake you up too.” you say bashfully. Your eyes travel down his body and back up. “Aren’t you… cold?” you ask.

“No, I’m a warm sleeper.” he answers.

“Ah, that sounds nice.” slips from your mouth before you even can register what you’ve said.

You clamp your hand over your mouth in regret and he smiles, a giggle almost leaving his chest.

“You know, I figured I would lose power. I’m not surprised. How about this… why don’t you stay up here? I will throw another log on, and we can both be warm.” he says, with innocent eyes. 

Your eyes travel to the bed behind him, plush with white fluffy duvets and blankets. 

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as he goes to speak again, “It’s a big bed. We won’t even touch. I just won’t be able to sleep if I know you’re down there shivering.”

He bends over and tosses another log onto the embers, poking it with the fire poker until it lights. Feeling the warmth on your back, you look back to him. “Okay, but only because I am freezing.”

“I know. I’ll get you warm, don’t worry.” he smiles. 

He walks over to the other side of his bed, pulling back the blankets and gesturing for you to slide in. He pulls the thick blankets over you and nods his head as he tucks you in.

Wow. 

You can’t even think of a time when someone took care of you like this. It’s kind of sweet.

He walks back to the fireplace and prods the log making sure it won’t roll off, and closes the mesh divider. 

He makes his way back to the bed, returning to the warm spot he left only minutes ago, sighing in relief as warmth washes over him as he pulls the duvet back over his now slightly chilled body. 

He rolls to face you, though you are on your back, eyes cast to the ceiling. You can feel his eyes staring into the side of your head, so you turn your head to look at him. The room is dark, the only light coming from the small flames in front of the bed. The orange hues dance across his cheeks, highlighting his cheekbones, and producing a sparkle in his tired eyes. 

“Do you feel it?” he whispers.

You feel your heart leap in your chest as your breath catches in your throat, “What?” you ask, nervously.

“The fire, do you feel it?” he asks.

God…

“Oh, yeah, I do. Thank you… for letting me stay up here. This is beyond…hospitable.” you reply, turning your body to face him in the bed. 

“Are you warming up?” he asks, the log crackling in the fireplace. 

“Yes, I’m starting to. I think it will take longer for my hands and feet.” you giggle.

“Here,” he says, reaching across, grabbing your hands and clasping them tightly between his. “Mine are plenty warm.”

You feel the electricity traveling through your body, and from the look on his face, he feels it too. A light hum leaves your chest as the warmth of his hands works quickly to heat your own.

“Does that feel good?” he asks, you are positive that he can see the pink blush creeping across your cheeks as you stifle a nervous smile.

“Yeah, it does. You’re lucky you’re so hot.” the words falling from your lips before you can stop them, something that seems to be happening far too often. 

A smirk flashes across his face as you stumble trying to correct yourself. “Warm, I meant warm. Not hot. I’m sorry... But, not that you aren’t hot, you are. Really. But–I meant…I’m not making this better am I...” you sigh.

“No, you know what? I think it’s perfect.” he says, his hand gripping yours, thumbs gently exploring the valleys and peaks of your knuckles.

“You do?” you ask quietly.

“Mhmm…” he hums. The rumble from his chest sends a shiver through your body.

You can feel your body temperature rising, but it isn’t from the fire. Josh’s hand releases yours and your eyes flick down as he pulls them away. He notices your furrowed brow and looks up at you.

“I told you we don’t have to touch.” he smirks, rolling to his back, positioning his hands behind his head. You roll back to your back, mimicking his actions. 

You both lay there in silence for a few minutes. You can hear the wind whipping against the windows, the thought causing you to shiver. You let your eyes travel the length of his body under the sheets and you bite your cheek as you meet his bare chest moving slowly up and down with each breath.

Pursing your lips together, you let your foot wander across the bed until it makes contact with his. You let the tips of your toes trace the curve of his ankle, as you watch a small smile play upon his lips. 

He turns his foot to meet yours, rubbing slowly over the top of yours as he twists his body to face you again. He places his hand next to his face on the pillow, pushing down the fluffy feather filled fabric, “So you do want to touch?”

You turn your body to face him, letting your foot slide up his leg, feeling the soft hairs tickle you. “Maybe a little…” you answer.

“You feel it too, don't you.” he asks. But this time, you know he isn’t talking about the fire. 

“Feel what, Josh…” you say in a playfully sultry tone.

“This.” He grabs your arm and pulls you as close to him as possible, his bare chest pressed directly to yours. 

Your legs intertwine with his as his hand cradles the back of your neck. Yours rests on his warm chest. He really wasn’t kidding about the warm sleeper thing.

Your fingertip traces the line of his collarbone as your eyes flick up to his, “Yes…I feel it too.”

You feel his breath on your forehead and you sink into him, as his body heat warms you quickly.

Feeling bold, you press a barely there kiss to his throat, stretched taut over your head. You feel his Adam's apple bob against your lips as your lips connect with his skin. His legs twitch against yours and you feel a warmth creeping down your center.

A closed mouth groan rumbles through his chest as his grip on you tightens. You have never made the first move, but tonight wasn’t a normal night. He was a stranger. A beautiful, warm stranger and you had already taken the first chance by knocking on his door.

You feel him hardening against your stomach and you smile up at him. His eyes have grown dark with want and you know yours probably look the same. “Josh…” you ask.

“Hmmm…” he hums into the top of your head.

“You know you could have just started a fire downstairs… I could have slept on the couch.” you say.

“You’re right. I could have, but I knew both of us weren’t going to fit on the couch.” he replies, voice soft as velvet.

“So you did want me in your bed…” you tease.

“From the second you asked me if I was watching A Clockwork Orange…” he says.

You crane your neck, lips furiously in search of his. You would be lying if you said you didn't catch yourself staring at his plush pink lips all night as he spoke of his passions. Thought about how they would feel, how they would taste. You thought about kissing the tiny scar you noticed on his cheek in the guest room. But nothing you imagined came close to how he actually felt. How he actually tasted. His tongue slides across your bottom lip as it begs for entry into your mouth. Slightly parting your lips he slides in, his tongue searching for yours.

