#google doesn't have god's approval

[totally-bing]

Yo wassup, it's god. @dailyjermasparkle sent me over here. I rate this blog a solid 9/10. Good concept. Your bing has got a lot of bling to it.

holy shit guys it's god. can y'all believe it. incredible. also hell yeah, i'm legally awesome >:)

[headspace-hotel]

i promised myself "before I go back to school in the fall, something HAS to get better. SIGNIFICANTLY BETTER."

and i made the appointments, had the conversations, I spent hours wringing my brain out googling discussing with friends and family, thinking of SOMETHING, ANYTHING i could approach disability services about now that my previous suggestions had been shot down, and i went there with a list and i was like "hey is there ANY of this stuff you can do to help me" and basically? No

i asked "maybe i could have few extra excused absences so I can rest when i'm overloaded" but the lady was like Well we couldn't do that because you would miss the material in class

I asked "maybe i could have limited group projects so i don't have to be working on something with 4 other people every single day because social interaction is really tiring" she was like Well we can't do it if it would change the course substantially but we can ask that professors tell you if there's going to be lots of group projects so you can drop the class

I asked "maybe i can do in class writing assignments in a separate room so it will be less stressful" she was like well what if we couldn't guarantee that another room would be available where some one could monitor you

This is after the possibility of a partial course load was shot down (i could request it because of 'extenuating circumstances' but there's no guarantee it would be approved, and anyway i don't even know if it would fucking help) and several other things

Going back to school is just weighing on me crushing me. The past two semesters I have been so unrelentingly exhausted, miserable and alone. I hated my classes SO much and spent so much time crying.

All my classes are stupid busy work , just like worksheets that are like "do all these tiny little steps" that micromanage you painfully as if you can't be trusted to have your own independent thoughts" while the professor sits on their phone.

The grades are made up of a thousand tiny bullshit assignments that you have to remember at the right time, if you know the material and even care about learning it, it doesn't even matter.

I took a PLANT science class last semester that I honest to god hated so much it took all the strength in my body to even go to class. I LOATHED it and I got a C in it even though it was highschool level crap and the assignments were so restrictive that they basically punished you for being passionate about anything, I would try to be creative or dig more deeply on things and my classmates (it was always a mother fucking group project because the professor didn't want to fucking lecture, just give us something to kill time like we were fucking preschoolers) hated it because creativity or thinking outside the box would always make the assignment harder for everyone and I would fuck up the grade and it made me feel so ashamed

Same class where the professor said "you can tell this is a peer reviewed journal article because it's written in two columns along the page" like what. What. Huh. What.

There is so little flexibility too like the requirements are so specifically made to "mold" me a certain way. No one sees anything I have already learned or is interested in my potential and ability and passion and keen interest that i HAVE IN ABUNDANCE by the way, and the classes are so boring and passionless

I approached a lady in the arts department about an independent study involving natural plant fibers but she was like "no sorry i only work with seniors and you would have to take these 2 of my other classes"

There is so much more that's stupid and dysfunctional about this college that is too specific to discuss with privacy online, but let it suffice to say that it's a school that wants the reputation of being really challenging and rigorous soooooo bad but it actually just has 1000 inflexible requirements that eliminate everyone's free time and assigns metric tons of tedious busy work, because being "hard" means our academics are "rigorous" right? but the quality of the academics is not good, the classes are not engaging or encouraging you to think more deeply they are just painful.

And no one, fucking no one in these classes is engaging with the work with any energy or passion or enthusiasm, the professors can't get a discussion going, everyone is just staring like a bunch of zombies because their classes r like the equivalent of two full time jobs so of course no one can Engage Deeply with them they have no fucking energy

the food is like eating out of the garbage. they reheat the same pieces of pizza over and over until they're like dried out and leathery like something from a pharaohs tomb. they have bagels kept in a box and they're so stale you can't even bite into them. I got sour, rotten milk from the milk machine so many times my stomach eventually couldn't take drinking milk from there at all.

i hate, hate, hate, HATE that place so much i start crying every time I try to make plans for fall because there is so little fucking joy in my life when i'm there it's like being trapped underground.

[twst-kumi]

Can I request a yan Vil who can’t watch his darling wear the scruffy uniform that Crowley gave them anymore and then have them a full makeover

LMAO Anon, I can already pick Vil judging Darling or S/o's outfit. I didn't know what scruffy mean since English isn't my main language. But google is your friend in those time.

Make over with Yandere Vil

Vil looked incredibly offended everytime he looked at you. You were naturally beautiful mind you, you needed that much to stand by his side. But that... Uniform if he could call that thing an uniform. God he wanted nothing but to tears it out of your body. It looked old, dirty... Even Ruggie wouldn't wear this.

On another note, those rag did little to diminish your beauty. As expected of his darling. You didn't have much choice when Vil finally snapped and demanded you to come to Pomefiore after class. You were surprised he supported the sight of this uniform on you for so long. Vil himself was surprised too. He never saw him as a very patient man. If anything he couldn't support those unsightly rags. It was beyond ugly.

"I refuse to see you in that offensive outfit anymore. Even more of you have to be seen with me." He didn't wait for your approval. As his darling, he automatically had your approval to manage your wardrobe. Of course it was decided by Vil not you. Why would you refuse anyway?

Vil's makeover was quite intensive. From the cream and makeup you wear to your diet, you have no freedom. Everything is planned and controlled, even how you talk and how you have to act. Vil doesn't care much about who you are friends with, or who you are talking with, but you have to stay at his beck and call.

Vil is very strict on your diet and skincare to the point that you can't enjoy eating anymore. If you happened to be eating something he had forbidden you. Pray for god's mercy because Vil isn't going to have any for you. He would glare at you as you stood in front of him in Pomefiore while Rook was reporting your every move and transgression. You could see Epel avoiding looking at you in pity. "I was too lenient on you it seems." The Pomefiore's dorm leader walked up to you. He wasn't angry, just disappointed about your stubborn behavior. He will need to take a more drastic measure. "I will let Crowley know that you will join Pomefiore from now on. As for you... You will take a little nap until I'm back. I'm going to make sure you look perfect. After all, you have to be the Fairest one of all, to stand by my side, dear." You couldn't do anything as your eyes grew heavy and collapsed in his arm. It wasn't his fault. If you feel unfair about it, you should have known better. After all, those makeovers he did to you were for your sake, so you can stand proudly next to him in the future. You have only yourself to blame.

[indoodlingmadness]

This is a comic I made for a Huskerdust AU I'm roleplaying with a friend. We called it the Loser Diaries AU, because the idea is that Nik (human name I chose for Husk, it's short for Nikolai, yes he's a russian immigrant in this AU) and Tony meet when they're human, date for 10 years until Tony eventually, tragically dies from overdose. And then Nik keeps the diary, addressing all the following entries to Tony, as if he's talking to him. They diary (a real google docs file) follows the rest of Nik's life, his sorrows, his career as a professional magician in Vegas, and his eventual fall from grace as he crashes and burns after a messy divorce (it was an awful marriage in the first place and did nothing to help him move on) and sinks deep into his vices.

The last entry in the diary implies that Nik finally had enough, and ended his own life at 67 years old, to meet Tony again. (Threw himself off the tallest casino in vegas.) Nik goes to hell, renames himself Husk because of all the emptiness he feels inside, and never. EVER. Stops looking for Tony. The whole reason he even became an overlord and built the casino was to find him. But he never did. Eventually he had to give it up, or at least try to accept there was a real chance Tony got permanently erased from existance.

Then he meets Angel Dust. God, who does he think he is?? Annoying, disrespectful, impossible bastard of a man. But fuck he does sing good, at least.

So Angel starts working for him part time, with Valentino's approval. They get closer, starting a bit of a relationship. Husk has a million hang ups about Tony, he feels like he's betraying him despite everything. Angel doesn't fully trust Husk because he's an overlord.