You twist your fingers into his curly hair and it’s softer than you imagined. His lips pull away from yours and you whine at the loss of the heat of his tongue against yours. His lips connect with your jaw and neck as you scratch your nails against his scalp. You feel him hum against your neck as you pull on his hair, begging him for more. 

“You like that?” he murmurs against your skin. 

“Yes… kee– keep going…” you beg.

“God you’re sweet. I have to know you.” he says, as his kisses travel further down your neck. You feel his warm hand slide underneath the hem of the borrowed white shirt. His hand radiates heat across the sensitive skin of your stomach burning a path as it travels up. 

His eyes look to yours for permission, and he takes your deepend kiss as a yes as his hand connects with your hardened nipple. A moan leaves your mouth and travels into his and he rolls the taut flesh between his thumb and forefinger. 

He releases it as he grabs a handful of your breast, massaging the pliable skin. Sliding your knee upwards between his legs, you feel his full erect length straining through his boxers. You press your pelvis into his causing him to groan and pull you in tighter. 

“I want you to know me Josh, all of me.” you say, reaching down to grasp him in your hand. 

“Are you sure?” he asks.

You detach your lips from his neck as you respond with a nod, “Didn’t you say you would warm me up?”

“I did say that, didn’t I…” he teases, lifting the hem of the shirt to pull it over your head. As you lay there next to him, the orange glow of the fireplace reflects onto your skin.

“Shit, you are…for once I don’t have words.” he smiles.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” you laugh.

“Good. I always have words. My brothers give me shit for it all the time. But you have me speechless…” he says with a smile.

You blush, and you're positive that even in the dark room he can see it. His dimple shows through and you pull his neck down to connect your lips with his once more. 

Your hands travel down his sides, feeling his soft smooth skin beneath your hands. Supporting himself with one hand next to your head, the other hand skims to the top of the black sweatpants, teasing the sensitive skin across your hip bones.

He hooks a finger into the waistband and tugs downward pulling them to rest at your knees. You kick them the rest of the way off, leaving you bare beneath him.

“I can’t believe you got a flat in front of my house. I can’t believe I was actually here.” he says as if thanking God for his good fortune. 

“Why wouldn’t you be here?” you whisper.

“I travel a lot. I’m not here probably six months out of the year.” he answers.

You know you want to dive deeper into that at a later time, because right now, you need him. Like you need air. Lungs burning from not having him. 

You look directly into his beautiful brown eyes as you quickly rid him of his boxers. He kicks them off and your eyes travel down his chest to see the outline of his length glowing in the fire light between you.

He drops down to place wet kisses over your stomach and hips. Stopping and looking up at you as he presses a kiss to the mound between your legs. His tongue slips out and licks a warm path up your center causing you to breath sharply at the contact. Your hips flex backwards as your body silently begs for more friction. He pushes your legs apart slightly as he repeats the same motion, a sigh releasing from your chest. 

His tongue pointedly circles around your clit, you groan becoming more audible. His hand reaches up and grabs yours placing it on the top of his head. He wants your hands in his hair and you willingly oblige. 

Weaving your fingers through the curls you find yourself instinctively pressing down on his head to bring him closer. A growl racks through his chest. 

“Josh… I….” you whine.

His lips detach from you, “I know beautiful, give it to me. I want it.” he demands.

His tongue begins to furiously swipe against you and within seconds you are free falling into your release bucking your hips up into his mouth. The moan from your chest echoing through the silent house. As you float there in the darkness you feel his mouth leave you, and once you’re fully back, you feel him pressing kisses to your thighs. 

“Josh…I want you.” you say, pulling him up to hover over you. 

He presses a soft kiss to your lips, “You can have whatever you want, as long as you keep making pretty sounds like that.”

Gripping his dick in your now much warmer hand, you pull him to you, pressing him against your soaked core. 

You let go as he takes the lead, slowly sliding into you with a whispered ‘fuck.’

You adjust to him quickly, almost as if your body had been waiting for him since the minute he opened the door. His curls hang down his forehead as he sets a steady pace moving back and forth inside of you. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down to you as your lips find his. You can taste yourself, but more, you can taste him. His essence. You can smell his earthy scent, pouring from his skin. Like a mix of damp wood and sweet vanilla. 

He rolls his hips into you eliciting a moan from your mouth. He does it again receiving the same response and a smile crosses his face. His thrusts become harsher, hitting the spot you so desperately need him to hit, and he does. Flawlessly. Your moans fill the air in the room. 

“I have heard so many things in my life, but god damn if this one isn’t my favorite.” he says, punctuating the sentence with the most sinful groan and you tighten around him. 

“Fuck… just like that gorgeous.” he says pressing deeper with each thrust.

“Josh, fuck…” you whine.

“You gonna give me another one baby? I want it…Need to feel you cum on my cock.” he pants. His hips begin to falter, thrusting wildly and inconsistently. You can tell he is close and you’re not far behind him. 

You squeeze around him as your fingernails dig into the soft skin of his back.  “Please, harder.” you beg.

Sweat drips down the side of his neck as he bites his bottom lip, thrusting into you harder than he has been, the smack of skin ringing through the vaulted ceilings. “Fuck, you want it hard baby? God you’re fucking perfect.” his hips snapping into you repeatedly like a rubberband. 

You toss your head back as you feel your stomach tightening. 

“Ahhh… fuck you’re squeezing me so fucking good… I won’t last much longer, I need you to cum for me angel. Let me have it.” he begs.

His words send you spiraling into your second release, tensing around his cock so hard, that he meets his own ending. You feel him pulsing inside of you. Groaning with each spurt your name falling from his lips like a prayer. 

His breathing is erratic as he collapses onto your chest, his messy curls tickling your face. You giggle as you push them away from your nose. He rolls off on you and onto his pillow, turning his head to face you as his breathing evens out. 

He pulls you close to him, your head laying on his chest. You listen to his heart beating and feel the rise and fall of his chest. His fingers run through your hair, occasionally twisting a strand around his finger, feeling the silkiness of it between his digits. His fingertips massage your scalp practically putting you to sleep.