Eventually it all boils over and they have a messy fight. Husk had paid to have the diary returned to him from the human world, it was sitting there in his desk the entire time. Angel gets angry, Husk comes clean about Tony. Angel gets even more enraged. Husk leaves him be, and Angel completely trashes his office, finds the diary, and remembers everything. The gambling of the contract only happens after they truly confirm it's them, Nik and Tony behind these new demon forms. And they... they don't live happily ever after, they have a ton of shit to work through. Nik being suicidal and insecure, Tony's sexual trauma and years of abuse. But you know what? At least they're in this shit together. And they wouldn't have it any other way.

[cucumber-icepop]

Website spoilers under the cut! Every password I could think to try, being updated as I go

If you input the password "Cipher" it takes you to the Wikipedia page for Triangles, and if you put in "Bill" it takes you to a Youtube video of a Sesame Street song about triangles!

"Billcipher" takes you to the Wikipedia page for the eye of providence

"Ford" takes you to a page written by scientists(?) discussing his hands.

"Euclydia" brings up the text "DIMENSION NOT FOUND" :(

"Alex" takes you to the Google search page for flannel. Cool

"Pines" brings up the text "A GOOD FAMILY TREE"

"Stan" brings up an Ebay page for brass knuckles. (This happens with "Stanley" too!)

"Blanchin" brings up a Youtube video on how to "blanch" vegtables.

"Dipper" brings up a slip of paper written by Bill telling him that he needs to stare directly into the sun to crack some of the codes in the book.

"Mabel" puts star stickers all over the webpage!

"McGucket" brings up the Cotton Eye Joe song on Youtube.

"Soos" brings up a few pages written by Soos about what it's like being the new Mr. Mystery. There's pudding on the page

"Pinata" (a code suggested in Soos' letter) pulls up a video of a Bill pinata being beaten, Alex is voicing him in the video. Get him!!!!

"Baby" pulls up a Bill ultrasound????????????

"Blindeye" pulls up an image WITH CODES!!!!!!!! LET'S GOOOOO

"Prism" doesn't work, but corrupts the prism on the screen.

"Gideon" pulls up audio of Gideon singing.

"Pacifica" brings up a letter written by Pacifica (and Mabel!!)

"Season 1" brings up text about "Season -1" of "Antigravity Falls"

"Season 2" brings up "Season 1", and "Season 3" brings up "Season 2". There is no easter bunny there is no tooth fairy

"Divorce" brings up the O'Sadley's logo (the beer Bill drinks) and a zip file???????? The zip file is just the png of the logo

"Wendy" pulls up a page where Wendy tricks the viewer.

"Robbie" brings up a chatlog between him and Thompson, they summon Bill

"Reality" brings up the text "IS AN ILLUSION"

"Universe" brings up the text "HOLOGRAM"

"Rat" brings up text saying "THURBURTS' NUMBER?"

"Weird" brings up A VIDEO OF WEIRD AL?????

"Gravityfalls" brings up text saying "NEVER HEARD OF IT"

"Waddles" brings up a website called "Pig Placement Network". It's a pig adoption website!

"Death" brings up text saying "LIFE'S GOTH COUSIN"

"Life" brings up text saying "LIFE: 72% COMPLETE. NOW LOADING: DEATH"

"Axolotl" brings up text reading "YOU ASK ALOTL QUESTIONS"

"Fuck" brings up a picture reading: NOT S&P APPROVED! WASH YOUR MOUTH OUT WITH SOAP" and a picture of soap lmaooooo. This also happens if you type in "Shit"

"Thebookofbill" pulls up text reading "HIDE IT UNDER SHIRT DURING PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE" ??????

"Mason" (I can't believe it took me this long to try that) brings up a page written by Dipper where he writes some anagrams. Ford has written something about a Cryptogram Codex on the bottom of the page.

"Cryptogram Codex" causes another zip file to be instantly downloaded. It contains different fonts for some of the codes used in TBoB!

"Theraprism" brings up this image

Very cool

"Love" brings up an image of Bill's stupid romance novel

"Journal3" pulls up text reading "THE JOURNAL FOR ME"

"Journal2" pulls up text reading "THE JOURNAL FOR YOU"

"Journal1" brings up text reading "THE JOURNAL OF FUN". Journal is looking less and less like a word to me

"Sorry" brings up the full picture of Ford and McGucket in college. What if I cried

"God" pulls up a video of a Bill statue in an aquarium with an Axolotl

"Lies" brings up a long page written by Bill, where he talks about lying and reality. It ends with a short video of flickering text reading "LIE UNTIL YOU AREN'T LYING ANYMORE".

"Scalene" and "Euclid" both bring up text saying "LIFE FORM NOT FOUND" I'm in shambles

I'm going to end the post here, I've been doing this for an hour, and the people running the main codes Google doc already have most of the results down. Aohurz av hufvul dov ylhkz aopz, zahf dlpyk, huk kypur dhaly!

[violetszone]

Headphone Game

Charles x fem!reader

Summary: You and Charles wanted a baby for a while, when you went to the doctor's checkup, you found out that you are pregnant and you decided to tell him with a game.

WARNINGS: Bad English (a little google translate,not edited writing),fluff

It had been almost a week since  you found out you are pregnant, which meant that the baby was now 6 weeks

You still didn't tell anything to Charles you were trying to act as normal as possible but it was very difficult since you have a partner who knows you very well.

For example, when he realized that you didn't drink wine for dinner for the first few days, he understood that there was something wrong with you, and you even developed it by saying "I'm doing an alcohol detox for a while," and Charles didn't believe it, but just approved.

it was a bit difficult but you somehow managed to hide it, today you were going to explain it to him with the help of Ferrari yes it's crazy and it's unclear how he will react but you would rather do it with the whole Ferrari than do it alone.

In short, one of the managers will call you and Charles on the pretext of a video and play a headset game and you will tell him that you are pregnant sometime during the game. At first, it seemed like an easy and quick solution, well at least it made sense until you got in the car with Charles started to go to the place where the video was shot.

When you arrived, Charles went ahead and talked to everyone and learned about the video, and you were fighting a panic attack at the time.Everything was ready, you took your places in front of the camera and Charles opened the video, yes the fake video.

When you started the game, he told you first and you tried to know, 6 out of 10 was a good number, and you felt more comfortable now. It was his turn and you could see the expectation on everyone's face after 3 normal word  you decided to say it

You said "I'm pregnant" and you repeated it because he didn't understand "He doesn't understand, I'll tell you another way, you're going to be a dad Charles"

He frowned and looked "YN I don't understand why I'm death what?" You shook your head and made a gesture as if to say no.

You pointed your lips and said read it,first you spelled the word then you said you're going to be a dad then repeated then he looked at you for a second and then turned to look at the camera took off his earphones "if this is some kind of joke i'll get hurt"

"No honey I'm pregnant 6 weeks" you took the ultrasound out of your back pocket and gave it you couldn't decipher his facial expression he stood up looking at the ultrasound and you stood up with him

"Charles I-" before you could finish  your sentence, he hugged you and shouted "I'm going to be a father, do you hear I'm going to be a father, we're going to have a baby ah YN this is so special, god thank you"

You hugged tight and everyone there was applauding and congratulating you. when you got home he asked why you didn't tell him sooner and you explained everything one by one You were both happy and now that Charles knows, you didn't have to worry about the video you took, it was up to you, you would probably publish it in a few months, of course, it was your decision.

TAG LIST

@octaviareina

[sakuraharuno156]

Hey!! I wanna ask why you hate Hinata since I'm quite curious

The answer is deeper than may you think, I don't know if that's what you wanted to see (and I'm sorry if it's not), but I'll answer truthfully, lol.

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

Hinata Hyuga is everything I despise in the world.

I'm a feminist, I believe that women are capable, smart, strong, interesting, independent, carring, hardworking, ambitious, ready to stand for what they believe, ready to make a change, ready to take the world by storm.

I also believe that we need that represented in media, so girls and young woman can see, that they can be everything I listed above.

Hinata is (unfortunately) the exact opposite.

1) A woman can be capable.

She is uncapable. She's so dependent on a guys approval that she became a copy of him. Even her "ninja way" is just stolen from a guy she likes.

2) A woman can be smart.

She is shown as dumb and incompetent of making smart decisions. She has to be reminded to use her only power. She has to be reminded to look at the enemy. She jumps into battles she has no chance in - without a plan. She puts herself in bad situations only to be a victim.

That panel is one of many instances that show she is just dumb.

Instead of looking (and she has one of the best eyes in universe) - she asked her teammates. Instead of thinking she just stood there - confused.

3) A woman can be strong.

She lost all her battles and never made a dent in the world.

Self-explanatory.

4) A woman can be interesting.

There is nothing interesting about her. She was born rich, with one of strongest powers in the universe given to her by birth and... she did nothing about it. Nothing. Her whole character is a guy. Her every sentence is about/for/to or in hopes of being noticed by A GUY.

I remember one instance of her saying something that had nothing to do with Naruto. JUST ONE. I know she Is a background character, but this is just pathetic.

Credit for pic: @maoam (i can't find that blog, but on Google - it was credited to them)

5) A woman can be independent.

Her whole life is dependent by recognition from Naruto. When she speaks, she speaks so he would hear. When she fights, she fights so he would see. When she trained, she trained to stand with him. When she looks, she looks for him or at him. Her whole life is a guy. The end.

That all she cares about. "Is Naruto watching?". She breathes Naruto, he is her oxygen. She is nothing and incapable of doing anything, unless a guy is watching.

6) A woman can be carrying.

She cares about Naruto and herself. Thats it. Her family, her friends, her teammates, her guards, everyone in her life suffers because she needs NARUTO.

If anyone is confused about this picture, SHE IS JEALOUS OF A DYING GUY BECAUSE HE CAN STAND WITH HER CRUSH. She couldn't even pretend to care.

And she does that ALL THE TIME. Kiba? Ko? Hanabi? Neji? Shikamaru? Anyone? Meh, irrelevant! "Naruto-kun 👉👈".

7) A woman can be hardworking.

She had such potential and did nothing. She didn't even (manage or try to) learn her families techniques. She never could do the rotation and she barely uses 64 palms (she wobbles while doing it at the end of manga)

And when she had a chance to train - she was bringing tea :)

8) A woman can be ambitious.

She has no ambition. Not everyone has to be a talented and breathtaking ninja (even tho she was born with crazy amount of potential), but just doing nothing?

She has a powerful family, powerful connections (she is a doughter of a clan leader), and Hokage as a husband. She could be a politician! She could try to change the world, but she... likes to cook and watch TV.

And ok, she doesn't have to be world-changing ambitious, but God damn it- AT LEAST TRY TO CHANGE YOUR OWN FAMILY.

She did nothing. Neji "fixed" the Hyuga clan and she did nothing. The side branch d*es like they are supposed to - protecting her.

That's it. The world is in shambles, the war is going strong, but... I want to stand with Naruto-kun 👉👈

9) A woman can stand up for what she believes.

She never stood up for anything except Naruto.

Her family being slave owners? That's fine by her.

Her teammates may lose the exam? That's fine by her.

The village may be destroyed? That's fine by her.

AND THE WORST PART IN ALL OF THIS IS - SHE DIDN'T STAND UP FOR NARUTO IN THE RIGHT WAY.

She was just WATCHING. She watched him for years. She watched when he was abused. She watched him being bullied. She watched him being alone. She just watched.

She could've been his friend in academy - She didn't. She could've said something when he was hurt - She didn't. For all we know - she didn't even visit him when Jiraya died.

This is her dream. Why dream of change? Why dream of both families being together? Her cousin stalking her and being unhappy - that's what matters :)

Either she is just a bad person and likes having slaves OR she just doesn't care to change it.

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

And it's OK to not be all of those things, but nothing? Seriously?

Hinata is everything I grow up not wanting to be. She is the anti-feminist. She is the textbook pick me girl. She is what women-hating men want all of us to be:

Submissive.

Quite.

Not too smart.

Not independent.

Just a mouse who will birth and clean the house.

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

So in conclusion:

I'm a young woman in a world dominated by men, so characters like Hinata make me want to puke 🤷‍♀️

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

AND A BIT LESS DEEP FOR THE ENDING:

I'm a sucker for a good redemption. OH, HOW I LOVE A REDEMPTION ARC.

In og she was weak and obsessed with a guy, that's fine - many of female characters were at the beginning, but she never changed.

She had a chance for good backstory (being a weak link of a strong family). Why not make her a crazy powerful junin who can lead the family to change? Or maybe get over her obsession with Naruto to become an important and useful part of her team? Or maybe make her singlehandedly end the slavery in Hyuga clan by d*ing for Neji instead of the other way around?

But no, a weak obsessed girl will stay a weak obsessed girl - just married at the end 🤷‍♀️

So, on top of the above, I hate her for wasted potential for a good redemption arc lol.

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

I hope I answered your question, if not - im sorry, please ask again! ❤️

P.S. If anyone is confused about the panels that I chose, feel free to ask for elaboration because there are LOTS OF PANELS that I'd like to use, but pic limits on Tumblr are crazy 🤷‍♀️

[wolfiemcwolferson]

"watching a movie or show that they know they're interested in" for piarles ofc :)))

Well.

Part two of this....

It's selfish.

It's completely and totally selfish.

Ferrari lines up a list of people they've vetted and approved and Charles smiles at them and says no to each and every one until they throw their hands up and ask him what he wants - who he wants.

The phone call is probably all of five minutes of Charles talking too fast and Pierre humming any second that Charles is not speaking, but he agrees at the end of it and Charles promises him the money will be good, and then he feels bad about it for a whole ten days.

Because Pierre is proud of the life he clawed out for himself after and he has a lot of pride in his job and it's never been about the money, but Charles knows that it will be nice for Pierre to not worry about things so much...and also it's selfish.

Charles doesn't see him enough - talk to him enough - and maybe it's ridiculous or childish that he is 27 and still fully in love with someone that has no idea and will never love him back, but he thinks he deserves to be a little selfish after last season.

Pierre returns the signed contract and Charles spends the two weeks before their arranged pre-season training camp trying to make everything perfect.

He has so many opinions about the branded Ferrari gear that they send for Pierre, he ends up ordering some himself in the designs and sizes he wants.

Charles gets in an honest to god shouting match with the hotel because they tell him they have no adjoining rooms when Charles knows that's not true, and Joris looks at him so sharply that Charles goes to his room to hide and when he comes back out, Joris has booked them a house.

He triple checks with the rental company that they have all of Pierre's listed foods that he wants to incorporate into Charles' diet and he downloads roughly 280 hours of US American sitcoms because that used to be the way Pierre liked to unwind.

Charles has no idea if he still likes that because the last two years...well, the last two years have been about Charles.

Charles losing the championship, Charles in the bad car, Charles dealing with an injury.

And when Pierre would come to a race, it was about Charles. When Charles would call Pierre, it was about Charles.

That's why it's so selfish. Because this is still about Charles.

He has nothing to offer Pierre except for a little bit of money and paddock passes for all of his brothers at any race they want and 280 hours of various sitcoms that hopefully will be a balm for Pierre after a turbulent flight or a long triple header or Charles being a little shit in the gym because he's tired.

my flight got cancelled, Pierre texts as Charles is googling where he can buy Season 1 of that one show with the lesser Chris from those Marvel movies. I can hop on one to nice tonight instead? get on the jet with you tomorrow? let me know

yes, Charles texts back faster than he ever has, I am just downloading sitcoms for you

Pierre doesn't text back for a long time. For so long that Charles is considering using that silly unsend option in imessage, but finally he responds.