“You live in Nashville, right?” he asks, finally breaking the silence.

You nod your head against his chest. “I do.”

“Good.” he replies.

You kiss his chest and he places a kiss on the top of your hair, letting his arm fall loosely around your back. Sleep overtaking both of you, finally warm.

When your eyes open, you see daylight. It is bright, brighter than usual. The sky is gray and heavy with snow clouds, an ominous reminder of what looks to be another snow storm impending. Sitting up, you find yourself still in the king size bed in Josh’s room. You see now in the light of day, the entirety of the wall of windows that overtakes the back portion of his home. His bedroom opening up to the bright light of the day as soon as the sun would begin to rise. You see that he has gone from next to you, and you bite your lip, wondering if he regrets what happened. 

You pull yourself out of the warmth of the bed and redress yourself in the borrowed clothes flung onto the floor with haste last night. You make his bed, a gentle thank you, for him to find later, before you step out of the doorway and make your way down the shiny wooden steps. 

The power is back on, evident by the smell of the coffee pouring out of the kitchen. You look around the house but you don’t see Josh. Where did he go?

You walk to the coffee pot situated next to the stove, and begin opening the cabinet doors looking for a mug. Settling on a blue mug with the state of Michigan on it, you pour the steaming hot liquid into the mug, breathing in deeply the invigorating scent. 

You carry the hot mug into the guest room, setting it on the bedside table as you change back into your own clothes. A few minutes later as you reemerge with the empty mug, you see Josh standing at the counter. He has on a sweatshirt and pants, and his hands are dirty. His cheeks are flushed pink from the cold outside air.

“I was wondering where you went.”  you say sheepishly, placing your mug on the counter. 

“I woke up and decided, ‘Who needs Triple A’... I can do it. So I went and dug your car out of the snow, and changed your flat. I have to admit, I haven’t had to do anything like that in a while. Probably since I was home in Michigan. It may have taken me longer than it should but … it was kinda nice. But I will admit it was hard to peel myself away from you this morning.” he smiles.

“You didn’t have to do that!” you implore, “Gosh I feel so bad, I already feel like I have imposed so much!”

Peeling his hoodie off, he rushes to you. “You weren’t an imposition. You were the unexpected surprise I needed. The best surprise.” he says, grabbing your hands. “Last night was…perfect and I want to see you again. In fact I don’t even want you to go.” he says shyly.

“Really?” you ask, nervously.

“Yeah, but I understand you probably need to…” he says looking down to the floor. Your heart clenches realizing how nervous he is, and that’s when you decide.

“I actually have nowhere to be… but… I do need a shower and I’ll probably need some clothes.” you smirk.

“You know…I think I can help with that.” he smiles.

You peer out the window behind him, snow flurries just beginning to fall as you ask, “Have you ever seen 2001: A Space Odyssey? I feel like you’d like it…”

He shakes his head in amazement as a smile spreads across his face, making way for his perfect dimple. With his look suddenly turning to a devilish grin, he throws you over his shoulder and carries you up the stairs, laughing the whole way. 

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Taglist: @gretavansara @jordierama @starshine-wagner @gretavanfvckface @gretavanmoon @gvfjess @misshunnybeebee @fretaganvleet @gvfpal @joshkiszkas @ascendingtostardust @raviolilegs @sammysprincess @gvfpal @objectsinspvce

If you'd like to be added to my taglist, send me an ask!

[whatiwillsay]

no, no one "made up tily" (regarding the gaylorswift reddit post)

just jumping on here to provide receipts about the roots of tily in the fandom

tily was first dicussed on the l chat as early as 2016!

here is a link to a thread discussing it back in 2016

from 2017:

from 2018:

here's a link to the 2018 thread for good measure so you can see it for yourself

and for good measure here is the first mention of tily on my blog

link (this post you can see is from September 14th 2020)

someone anoned me about it and encouraged that we look into it so we did. that's just how fandom spaces work 🤷‍♀️.

here is the oldest mention of lily Donaldson in our discord simply discussing people talking ab it on the l chat:

here is the oldest mention of tily:

here is that convo expanded:

just people genuinely being into it, being silly, and shipping it cause they look good together and it was a good vibe.

you'll see me there at the bottom (I'm camcake) saying "there's something to this lily ship!" that was just genuine. we were curious ab it. we did not "make anything up". we heard ab it and investigated it.

you'll see all of this dates back only to 2020 while the l chat posts go way back to 2016. I did not join the gaylor fandom until the summer of 2020. I have never posted in the l chat. tily is just a ship. just like any other ship. she was a female friend of taylor's that got a lil close with her for a period of time and some of taylor's "easter eggs" in songs seem like they could tie back to her. i did hear some well sourced tea that taylor was hooking up with someone on rep tour that matched lily's description BUT you have to take gossip like that with a huge grain of salt! while I think tily is a great ship with a lot fun moments and nice "clues" that point to lily, I would also be zero percent surprised if tily did not "happen" and they were only ever friends. as with ALL ships it is impossible to know for sure.

so to sum up 1. tily was first talked about way back in 2016 on the l chat and was discussed on and off for years after that well before I joined the fandom. 2. someone sent me an anon about tily in late summer of 2020 and that inspired us to research 3. we had convos ab it in discord in late summer of 2020 like any normal shipper/fandom friends would do.

feel free to spread this post far and wide.

[cherrylng]

Useless Trivia about Green Day [INROCK October 2012]

Billie Joe Armstrong

★ The first album Billie Joe bought himself when he was four years old was Elvis Presley's The Sun Sessions. From then on, he sang as Elvis in front of the mirror.

★ At the age of five, he recorded his debut single, ‘Look For Love’. (You can hear Billie Joe singing as a five-year-old on YouTube.)

★ Billie Joe's record collecting began at the age of four, and now, at the age of 40, he has no idea how many records he already owns, most of which are in the basement with his wife Adrianne's also huge record collection. He says, "I'm not a librarian, so the order of the records is all over the place", so even if he suddenly wants to listen to an album, it's difficult to find it.