I think I am the one meant to be taking care of you this season? but thank you, cha and then there's a screenshot of his new flight that lands in six hours

Charles is trying to determine if he can go get him - if he can risk going to get him, or maybe Joris, he could work that out, surely. He could work that out.

I am looking forward to watching sitcoms with you on planes

It's not much - it's hardly anything. But, Charles is looking forward to the long season with many planes and a lot of Pierre.

[cas-backwards-tie]

Chapter One: In the Dead of Night

Vladimir Makarov x Reader

The Long Road Masterlist

Summary: Soon after your fiance's murder you find yourself diving face first into enacting a plan to avenge his death. Regardless of your friend's approval, your wellbeing, livelihood, or future, you find yourself in it for the long-con.

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: Violence, Guns, Death, Major MW3 Spoiler, Main Character Death, Grief, Loss, Angst, Anger, Hatred, Revenge, Dark Themes,

A/N: This is... sooooo self-indulgent and utterly crack, tbh. I'd thought it up a while ago and keep thinking about it. I kept trying to think of a way to make it realistic, but... I just feel like there is no way of doing that, so I'm just gonna write it. However it goes, it goes. Also fyi I am using google translate so I really hope it's coming out okay. I do speak Russian, but only Duolingo tiny bit. divider by @saradika

You were prepared for this, you knew it was bound to happen one day, you just didn't know when that day would be. It only looks like, now, it's finally come. As you sit at the counter, stirring the bowl of oatmeal you'd just made and are trying your best to get to cool down, you can't help but think about the man currently in the other room.

You'd expected an entrance something akin to that of a Mission Impossible movie: a loud boom, doors knocked down, guns blazing, venomous words shouted in a language you've hardly begun to understand despite the tedious month of learning to the best of your abilities. Thunder cracks in the distance, rattling the windowpane in the next room; you don't know when the heavy downpour started, but it hasn't given any sign of yield since his arrival only a half hour ago now. Part of you can't help but think back to the myths and legends your husband... husband--your fiance--you remind yourself, mentally scolding as this isn't the first, and you doubt it's the last time you're going to mentally interchange the two words. Part of you can't help but think back to the myths and legends your fiance used to tell you.

The rain reminds you of the the way the Vikings would personify the Norse Gods to Earthly elements. Sure, you know some of the comics, like Thor, and Loki... but nevertheless, with your upbringing, the heavy pounding of the rain against the tin roof and the approaching thunder only makes your thoughts drift back to him. Johnny.

What would he think? What would he do? If he knew you were here... Maybe it's the spiritual part of you that never quite left, possibly having been ingrained from your grandparents when you were younger, or an aunt, an uncle of some sort, perhaps... but you think he'd do something silly like this. Come back as a thunderstorm, manifesting himself as something so threatening and dangerous, symbolizing his distress, unhappiness, and worry for you with torrents of rain, yet trying to protect you from the beyond even with lightning. Yet, you know that's impossible, and certainly not the case. Your heart begins to ache once more as you think of him, not wanting to get caught up, again, in the overwhelming grief you hadn't fully let yourself fall into. This is for him, you remind yourself once again.

"What are you giving her?" The voice comes from the doorway, and you're not entirely surprised by the venom in his tone, albeit taken aback. While he's not loud due to the (presumably) resting woman in the next room, you know that the lack of volume doesn't mean he wouldn't yell if the situation were anywhere else.

"What do you mean? This?" You quirk an eyebrow as you continue to stir in the little additives you'd put into the oatmeal: honey, sugar, and a pinch of salt. "It's oatmeal?" You explain, the confusion obvious in your tone as you hold the bowl up a bit, angling it for him to better see. As if the man has never seen oatmeal in his life; the thought would elicit a whirlwind of laughter from you any other time, or, more accurately, if it were any other person... but this was him. Makarov.

Vladimir Makarov: Thirty-six years old; born in Moscow Russia. Commander of Konni; the ultranationalistic private 'military contractor' group.

You'd done what research you could, found what information you had access to, some you didn't. Utilized what connections, resources, and favors were owed to you. Maybe some of them did it out of pity, out of guilt, or some other sense of failure on behalf of the SAS. Regardless, you'd set your plans into action, intent on making your promise to your late fiance come true. You will kill the man before you. It won't be today. No. After all, that'd be too soon, you have to earn his trust first. Only then, after he's comfortable, and settled, will you pursue your slow and agonizing torture.

"Христос," he curses, "she said you're poisoning her," he speaks slowly, a menacing quality to his tone as he unravels the crossed arms from his chest. Anger is evident in his irises as he stalks toward you with each step, eyebrows in a thick and harsh line. "I ask again-"

"The medication? Is that what you're talking about?" You ask. Feeling your own anger continuing to effervesce in your gut, you turn to face him on the stool, sliding from the counter. While he's still a couple feet away, you have to be more than a handful of feet shorter than him. Of that, you're sure. "Because from what I've deduced so far from being here, she bribed the last caretaker to not give her the medication on the agreement that she'd get more time off!"

He shifts his weight onto his left foot, eyes widening ever so imperceptibly, yet he remains quiet, so you continue. "They gave me her medication, told me to give it to her twice a day, so I'm doing that because she's been prescribed that medication. She clearly needs it, as per her doctor's orders. So unless you think the doctor isn't right, then, that's not my problem! I, however, am not surprised if she's telling you that since she obviously didn't even want me here in the first place."

Rounding the counter, you continue about your--at this point it could be considered daily--routine. Hand grasping your cool blue glass of water, you take a few sips while silently studying him. Despite having infiltrated his life and unknowingly (to him, ethically) disposed of his mother's last caretaker, you haven't officially met your late fiance's murderer till tonight.

KILLER

Slaughterer...! You destroyed him... You took him away from me. You're the reason he's gone. All the thoughts continue to run through your head rampantly, and you can't help but turn to face the wall opposite of him. Pretending to be busy with some of the drying dishes, you try to calm yourself. Acting on impulse and emotion will get you nowhere, you know this.

A heavy sigh permeates the silence that'd fallen between you, and there are the following taps of approaching dress shoes against hardwood floors. Quickly turning to make sure he neither invades your personal space nor dares to touch you, you're met with the visage of Makarov slumped at the counter, head in his hands.

You don't speak, you don't know what to say. Silence fills the space between you. Seeing him like this is weird considering all the stories you'd heard about him. Though you suppose even the most evil of men are still that... human. "How long have you worked as a caretaker?" He suddenly questions.

"A few years," you answer, swallowing the anxiety that starts to bubble up in your throat. "I started as a nurse and thought maybe I'd become a doctor, but it was... too much for me, and... not what I wanted to do. I discovered I liked helping people better as a nurse." It's not all lies, in fact, most of it is true. The only thing that meets your admission is silence, and that fact only raises the tension building within the cottage. Wincing at the rumbling outside, the sound does nothing to help the obvious discomfort you're experiencing finally facing him in person.

"And would you say you're good at your job?" He asks, eyes slightly narrowed in questioning as he slowly raises his head from his hands. The intensity of his dark brown eyes scream hostility and a hurt you can't immediately place your fingers on. Yet despite it all you refuse to waiver underneath his gaze.

"Yes. They wouldn't send me all the way out here otherwise. Not with a case like hers, Sir," you reply.

"Then what-" he tests, pronouncing each word clearly, "would you suggest I do?" He asks. There's a slight breathiness to his voice; with the thin windows, you can't help but feel as though the torrents of northern lake air through the meadow with its water.

Eyebrow raising in response, you're honestly shocked he'd ask such a thing. You're a complete stranger! A whirlwind of emotions go through you; excitement, bewilderment, shock, curiosity... you can't get ahead of yourself. With a sigh out, you shake your head. It may come across like disappointment to him, but really, it's to clear your head and collect yourself.