★ Billie Joe is the youngest of six siblings. His eldest brother was born in 1950 and is much older than him. Under the influence of his older brothers and sisters, he became familiar with the music of The Beatles, The Kinks, The Who, Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, R.E.M. and Black Flag from a very young age. His first concert was a Van Halen (pictured right) show at the age of 12, which "blew his mind". His first punk gig was at Operation Ivy when he was 15. He was not allowed in the venues due to age restrictions, but was allowed in as a member.

★ When Billie Joe arrived at the airport in Minnesota to visit his wife Adrianne's parents, he was surprised to see someone standing in line right behind him. It was his idol Joe Strummer (The Clash, pictured above)! "He was talking to my son Joey. ‘My name's Joey too,’ he said. That was awesome."

★ When Billie Joe tries out guitars in music stores, he plays his own songs. "It's easy to know what that guitar feels like. Of course, I don't want anyone to see me playing my songs, so I do it when no one is around."

★ Billie Joe, although a millionaire, still professes to be blue collar. "We come from a community of people who work hard to make a living… We are still a working class band." So, naturally, he sends his sons to a very ordinary public school, not a private school.

★ "You're lucky if you work hard" is his working philosophy and motto.

★ He has an 18-year-old cat, Cleveland. His brother Zero died in a dryer ‘accident’. He also has a dog, Rocky.

★ Just before Billie Joe gets his creative juices flowing, he gets into a terrible mood and says things he shouldn't say, hurting everyone around him. And then he has to apologise flat out afterwards.

★ What do you think is the album on repeat in Hell? He answered, "Probably the Black Eyed Peas album, right?"

Mike Dirnt

★ Mike loves coffee. As long as it's coffee, it doesn't matter if it's hotel coffee or Starbucks coffee. And if there's a donut in it, he's more than happy.

★ All of Mike's religious beliefs are "based on Star Wars".

★ Mike's natural hair is brown.

Tré Cool

★ He once tried milking a female dog there because he didn't have any milk to put in his coffee.

★ Tré only has one ball. When he was in high school, he was riding a unicycle on stage and fell under the stage. He then fell straight onto the unicycle and crushed one of his testicles.

★ Tré is the godfather of Billie Joe's sons.

About the trilogy “Uno!”, “Dos!”, and “Tre!”

★ The Occupy movement has been sweeping across the USA since last year. The Occupy Wall Street protests in New York City were the most well-publicised, but the demonstrations in Green Day's hometown of Oakland, California, saw some participants turn into rioters, leading to violent exchanges with police. The three Green Day members, who of course position themselves on the side of the 99 percent, are also hesitant to actively participate in the Occupy movement. "The best thing about the Occupy movement is that there is no leader, and that's also its biggest drawback" (Billie Joe). The new album ('Tre!') includes the song ‘99 Revolutions’, which touches on the difference between the 1 percent and the 99 percent, but they don't want to go so far as to join a demonstration and support it with a song.

★ The new album, a trilogy, is said to be mainly about love and sexual tension with girls. "I think we ended up bookending that era with (the politically charged) ‘American Idiot’ and ‘21st Century Breakdown’. So now we're entering a new era for us, and it's more about love and sexual tension than political stuff." (Billie Joe). At the end of ‘21st Century Breakdown’, the band was under a lot of stress and pressure, and that's when they needed to change gears and break new ground.

★ A clear explanation of the trilogy. Uno!’ is ‘an album that gets you in the mood to party’, ‘Dos!' is ‘Let's party!’, and ‘Tre!’ is ‘cleaning up’ (Billie Joe).

★ They wrote about 70 songs for this album. Demo recording was done in Berlin, Glasgow, Amsterdam, and London. Only 40 of the 70 songs were actually recorded. 37 songs will be included on the album.

★ The final chapter of the trilogy, ‘Tre!’ features an orchestra for some of the songs. The orchestral musicians read and play the music, but Billie Joe, the author of the music, cannot read the music. "It's a strange feeling when I look at the sheet music I've written and I can't understand it at all. It's like looking at Braille."

★ About ‘Tre!’, Tré was overjoyed, saying, "I finally got an album with my name on it. How cool is that? What's more, it's "Tre Cool" (super cool)."

Translator's Note: Finally back into the groove of translating stuff. Gotta say, listening to a 5-year old Billie Joe singing is actually super cute.

[egg-emperor]

Eggman had statues of muscular male bodies on the Egg Carrier for no reason. He's one hundred percent sexually attracted to men.

Maybe this is me looking too deep into it but since the statues didn't have any faces, that's probably a sign of something. As in Eggman only shows interest in someone's physical form/abilities because he doesn't care about anyone as a person.

All that matters to Eggman is his own pleasure and if he gets something out of it. Whether it's taking over the world or getting off. It tracks that this would also apply to how he expresses himself sexually.

I imagine Eggman could only be attracted to people in a purely physical sense. He doesn't care about who or what they are. He only cares about how well they can perform.

There's a reason why Eggman only goes after powerful monster men and never wastes any time on like average dudes who can't fight or destroy things. For example, Eggman gets super excited about Chaos and Dark Gaia but gives zero shits about people like Professor Pickle or G.U.N. Soldiers lmao. Eggman also has a very strong passion for bothering Zavok lol.

Basically Eggman is only interested in using people to entertain himself or as tools to achieve something. The thoughts and feelings of the "partner" are irrelevant to him. That's what I think at least.