"Look... it's not something anyone wants to hear, bu-"

"Tell me!" He interrupts, demanding.

"But..." you emphasize, considering you were only putting up polite pretenses for show anyhow. "Really, family members do better when they're living with the family, even with caretakers to help. Whether you can't do it because you're busy or have other priorities, I understand."

"But at the end of the day, family members usually pass more quickly estranged like this on their own in a separate house because they feel lonely and like no one comes to visit. Maybe they have no one, or maybe they feel like they have nothing to live for anymore? She said you only visit her once or twice a year, if that... and while you write letters, that sometimes isn't enough for people, unfortunately. If you really want the truth."

Finished while your spiel, you shift your weight to the other foot as you place the finished oatmeal on the tray you reserve for his Mother. While, yes, you may despise him to the end's of the Earth... his Mother didn't do anything besides give birth to him. You accepted that the night you met her. Afraid to take another sip of your water, you stand in waiting, observant as Makarov seems to silently process everything you've said, his eyes shifting back and forth for a moment.

"I'll be back," he declares before sliding from the stool and rounding the corner into the small living space his Mother used to use more frequently. Shoulders sagging, a breath leaves you that you hadn't realized you'd been holding in. Onto your nightly routine with dinner, you attempt to distract yourself from the continuous torment of thunderstorm outside, meanwhile inside you can hear urgent demands in Russian faintly from the next room. It's clear he's on the phone... but with who? His goons, of course... right? Who else? But to kill you? To background check you? Do you need to prepare to flee?

As you stir the pot of soup you've just put on the stove, you can feel yourself start to sweat and panic. In an attempt to switch gears, you finish her dinner. Oatmeal ready, medication on the tray, you grab the lemonade you two had made the day prior and pour a glass for her before getting a steady grip on the tray and taking it down the hall. With a gentle rap of your foot as best you can against the doorframe, you announce your presence.

"Привет, Как вы себя чувствуете?" You ask, knowing the word for 'hi' and having figured out early on with the help of technology to ask how she's feeling.

"лучше теперь, когда он здесь." She responds with a soft but tired smile. It's a good sign that she's sitting up and alert at this time of night too. You don't understand the first part of what she says as she's talking too fast and you also don't have your phone out to capture what she says into your real time translation app, however you can grasp the last part. 'He's here.'

Placing the tray down on her lap, you shake your head and signal behind you with a frown. A second attempt, pointing to her, you give her a thumbs up and a smiling face for a moment, and then do the opposite. With a thumbs down and a sad face, you try again. "как дела?"

With a wave of her hand, she shakes her head now with a chuckle. "хорошо," she responds, lifting the spoon. "мой Володя!"

Whipping your head around, you find him standing there leaning against the doorframe most likely having been observing the two of you. Hopefully not for long... or maybe not at all since she would've said something. "она так просто с тобой разговаривает?" He says to his Mother, walking up to the bed and into her outstretched arms for the hug she craves.

"она не очень хорошо говорит по-русски," she quietly answers, holding him tightly for a moment, rubbing his back before letting go. With a pat on the bed next to her, she looks between the two of you. "My baby," she struggles to pronounce the word, "Vladimir." A proud smile sits upon her lips for a moment as she gestures to him. He smiles at her, too, and you nod.

"Yes, да. I have met your son just briefly. But it is good to officially meet," you tell her, even if you know she doesn't understand all of it. Shifting your gaze, he meets it with animosity. "Vladimir," you repeat.

"My mother tells me you are," he repeats your name, to which you nod, "it's a pleasure to officially meet you. Now that you're both here, I have news."

"News?" The question pops out of your mouth before you can stop it.

"Yes, news. Since you're taking care of my mother, you technically work for me. What you said stuck with me. You're right-" he shifts his speaking from you to his mother. "I've been a bad son to you, Mama. ты собираешься жить со мной." Again, he shifts his focus back to you. "We have to pack. You will both live on my compound from now."

~~~~~~~~

acronyms|translations:

Христос = christ

Привет = hi

Как вы себя чувствуете = how are you feeling

лучше теперь, когда он здесь = better now that he's here.

как дела = how are you

хорошо = good / fine / ok

мой Володя = my voldoya (nickname for vladimir)

она так просто с тобой разговаривает = she speaks to you so simply

она не очень хорошо говорит по-русски = she does not speak very much Russian

да = yes

ты собираешься жить со мной = you're coming to live with me

~~~~~~~~

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

[fists-on-up]

I started this blog when Twitter looked like it was going down so I could keep up with my gaylor friends. Most of them are still on Twitter, but as a writer I am a wordy motherfucker & I hate character limits. So, rather than let this blog lay dormant I am going to use it for more personal gaylor related things & more abstract/complex perspectives.

I might as well start by explaining how I stumbled upon the gaylor community because I feel like my journey here was much different than most.

I am a little older than Taylor & have mostly listed to rock & EDM my whole life. I don't hate pop, but I don't really seek it out & I don't care much about trends or pop culture. I had heard the most popular Taylor Swift songs in passing. I didn't hate Taylor at all, I just never looked further into her music.

I do vaguely remember feeling like YBWM sounded very much like being in love with your high school best friend who doesn't consider you an option because you're a girl, and as a Shakespeare obsessed lesbian Love Story pinged the ol' gaydar because forbidden love is way more common for queer people. It's not impossible, though, for a girl's family to not approve of a particular boy so I chalked it up to a specific situation she faced coupled with me viewing lyrics through my own (very gay) experiences. Especially given the fact that Romeo & Juliet tends to be referenced often based upon a very surface-level understanding of the story.

These thoughts did stick with me subconsciously, as it turns out. One day I was listening to a Spotify generated playlist I was really digging and Don't Blame Me came on while I was in the shower. I thought "Wow, this is a very sexy, Sapphic song who the hell is this??" I checked when I got out of the shower & was so confused. I LOVED it and listened to it frequently, but it still hadn't clicked completely.

Then I heard only the bridge to Cruel Summer in a TikTok & said "Oh my God, she's gay!" I immediately recognized how painful & difficult it is to play the part of "friends" in public and the sense of doom that comes with realizing you're in love with a girl while closeted. If you've never had that experience, I envy you. How we treat people we're in love with isn't really planned out, it's automatic. Trying to catch that & substitute "friendly" behavior when you don't even know HOW to be her friend is very hard. It's hard to not feel insecure when the woman you love treats you like a friend, too. It's hard to hide the love and the pain if you wear your heart on your sleeve. In short, it's torture. A unique torture you can only really describe or recognize if you've experienced it. I have, and immediately knew Taylor had too.

As soon as this clicked I immediately devoured her entire discography over & over again. For days it was all I did, starting before I got out of bed and ending when I fell asleep with a notepad on my bed listening to evermore (again). I was 100% certain she is queer before I ever Googled "Taylor Swift gay?". I didn't even know there was lore or a community at first.

I didn't just recognize her queerness because I'm queer, however. I recognized it because I'm a writer. Not by profession. By passion, I suppose. And what really made it clear was what Taylor doesn't say.

I realized I was gay when I was 14 years old and when I did I wasn't scared, I was excited. I had come to the conclusion that the entire world was just... faking it. Girls would kiss boys & go on & on about it, almost every song, movie, & book was about love, and I just couldn't relate. I had kissed more than a few boys, but I seriously did not understand. I would pretend to fit in, but it was not at all appealing to me.

Then a friend stayed the night & kissed me. A friend that I wasn't consciously attracted to at all, and yet - fireworks. Suddenly I realized that people weren't exaggerating or lying about attraction & love. I realized that the concept of attraction wasn't merely recognizing that a boy was conventionally attractive, it was attraction like two magnets pulled together. Like gravity. I wasn't broken, the world wasn't a lie, and I was fucking ecstatic about it.

But then I told some close friends and most of them immediately stopped talking to me. Some became hostile. This was around 1999-2000 in Small Town, Texas where there were no out queer people. Looking back I understand that it was just a matter of kids being ignorant and uneducated and, well, kids but at the time it was confusing. I tried to backpedal and told the friends who stayed that I was bisexual. I even tried to be bisexual (spoiler: I am not). The excitement I initially felt quickly turned to fear & I chose to hide it from anyone else.

To cope with the constant overflow of my newly-activated heart and the isolation of having no one who understands, I poured myself into poetry. I started reading Shakespeare at 11 and had read most classical works by the same age. By 14 I had multiple poems published in collections, had read every work of Shakespeare & Poe, and had memorized the Chorus to Romeo & Juliet. Using poetry to cope was kind of my brand. So cope I did.

I wrote thousands of poems. I filled binders & spirals & journals. I was always writing. Most people knew I was published young & knew I was writing like crazy, so it wasn't uncommon for other kids to read what I was working on. Sometimes they'd commission a poem from me.

The fear of anyone finding out (including my parents) meant that I had to be very, very careful with how I worded things. No she/her pronouns. Nothing that would give me away. The occasional red herring. I would be specific enough that the muse would know it was about her, but no one else would.

I almost always wrote to the muse, using "you" more than anything. Poetry is like a love letter, so it comes naturally, but it also prevented the need for gendered pronouns. I wrote that way so much I still default to it now (and I have a hard time NOT pouring my heart out to anyone I care about). I didn't realize it at the time, but my writing was inherently queer coded despite my efforts to conceal it because, well, I'm queer. Sound familiar?

There are simply some things that are upside down when you're queer & you don't even recognize it because you've never NOT been queer. Things you say straight girls wouldn't. Things you don't say that straight girls would. Straight people don't see it because they've never NOT been straight. Hell, queer men won't recognize Sapphic language because they've never been attracted to a woman OR been a woman.

There are subtle, inherent tells separate from intentional tells or flags. I didn't realize that, and neither did the kids (or adults) who read my work semi-regularly.

One day my close friend borrowed my poetry journal to catch up on what I had written. This was an especially vulnerable journal, but it was just as obfuscated as everything else. I thought nothing of it and went about my day.

Hours later, during lunch, I was outside probably bumming a cigarette off of an equally punkass kid or smoking a bit of weed from a pipe crafted out of a soda can when I heard a girl shouting my name. I left the hidden corner and walked to the main area to see a girl I didn't know walking around, calling my name loudly over and over. I called back to her, confused but glad it wasn't a teacher busting me smoking.

When we were finally face to face she confirmed that I am in fact me & I realized that she was holding my journal. She pulled me to a more secluded area, looked me in my eyes, and said "these are about girls, right?"

Fuck.

Shit.

Fuck shit.

I was a sophomore. 15 years old. She was a senior. A beautiful black girl named Lovely who I only knew of because it was a small school. And here she was just... straight up asking me. No one had ever asked me before. I had never had to answer this question before. I was caught off guard & wholly unprepared for this.

The closet is an awful place when you hate lying.

So, I didn't lie. For some reason I looked right into this girl's eyes and reluctantly, fearfully, said "Yes." Then I held my breath.

But she didn't laugh at me, didn't call me a dyke, didn't preach at me. She just... fucking cried.

This lovely girl named Lovely completely broke down in front of me, a complete stranger, and I did not realize what was happening.

Turns out Lovely wasn't just lovely, she was queer. And scared. And so, so lonely. She thought she was the only one, until she heard what my poetry didn't say. She recognized the inherent queerness in my writing because she identified with it and immediately came to find me.

I consider that conversation to be one of the most pivotal, defining interactions of my life. The entire time I thought I was alone & Lovely was there. Lovely thought she was alone & I was there, and I suddenly realized coming out wasn't really about me. It wasn't about the friends and family who would reject me. It was also about being visible. Being brave. Being proud. It was about the other queer kids who thought they were the only one. The other kids who couldn't come out. With this realization, from this conversation, I found purpose.

The very next day, Lovely came to school in baggy jeans and a basketball jersey - a huge departure from the very feminine presentation she always had. We never talked about it again, just exchanged fond smiles and nods in the hallway, but she came out to some extent. I came out within a week of our conversation, and I made a conscious decision that I was going to be loud about it.

My mom was great when I came out & I knew she'd have my back. Before the word "privilege" was commonplace, I at least understood that my supportive mom gave me an advantage others didn't have. I felt like I had not only the ability but the responsibility to be visible and unapologetic.

I was a rebellious little shit. I would make out with girls in the hallway. I lined the inside of my locker with Playboy pictures. I wrote "gay" on my forehead in hot pink lipstick when I got sick of being asked if I was "fully gay".

As a result, the varsity quarterback would call me in tears to talk through his struggles with his sexuality. I knew the most popular boys all of the girls wanted were actually very in love with each other. Girls who would laugh along with their friends who called me a dyke would hook their fingers into mine when they passed me in the hallway & pull me into dark rooms at parties when no one was looking.

I became the keeper of secrets. Society makes queer people lie & uses the guilt of that "deception" to keep people closeted. We lie to ourselves, then to everyone else, then to all but a few trusted people, then even when we're out we lie on behalf of others. I still hold secrets, even for those who don't "deserve" my loyalty. It's part of it, like an unspoken code. Closeting is lying, whether we like that or not. But lying is morally neutral. Intent & impact matter.

That time of my life was hard. Teachers would treat me differently. One flat out told me I would go to hell in front of the class. Another refused to intervene when my girlfriend was physically attacked by another girl who was pissed about her dating me. The school tried, for a time, to force me to use the boys locker room so other girls wouldn't feel uncomfortable. The school tried to ban me from taking a girl to prom (even though I was taking a friend, my girlfriend's family wouldn't allow her to go with me). A group of boys chanted "1, 2, 3, 4, death to the lesbian whore" when I got to school every morning. I got in a lot of fist fights. Mostly with that group of boys. Someone broke into my locker and wrote "dyke" all over & inside of my text books in huge magic marker. I remember telling one of my teachers I couldn't read part of an assignment because of it & trying not to cry. I was preached at constantly by kids & a few teachers who saw me as an opportunity to "save a soul". I have a lot of stories.

But you know what? I got the teacher that told me I would go to hell fired. I fought back when they tried to make me use the boys locker room. When they tried to ban me from prom, I printed hundreds of pages of court rulings from cases in which schools tried to do that to other gay kids, stormed into the principal's office, dropped it on her desk and threatened her. I went to prom with my friend. And after I had graduated, my high school girlfriend (who was a grade below me) finally got to take me to hers. A gay boy I'd never met won prom king and he thanked me for it. I didn't even know him, but he knew me. I won every single fist fight. I didn't cry about the slurs written in my books in front of people & I protested when they washed it off of the front of my locker. I wanted it to be the dyke locker. I took everything they gave me with a smile & asked for more, because it showed other kids it was possible. I made myself a lightning rod for hate on purpose, because then the "less problematic" queer kids were seen in a better light. It protected them. It also made sure they knew I was there. And they came to me & I did my best to help. I chased girls & have so many stories about drunken hookups and falling in love. Wild nights & happy days.

Don't get me wrong, I fucked up plenty too. I certainly wasn't a hero, and I put myself in very real danger multiple times. There were a lot of failures & mistakes. There was a lot of pain. But it was absolutely, positively fucking worth it. Despite it all I look back on that time fondly & I'd do it all again in a heartbeat. And I'd do it the same.

That time of my life shaped who I am in every way. I'm still that punkass kid (even though I'm pushing 40 now). Still a fighter who doesn't care how much pain I endure if I'm doing the right thing. And I never would have become that person if a girl named Lovely hadn't picked up on the queer themes in my writing that I wasn't even intentionally adding. So for me, it's kind of serendipitous that the very thing that led me to becoming everything I am today is the thing that I saw & heard in Taylor. That led me to so much beautiful art, beautiful love stories, and beautiful people in the gaylor community that is so, so dear to me now.