YESYESYES you fucking get me. It makes me really happy that I'm not the only one who gets it XD

There's no heterosexual explanation for Eggman having those muscular male torso statues in interesting poses, and at HOT Shelter too. The more you try to think of reasons and explanations for why he had them, the gayer it becomes and I love that lol. With that alone there's more proof of an interest in the male form

And yeah the statues being faceless not only proves they're not meant to be some inaccurate depiction of his body, as he's made plenty of statues modelled after himself or defaced others with his visage and it's always with his actual face and/or accurate body- the choice could possibly speak of his character too

It would make sense because it's what's most believable for his character. I can only picture it only bring about the physicality and personal benefits. He has no regard for anyone else as a person. Like all situations and contexts, people are either a tool for his self benefit or obstacle in his way to destroy

There's nothing to suggest that there an exception for this romantically/intimately as it's never something they've depicted and I'm glad. It's much more believable for him to be aromantic/not interested in anyone that isn't himself on a deeper level that isn't simply a pursuit of pleasure and self benefit

Therefore, it would make sense for him to not see and treat them as people with free will or even as faces, just as bodies for his use. Both in terms of business in how useful their abilities are to him in his schemes, or pleasure in a sexual context- and I think more often than not there would be an overlap of the two

That's another reason why him being attracted to male bodies makes sense in particular, it covers all he prioritizes most. The power, strength, and usefulness both in terms of scheming and intimacy. Not to suggest that I don't think females aren't capable of being strong, he's the sexist one canonically XD

People want to imagine there are sudden exceptions to his self-centeredness with family or intimate partners but the former is disproven by canon with all family members + Sage and the latter doesn't have anything canon at all to suggest so. What is canon is that it's always about what's in it for him

I believe it's impossible for him to be attracted to someone in any other form than the physicality of the pleasure and benefit of power. There's never romantic or emotional attraction in it. It's about using them for their worth in pleasure or business until they're no longer useful. It's shallow and self absorbed

His tastes for powerful monsters in the games really speaks for itself. They're simply the perfect combination of both of his most probable tastes, they cover the full scope of his interests and the benefits in both business and pleasure. It makes sense that they're a consistent fixation of his

Especially Zavok, as he's built like the Hot Shelter statues AND he's a monstrous guy with strength that benefitted him for as long as he was under his control. It's no surprise that he's seemingly obsessed with him and even acknowledges that he's always chasing after him. He knows he struck gold with him XD

I can see him engaging with those much physically weaker like common G.U.N soldiers or Professor Pickle but in those cases it would be purely for the domination and power over them, while also getting quick satisfaction. But it's much more likely to be fleeting in most cases as a result of less long term use to him

No relations last as a result, whether it's because he uses them up for all they're worth and drops them, or they want to leave due to his toxicity. But with the latter like Zavok, he'll try to chase after and force them back if they're still useful, to the point he acknowledges Zavok is "always running from him" lol

When it comes to sex for Eggman, I can see his mindset always being "I take what I want for my success or satisfaction" or "I dominate and prove myself superior and enjoy the power" and nothing else. Either way, there's selfish gain and satisfaction in it for him every time as it's where his true interest and enthusiasm lies

It's what drives and motivates him in every aspect of life, no exceptions. He doesn't care about their personal feelings and desires, he takes what he wants and prioritizes what benefits him and that's all that matters. He doesn't see them as people, only as tools for success and/or toys for satisfaction

Luckily for me, I'm specifically into that and would love nothing more than a life of devotion to him with my life's purpose being to serve all of his desires and needs. So I'd know exactly what I'm getting into and it would be one of the specific appeals in the first place for me and would never have any complaints 🥰💜💘

[mariacallous]

As Moldova hurtles toward critical elections on Sunday, the stakes couldn’t be higher. Malicious actors, bankrolled by foreign sources, are working to sway the country’s public. And their target? President Maia Sandu — fighting not only for reelection but for her country’s future as a European democracy.

 As Moldova’s first female president, Sandu’s candidacy has become ground zero for a flurry of gendered disinformation attacks, all designed to undermine her leadership and derail the nation’s EU membership referendum, which coincides with the election.

This is no ordinary election. It’s an all-out assault on Moldova’s sovereignty, and at the heart of the battle lies one simple truth: Whoever controls the narrative determines Moldova’s future.

In a crowded field of 10 candidates, Sandu’s still expected to win the first round, despite being buffeted by efforts to weaken and discredit her and the women serving in her administration. These attacks are gendered, insidious and relentless, looking to exploit traditional gender norms in a country where 97 percent of the population believes women should be “cherished and protected by men.”

But this isn’t about traditional values — it’s about manipulating them to maintain Russia’s grip on Moldova.

Disinformation targeting female leaders isn’t just a women’s issue. It’s a democracy issue; it’s a human rights issue; and in the digital age, it’s also a matter of national security. These weaponized lies are meant to fracture the foundations of participatory governance and erode trust in democracy.

Our organization, #ShePersisted, has been tracking these toxic trends since 2022, identifying common gendered narratives aimed at women in politics across major digital platforms in countries like Italy, Hungary and Ukraine. Now, it’s Moldova that’s become the latest battleground in Russia’s destabilization playbook.

The parallels to the U.S. are striking here. Much like Vice President Kamala Harris, who has similarly been the target of disinformation campaigns, Sandu’s candidacy has been a lightning rod for misogyny cloaked in political rhetoric. And just as we’ve seen false claims about Harris’s identity and qualifications, Moldova’s social media platforms are awash with deepfake videos and conspiracy theories aimed at the sitting president.

Both women have dealt with an onslaught of digital attacks designed to weaken the public’s trust in their leadership — attacks that are gendered, racist and xenophobic — and it’s no accident these narratives spread so easily. Social media algorithms reward the most divisive content. For the Kremlin, manipulating online discourse by gaming algorithms is as easy as shooting fish in a barrel, all thanks to the oligarchs of tech that foster this environment, where digital distortions flourish in the name of keeping users hooked and advertisers paying.

In Moldova in particular, the malign actors are explicitly pro-Russian, using inauthentic and coordinated behavior to seed and amplify their attacks. And the campaigns are part of a broader strategy to destabilize the country, oust pro-European Sandu and drag Moldova back into Russia’s orbit.

The Kremlin’s use of deepfakes and false narratives — claiming Ukrainian F-16s will soon land on Moldovan soil and fabricating stories about compulsory EU-mandated “sexual education” — mirrors the chaos it tried to sow in the 2016 U.S. election. Its methods, however, have become more sophisticated. According to a joint statement by the U.S., Canada, and the U.K., Russia is now actively using “disinformation, criminal and covert activities, and corruption to undermine sovereignty and democratic processes” in the upcoming Moldovan elections.

Despite the red alert, though, it’s still largely U.S.-based digital media companies that are acting as modern-day conflict profiteers.

Earlier this year, #ShePersisted combined social listening with forensic data analytics to understand the toxicity directed at women leaders in Moldova. The results? A chilling glimpse into the future of global disinformation campaigns.

From deepfakes of Sandu resigning while wearing a hijab to offers of bribes for voters to reject Moldova’s EU integration, the manipulation is as multifaceted as it is dangerous.

In one case, exiled oligarch and opposition leader Ilan Shor — widely seen as “Moscow’s man in Moldova” — used Facebook to run hundreds of ads that were viewed 155 million times. And the fact that he could do this while not, in fact, being in Moldova is a testament to the power online infrastructure afforded him, as Meta has repeatedly failed to track and remove these coordinated campaigns.

But the threats aren’t confined to political manipulation. Human traffickers and scam artists are leveraging these same platforms to victimize Moldovans too. In a country where 80 percent of the population is deeply concerned about human trafficking, social media platforms have become the primary tool for traffickers, targeting vulnerable women and girls.

And what has Meta done? Almost nothing. Regardless of clear abuse, social media giants continue to prioritize profits over safety, allowing both gendered disinformation and criminal exploitation to thrive.

For Moldova, the road ahead is now fraught with peril— it’s a path the U.S. knows all too well. And as Sandu prepares for a tight election, the parallels between the challenges faced by women leaders worldwide are impossible to ignore.

Whether it’s Harris or Sandu, gendered disinformation is among the most powerful tools bad actors use to erode democratic progress around the world today. And if social media platforms don’t step up to enforce their own rules — removing posts inciting violence, disabling accounts that spread gendered falsehoods and curtailing the amplification of disinformation — they’ll continue to be complicit in corrosion of democracy.

Moldova’s election isn’t just a fight for one woman’s political future, it’s a fight for the future of democracy itself. Like any good fight, it requires action — in this case, both online and off. And if we fail to address the weaponization of gendered disinformation now, the next battlefield could be much nearer to home.

[onnahu]

Look I don't have an explaination but I thought 'what would happen if same sex reproduction was possible?' and instead of my normal thought process that would lead me to social consequences of such thing, i started making genetic crosses (i can't find an english word for it). So anyway, here it is:

1 generation

When we have female and male parents, there's 50/50 chance for being male and female (female chromosomes are XX, male are XY)

Two females will have a 100% female offspring! Amazing! Will females take over the world?

The problem started with two males.

25% females (totally taking over the world), 25% males (phu they have nothing on us)

But then... 50% MALE MEN - two chromosomes Y i call them manly men or male men.

I'm getting worried at that point. Male men won't have female children. What with my female world domination???

So I counted what percent of human population what sex would have and I've got (in round numbers) 59% females, 8% male mans and 33% males. But it's counting only children if every one is alive but excluding parents and assuming every pair is the same popularity and have 1 child. But on that later. Let's go to 2 generation.

2 generation

F/F is the same. F/M too. But what with F/MM(male man)???

It's worse. M/MM...

It's even worse. MM/MM...

My female world domination is lost.... it was so close... women will go extinct...

And now I'm lost bc I'm not that good at math. Because if we started from zero (assumming every pair and every sex is equal in numbers and have all 1 child), that every sex is in the same numbers than females are almost excint. But in 1 generation, we had 59% of world population female. So what really are the numbers? Anyway, idk that, but I think that from now on female population will be lower and lower, but I need a mathematician or someone from statisctics to help. Please! Numbers people! Help!

[blainesebastian]

no regrets

ship: austin butler x female reader rating: PG word count: 2,145 summary: basically this is all bri's fault. "you need to do something with this...you meet him at a yoga class" definitely inspired by long-haired austin warnings: none notes: this was lowkey and fun :) appreciate you bri, as always. i know zero percent about yoga, literally googled 'simple yoga poses' and went from there--so the description of getting into said poses might be inaccurate. taglist: @stylespresleyhearted, @austinbutlermischief, @killerqueenfan

You have no idea how you allowed yourself to be talked into a yoga class.

And here’s the thing—it wasn’t by a friend or co-worker, not family or seeing an advertisement somewhere with a good deal, you’re the one who convinced yourself it was a good idea. Just wanted to try something new, not exactly interested in working out or toning your body, nothing like that—but just to gain a different experience, see what all the hype was about. You at least did enough research not to end up in a hot yoga class, jesus, you’d definitely expire in one of those.

Stretches and calming breathing though? How bad could it be?

Apparently bad when your limbs don’t know how to do simple poses…like you’re pretty sure your elbows and knees didn’t get the memo about directions they’re supposed to go.

…really mastered the Corpse Pose though.

You let out a long breath that flutters your hair as you sit up, a bit of sweat sticking to your skin as you take a look around at some other people in the class that seem to have easily adapted to the routine. The guy in front of you is definitely smirking as he wraps up his mat, looking like he’s entertaining the thought of saying something. You narrow your eyes, pulling your hair free from the braid to get it out of your face by doing a high bun.

“First time?” He asks as you get up and…did your bones just make a low cracking noise in protest?

Picking up your mat, you get a better look at him and…well, not that he was difficult to notice while the class was going on. He was positioned right in front of you, long lines, muscular tone, long blonde hair tied up in a loose bun. There’s a pretty flush to his cheeks now from the workout, his cupid-bow lips full and pink.

Not that you’re staring or anything.

“Oh no, I come all the time—I adapted the Corpse Pose into something called the ‘dead fish’, couldn’t you tell?” You smile a little, uncapping some water to take a few large sips.

He tosses his bag over his shoulder and both of you slowly follow the crowd out of the yoga room, “I was hopin’ the instructors would notice that and implement it into the usual line up.”

You smirk, your stomach doing a swirled flip at the teasing in his voice. He’s attractive, really no denying that, “Not sure I’m coming back for another round, I can’t feel the bottom of my spine.”