It takes one to know one, but sometimes knowing one puts you on the path to knowing yourself.

[palomahasenteredthechat]

https://www.tumblr.com/palomahasenteredthechat/760304167679098880/what-do-you-think-paloma-you-think-hes-a-bad?source=share

for the sake of discussion, I wanted to throw my take in the ring because i lean more towards bad person. first, i don't think this can be compared to relationships among us normies. DC's past is public and pretty egregious, most of us do not have that level of notoriety that is easily accessible. Most of us also do not have a PR team on payroll that can vet the affects of our decisions. This leads me into the my next point - intentionality. I have a very hard time believing Joe did not know about these things prior to agreeing to a pap walk/PR launch. At the very least, he agreed to be photographed with her and to be romantically linked to her. This is one of the most intentional actions he's taken in the public eye. To me, that speaks volumes above anything we may have assumed about him in the past no matter how much he may have implicitly contributed to it. Lastly, the subject matter is particularly troublesome. Many of Joe's fans are in demos that disproportionately experience sexual assault (female-identifying, LGBTQ). Unfortunately, many of us have experiences where we speak out against SA and are threatened into silence. DC has done this publicly and within the last year or two as a celebrity. Also any dalliance into white supremacy is troublesome and she has multiple - neo-nazi shirt, incel forums, and public raceplay. Like the fact that i have to type any of this in a discussion about Joseph Quinn is an issue.

thank you Paloma for always providing a safe place for discussion, even when it came at a personal cost.

Thank you Nonny for capturing how so many feel.

I didn't know anything about her except her songs. After Joe was seen with her, I googled her and read a couple of articles and her Wikipedia, and even by that cursory knowledge I was really taken aback.

Look, man wants to hit it. But to make it public? On purpose? When it's clear he can be invisible when he chooses? You are correct - it was markedly intentional, especially since he's been so private about everything else, even the most innocuous things.

I think he hooked up with her and it became more than casual, and people around them both decided to make it public because might as well monetize the relationship, right? Use the notoriety. Get your name out there.

His team might have not been as down, but he either insisted and they agreed, or they insisted, and he said okay, and none of them thought for a second about any potential consequences.

Or perhaps they did and shrugged their shoulders. 'He'll finally be rid of them.' Them. You know, us weirdos. We all know the stereotype of a typical Joe fan, and all the hurtful terms that are hurled in our direction. I don't have to write them, because they are already in your mind.

When people are othered and then there is jostling for improved status, significance and approval (I'm not like them, I'm a cool fan, because x y and z) well gosh, doesn't it remind you of other internalized thought patterns related to oppressive systems?

Then when people express their valid feelings like dismay or shock, they are name called, told they need to 'get over it', they are parasocial, weirdos, etc. etc.

Look. Don't follow him down the street and film him from behind. Don't hang around his hotel. Don't post on his family or friends' social media pages, or god forbid, his hookup's. Don't make up shit about him and spread it as gospel. Please for the love of God.

Take your frustration and anger out on your own pages or spaces where it's okay to share your thoughts.

But you absolutely have the right to think them, and to have those thoughts color your perception of who you thought he was.

I go back to the original question. Is he a bad person? No, I still don't think so, but I believe he has behaved like a thoughtless and entitled one.

[kerubimcrepin]

Live-read: Dofus Heroes - Kerubim Tome 1 (part 1)

You can find this comic's physical version on Ankama's site, webtoon version on Allskreen, and Free Scans on various file-hosting websites that shall not be named.

Quick disclaimer: While I will be including french screenshots here, because it is a language that uses the latin alphabet, and everyone has that on their keyboards, all ready to type up in DeepL and Google translators — what I will actually be reading is a new fan translation in my native language, which does not use latin alphabet.

Time to quickly switch between two tabs because nobody has translated this comic into English. Yaay...

This comic has, as my fellow crepinjurgenology studies colleague @dullard put it, "thin god Ecaflip jumpscare"

Ecaflip looks a lot like Ush here, and I think it's way too malevolent. Part of the fun of him to me, is that he is an Evil Fucking Cat that looks like a cute cat. It makes his despicable actions more funny & interesting.

...Anyway, this comic came out during the run of the show, in 2013, and its sheer existence, — including its negative portrayal of ecaflip, its inclusion of blood and Kerubim's 20 mental illnesses, — is a direct confirmation of the show being an unreliable narrator story. (Though, we've been knew.)

This comic's most important function for this blog is that it will provide us with a well-needed glimpse at what Kerubim's adventures are like when he isn't retelling them to a 7-year-old child whose respect and approval he desperately craves.

The second Kerubim is fatally wounded, he gives up. Yet, Ecaflip saves him, without using one of his nine lives, just as he did in the Wheel of Destiny article.

I suppose it's one of his trump cards, isn't it?

But I am more interested in how at peace Kerubim is with death... It does make sense for Kerubim to hide some rather morbid feelings about his life behind his cheery facade, doesn't it?

It must be tiring. Losing your family, being a god's plaything, losing your brother, feeling like you have to constantly play the role of the cool womanizing warrior, and never unpacking your emotions about any of it. Death would feel like a relief from such weight.

Which makes Ecaflip's grip on his life feel more malicious.

I know, chances are, this comic, as well as most of the show, were made well before Kerubim's demigod status was thought of as a plot-point.

But even in terms of him being a demigod... I think that death would seem relaxing, despite its temporary nature, wouldn't it?

One of the main things of this whole comic is that Kerubim gets amnesia.

Harry Du Bois-ass character. Not only is he mentally ill, divorced, and has 20 layers of sad backstory, but also he got amnesia. God bless.

Yeah, this comic is more realistic and gritty than the show, but the cartoon shenanigans are still real. Thank god.

There's a reason why I think that a big part of Kerubim's character is his experiences with loneliness and isolation, and the way it makes him crave being loved and cared for, as well as how it makes him act out to get attention and popularity.

It's telling that while completely amnesiac, he identifies immediately with a small kitten, whom he immediately assumes is a "he" and "an orphan", and wants to take care of it.

It may seem like an innocuous moment at first, but "he is all alone" will become a reoccurring motif for Kerubim's mental state and subconscious in this comic, and it is the comic where we get the Orphan Kerubim reveal.

I already discussed the fact that I think Kerubim kept and adopted Joris due to Atcham-related guilt earlier on the blog, but I will take this moment to voice 2 other reasons:

Kerubim identifies with orphans and children easily. He would never leave Joris alone after looking at him and thinking "You're all alone. Like I was."

The idea of having a child would be very pleasant to someone as lonely as him. He struggles a lot with wanting to act in a way that will make people like him, and children are, by nature, inclined to like their parents even if they're complete losers.

Btw, if you follow my main, @joris-jurgen , you probably know that I headcanon Kerubim as having comorbid HPD and BPD. Because it fits. And because personality disorders are usually the result of insane levels of childhood trauma. And... my experience running this blog has so far not swayed me from this opinion in any way. This little paragraph was your Armchair Fictional Psychology Corner. This man can fit a lot of sadness and wanting to be loved in him.

Ecaflips confirmed to, just like real cats, have very good night vision.

...Aaand now I'm thinking about cute scenarios of Kerubim, Atcham, and Joris travelling at night, or navigating their home in the darkness.

(Because Joris doesn't have human eyes, as we've seen from the movie. And considering the way Grougaloragran's eyes reflect light in the Oropo ova, chances are, dragon eyes glow in the dark, the same way cats do. Which brings me to the point that, Joris's dragon-ish eyes would probably glow in the dark. Like a cat. Yeah, I am very sane, and should not be sedated in any way, readers.)

Crocosec has always wanted to have a butcher's shop and feed people with delicious food...

Ah, I don't know why, but my silly little detail-noticing from the first eps, where I pointed out that he has a meat shop, paying off? It makes me feel fuzzy. It's nice to know that the person who wrote this comic cared enough, and that it's something that was put in here with intent.