Laughing lightly, he pulls the elastic from his hair and…clearly he didn’t do a ton of sweating during the workout, soft blonde waves fall to his shoulders. He runs his hand through them, reaching into his bag for his water.

“It gets better the more you do it,” He says, breaking your concentration. You blink, refocusing on him talking instead of his hair, “You’d probably benefit from a Plank or Baby Cobra.”

You blink, “You’re just saying words, I have no idea what that means.”

He grins, glancing towards the exit before turning his head back to look at you. There’s a definite moment where his eyes trace you up and down, making that flurry of butterflies in your stomach explode outward.

“Well if you come back, I’ll show you.”

Is this man seriously flirting with you at a yoga class? Though, to be honest, it’s almost refreshing. You’ve kind of sworn off dating because places like bars notoriously have terrible guys approaching you with overused lines and unable to handle words like ‘no, thanks’. So…what’s the harm in coming back at least one more time for a cute guy that obviously knows how to stretch?

“Are you asking me on a date to a yoga class?” You throw out there, raising your eyebrows. You’ve always been one that’s forward—why waste time?

He picks up on it easily, doesn’t seem to be the type that backs down either. “Figured it wouldn’t hurt to try out.”

You smile a little and nod slowly, “Alright, one more class—I think that’s all my body can take.” You reach out your hand to shake his, “Y/N.”

“Austin,” He replies, “Don’t worry—I’ll go easy on you.”

He winks before heading out the door. What’s the worst that could happen? You pull a muscle? Least you’ll be seeing him in those workout pants again…and honestly? Seems like an even trade.

--

Hot-Yoga-Guy (Austin—which, you know his name, you should really start calling him by it) wants to meet up for smoothies before the next yoga class. Despite the fact that you kinda find smoothies texturally weird, how can you deny saying yes when he asks? Besides, the dude totally seems like the type that lives in smoothie bars—probably has a recommendation of fruit combinations at the ready.

Except, when you show up you expect him to be in his gym attire since that’s the only thing you’ve seen him in. Fits the whole hot-yoga-guy-who-drinks-smoothies archetype, and yet—

He’s wearing dark blue jeans, a white button-down shirt, black leather jacket and booties. That beautiful blonde hair of his is flowing over his shoulders and…jesus, you didn’t remember how attractive he was. You’re kinda just staring at him from the doorway until someone comes in after you and practically knocks you over attempting to get in line to order. Whoops.

He turns a little and smiles when he notices you’ve walked in, motioning you over to a small table by the window he’s snagged. Carrying your gym bag with your change of clothes for yoga (and two bottles of water, you learned from the last time that hydration is not overrated), you set it down on the floor and plop into the chair across from him.

“Hi,” You breathe out, “So I gotta admit, never really done the whole smoothie thing before—much more of a froyo girl.”

“First the yoga and now this,” Austin teases, “Feel like you really need a hands-on guide.”

“Well as long as you’re offering.” You grin—definitely okay with his hands on…anything.

You get to know one another over your smoothies (curated by Austin because there’s almost too much to choose from. Strawberry-banana isn’t too bad, or maybe you’re just distracted by the ocean-blue eyes in front of you, up for debate). You learn that Austin’s interested in becoming a serious actor, a mark that he wants to grow into and leave behind, something that hasn’t quite happened yet but you’re sure will at some point. He’s charismatic and personable—what’s not to like on a big screen? You share about your passions too—that you teach first grade history but what you’d really like to do some day is write a book, it’s all mapped out in your head…you’ve just never been brave enough to type it out.

“Too afraid it’ll somehow fail, I guess.” You admit, throwing away your empty smoothie cup.

Austin holds the door open for you, both making your way outside. The yoga studio is just around the block,

“Yeah, I get that,” He curls some of his hair behind his ear, “Problem with that is, you’ll never know if you don’t try it out.”

You hum lightly, “You’re makin’ too much sense.”

He smiles a little, “Let’s just say I’ve had the same talk with myself a few times, got it memorized by now.”

And maybe it’s that easy? Putting yourself out there, seeing what happens. Austin’s got a point—if you don’t try and write a novel, or put your thoughts on paper, it’s only ever going to be a ‘what if’. That’s not something you constantly want to live with like a black cloud hanging over your head.

When you get home that night, you begin organizing your thoughts on different colored post its, categorizing your ideas. It’s the most inspired you’ve felt in a long time.

--

Two yoga classes turn into four, which turn into six and…even by the eighth class? You’re not getting any better at this whole balance and stretching stuff. Though to do be honest, it’s not like you don’t know you’re there for pretty much one thing—and it’s not strengthening your core.

You’ve decided, very adult-like, that you hate the instructor and the sound of her voice when she tries to get you the Low Lunge Pose and…how do people even stretch their legs straight out like that?

“I think I pulled something in my back,” You pout, flat on your yoga mat after most people have packed up and left. Austin is rolling his own mat up, a chuckle rumbling in his chest at your predicament.

You want to glare at him but as your eyes find him, kinda hard to feel anything but pure attraction. His blonde hair is up in a messy bun, the muscles in his arms on display thanks to the shirt he’s wearing, and his skin is kissed with a light sheen of sweat. Unfair, really.

“You know—most people get better with practice,” He teases, setting his bag down and sitting himself next to you.

Luckily it doesn’t seem like another class is coming in to see you pathetically stretched out on your mat, slowly dying.

“I really think yoga isn’t for me,” You laugh lightly, sitting up. Ouch.

“Then why’d you keep comin’?”

Turning your head, you raise your eyebrows at Austin, “Oh come on, it’s not obvious?”

He smiles a little, nodding as he looks down at the mat. “Your back isn’t straight enough with the Low Lunge, that’s why you can’t get your leg up.”

Your eyebrows lift slightly, “You checkin’ me out?”

Austin grins, “I’m checkin’ out the terrible yoga pose, yeah.”

You snicker a little, putting yourself on your knees before letting out a dramatic breath, “Well—c’mon coach, help me out here.”

He offers you a hand to get you off the floor and then…those hands move your hips to position you onto the mat. You can feel the heat of his skin through your leggings and the sound of a roaring ocean fills your ears for a moment. Shaking your head, you push a random strand of hair out of your face before you concentrate on what he’s saying.

“Okay, so feet first—” He lines you up and encourages you to bend forward, “Hands flat on the mat…” Austin is patient as you haphazardly follow the instructions, “Okay, now straighten your back…”

You let out a long sigh, remembering to breathe. The first time you did this whole yoga thing you were holding your breath and nearly passed out. Good times.

His hand curves around the front of your leg, the one you’re going to lift and…are you really expected to concentrate when you can feel his fingers on your thigh? A shiver slithers down your spine, creating goosebumps on your arms. God, you’re feeling lightheaded—are you still breathing through the pose? You blink a few times and lift your leg, Austin helping you straighten it.

“Okay, good, now hold for thirty seconds.”

Thirty seconds? There’s a slight groan that leaves your lips, especially when Austin asks if you ‘feel the difference?’ in the pose you’re in compared to the one you attempted to do during class. You definitely feel that lower spot in your spine spasm, that’s for sure. When Austin moves to stand beside you and you’re able to keep still for about fifteen seconds before you start tipping.

There’s not even time to warn him, a soft squeak leaving your lips as you faulter, falling over and right into him. Both of you end up on the floor with a solid thunk! and a few giggles escape your lips.

“Sorry.”

Austin huffs lightly but he’s smiling, sprawled out on the floor on his back with you against his chest…least he was soft to land on. “Alright, so maybe yoga isn’t for you.” He agrees with a soft laugh.

You tip your head back a little, resting it on his shoulder before turning to look at him, “I mean, I don’t have any regrets.”

Austin licks his lips, arguably on purpose, and your gaze shifts down to his mouth. Your noses bump together in a soft bunny kiss before you close the distance, warmth bursting in your stomach and fluttering outward in your body. There’s heat in your veins that is not left behind from the workout, one of your hands moving to thread through his long hair.

The kiss ends naturally and you can’t help but smile, “Think that’s the best pose I’ve practiced in here.”

Austin smirks, brushing his lips against yours, “I call that the Multiple Kiss Pose.” Corny.

A laugh leaves your lips as he kisses you again—definitely no regrets.

[mayhemchicken-varneyposting]

I know Flora shoots but I swear ninety percent of everything she does is "faintly" and "timidly" when she's not screaming and passing out, even for Victorian Woman Written By Man it's kinda...

Yeah Flora kinda gets exactly one cool moment and then nothing for the entire rest of the book. She can be smart and assertive in dialogue, sometimes, but that characterization is never borne out in her actions, and the author almost seems to go out of his way to deny her agency as much as possible. It's not just an issue with her, either; this book is deeply, deeply sexist, and the only reason Flora seems to bear the brunt of it right now is we haven't met any other female characters of note.

This spawned an Essay so I'm putting it under a cut

There are three types of female characters in Varney the Vampire: The Maiden, The Shrew, and Mrs. Bannerworth, who is a background prop and not a character. The Maiden, of whom Flora is the principal example, exists to be an innocent victim for Varney to prey on. She is of the highest moral character: unfailingly polite, sweet, good-natured, and charming, and often unfairly put-upon by the universe. She is delicate and sensitive, fainting at the first sign of danger. She inevitably has a match in the form of her One True Love, a gallant young man every bit as charming and good-hearted as she is. This is the full extent of her character.

The Shrew, who will be exemplified when we meet the wife of Dr. Chillingworth, is nearly always an older woman, usually someone's wife or mother. In contrast to The Maiden, The Shrew has zero redeeming qualities: she is petty, dishonest, gossipy, nagging, greedy, vain, and manipulative. The Shrew is often a very driven, active character, and her pursuit of her goals is always painted in a bad light. She thinks nothing of lying, cheating, harassing or emotionally manipulating those around her in order to get her way. She is seen as an annoyance, if not an outright obstacle, by all those around her, and she usually receives comeuppance by the narrative's conclusion.

(There are maybe one or two other examples of a Mrs. Bannerworth; she crops up when the author finds himself forced to write a middle-aged woman who isn't evil, and resolves this problem by not writing her at all.)

This story's almost cartoonish misogyny serves as a good illustration, I think, of a problem which arises in stories (usually to a lesser extent than this one) regarding female characters. Henry, Charles, and George are not particularly fleshed-out characters; what little personality they have is pretty one-note, and I've had to do a lot of reaching and inventing in order to characterize them in my fics. The difference between them and Flora, and the principle reason why I've had a harder time figuring out what to do with her character than any of the others, is that her one-note personality is completely tied to her gender; or rather, Rymer's incredibly sexist conception of her gender. Attempting to remove the sexist elements from her character results in her character being erased entirely; she is nothing but a fainting damsel in distress, who happened to fire a gun that one time.

"Woman" is treated as a defining characteristic similar to "sailor" or "skeptic", a stock archetype that can be fleshed out in one or two details. Admiral Bell is a Sailor, Chillingworth is a Skeptic, Flora is a Woman. The Shrew, being a lesser type of Woman, can sometimes have a defining characteristic added to her, such as Gossip or Miser. It's never a positive characteristic, of course. The Maiden, representing Ideal Womanhood, cannot ever have another defining characteristic that would detract from her Pure Womanhood, with the end result that all the Maidens in the text are basically interchangeable. There is never a Skeptic Maiden or a Lawyer Maiden or even so much as a Loves Sewing Maiden. The very fact of her being a Maiden disavows her from having any actual character.

It's a problem which still turns up in popular media to this day: "Man" is the default type of person a character can be, and "Woman" is a modifier similar to "Mechanic" or "Alcoholic" or "Optimist", which is treated similarly narrowly to those other modifiers. Modern media is better at hiding it, because we've invented more Types Of Women. You still get Maidens and Shrews sometimes, but now we've got lots more to choose from, such as Mothers and Sluts. All, of course, are reductive archetypes tied to gender in such a way that engaging with the character in a constructive manner often requires you to first erase their existing character and start over, an effort often not required with male characters of the same relative story prominence.