Anyway, I am about to be very normal about the next few pages.

*jumpscaring you by including a screenshot from the high-quality scanlation I am reading. Because this moment would be too blurry if I didn't.

He isn't even playing with any other kids... This is going to kill me, and not in a fun way.

The translation I am reading interprets the last line as "I would return to..." but it seems a bit wrong to me, especially considering my own research on language sentence-comparing sites.

What Kerubim pretty much says here, is that, he'd like to become a huppermage, and use magic to bring back his parents, sisters, and brothers.

While one could interpret that as Kerubim being lonely while being raised in an orphanage all his life without a family, I have a couple of counterpoints:

He calls the kitten "orphaned" specifically, which implies that there were parents, and that they aren't there anymore.

If it were just a family he wanted, he wouldn't be as specific as to say "sisters and brothers," besides just "parents," which leads me to assume that Kerubim means specific people he used to know (before they died).

3. Atcham is a Crepin too, as was revealed in the Dofus Movie. Logically speaking, if they were both given to the temple after being born, (and as we know, Atcham was at the temple, because Bashi knew him, according to Wheel of Destiny #8) they probably wouldn't have surnames, especially the same one.

4. Kerubim's unfunny joke about being the last in his family.

5. Wakfu: One More Gate's shopkeep being an ancestor of the Crepin family implies that Crepins are a real family that existed, and that, perhaps, Kerubim's affinity for selling stuff has to do with his early upbringing, before he was orphaned.

6. In the Dofus manga, Atcham says that a sword he owned, which was stolen from him, has been "passed in his family for generations", which yet again, points to them having a family to begin with.

All of this to say... What I think happened was far more devastating.

He had sisters and brothers, and two parents — it doesn't matter if the Crepin family was an adoptive one, or if it was made up of their biological mother, her husband, and half-siblings. Because they're all dead, and that's just... horrible.

A whole family, at the very least 6 people (if we assume that by "sisters and brothers", he means just two sisters and two brothers), wiped out.

...Oh, and one last thing.

7. I think that, as an adult, Kerubim did put some research into dark magic, with a hope of bringing his family back.

Just as he said he would.

....Though, as always, that might just be me reading too much into things. ╮(￣ ▽ ￣)╭

These aren't the tears of an orphan who wishes he had a family. These are tears of grief of a child who used to have one.

And Ecaflip, his biological father and God, is taunting him about it.

...I would speak on my deeplore conspiracy theory that perhaps Ecaflip himself is to blame for whatever happened to Kerubim and Atcham's family, — to get Kerubim, or both of them, isolated, and under his thumb, — but perhaps it's just me being actually clinically insane.

[toxicanonymity]

The Hardware Store. Ben's Hardware Ch. 2

4050 words / Ben Solo x Rey / ch 1, ch 3

Warnings: I8+ mdni. Sexual tension, dubcon via inappropriate use of the force, masturbation kind of, voice kink. Hardware Store AU but more than meets the eye. special thanks to @dark-scape

-

Rey thinks of him constantly, but the next few nights are dreamless.  She returns to the hardware store on her next day off.   Her cheeks are burning as soon as she walks through the sliding doors.  She grabs a hand basket.  She’s wearing a wool hat, even though it's not that cold.  She feels less exposed this way.  She heads for Aisle 39 as if he just hangs out there all the time. Her eyes dart around, unsure whether she’s hoping to see him.  Her heart is racing.  She reminds herself it was just a dream.  It wasn't real.  He hasn't tasted my skin or seen my tits.  I have no idea what he sounds like when he comes.  

Oof. Now she's all hot and bothered. Rey squares her chin.  She's at the store to get a part and finish her project.  Maybe she'll see the same worker, maybe she won't.  Her heart aches to think she might not.  She hasn't felt this irrational over a stranger since she was a teenager.  She doesn't even know his name.  

Aisle 39.  He's not around. She sighs silently in a mix of relief and disappointment.  She lazily browses, biding her time. She's looking for the whole dimmer, not just the knob after all.  The whole package.  When other workers walk by, she puts on an air of confidence so they won't help her and thereby ruin her excuse for talking to him.  

She holds a dimmer in her hand and nods in approval as she pretends to read the back.  After ten minutes of various versions of this, she tires and pulls out her phone, searching "LED dimmer."  She locates a match and puts it in her basket.  She has no idea what to do, installation-wise.  She starts googling.  She's going to need a screwdriver for the panel, and a voltage tester. 

She wanders through the store with this list in mind, even though Poe and Finn surely have the tools at home.  The screwdriver will depend on the screws.  She finds herself in the nail and screw aisle and stares at the little bins on the shelf, thinking about the other night’s lucid dream.  It was impossibly vivid.  His skin was hot and soft. She wants to feel it again, feel it more.  Feel *him* more.  Feel him inside her.  It wasn't real.

A voice like a bassline snaps her out of it.  "What kind of screw do you need?"

Her heart catches in her throat.  She turns.  "Um, Hi. . . I hadn't given it much thought." She smiles with just a hint of sauciness. She must be emboldened by the illusion of having seen him naked…ish.   

She sees him now: flannel shirt, black and yellow.  Jeans.  Radio clipped to his belt.  No apron, no hoodie.  Charcoal work jacket, collar erect . She likes it. She wonders if he's doing a different job today or if the new management is ditching the aprons. He steps a little closer and stands by her side, looking at the shelf with her.  His arm brushes hers, and arousal moistens her panties.  "Oh, I hadn't thought about it either," he reassures her, almost demurely.  Is he teasing her?  She smiles up at him.  He’s so tall.  He spreads his feet a little, just like he did when he was thumbing through the records.  It wasn't real.

He surveys the shelf, then turns back to her.  "So, you want to think about it, or want a hand figuring that out?"  He could read her the tool catalog and it would sound sexy, but he's also asking a logical question.   He follows it with, "What do you want to do?" And steps into her space.  Interesting.  The other night he made her make all the moves.  It wasn't real.

"I, um-"

"Install this?" He leans closer, grabs the dimmer out of her basket, and turns the package over to read.  God, he smells good.  

She enjoys the intimacy of this.  Surely he doesn't reach into just anyone's basket.  She watches him brush his hair behind his ears and gives a small nod, captivated.  She wets her lips.  

"Oh yeah," he looks up in recognition.  She wonders if he knew it was her when he came over. She reminds herself she might be just another customer to him.  "You want to install this dimmer," he concludes, nodding with a contemplative pout.  

His voice is like ASMR.  It penetrates her skin.  She inhales his scent.  It's not cologne.  It's more like a luxury shampoo.  A masculine one.  It really compliments the sawdust aroma of the store.  She lets out a little sigh as he waits patiently. Feeling self-conscious, she explains her sigh.  "I really haven't the faintest clue what I'm doing."

He drops his head a little, which only emphasizes his height when he’s this close to her.  "Oh, don't sell yourself short," he says, letting that hang.  He sweeps a few strands of hair behind his ear.  His hand brushes the jacket collar and he doesn't put it down.  He gazes absently at the screws.

She breaks the silence. "I mean really, how does it work?"  Ugh, she thinks. Why did she ask that? She's certain he doesn't know a thing about hardware.  She hopes this doesn't end the conversation. She should have waited to see where he took it.  

The radio on his belt hisses with static a few times.  Bleep, bloop. "Hux to Solo." A burst of static. "Solo, come in. Do you copy? Solo. Code 66. North port." He reaches to his hip and turns a knob to silence the intrusion with a clenched jaw.  Her eyes follow his hand to his pants.   His jeans are not exactly baggy.  She shakes herself back to reality.  What's code 66, she wonders. 

"Hey.  I'll be honest with you," he says.  "This isn't really my department."  No shit.

Rey nods, "yeah,"  wondering what his department is.  Wood? There's a moment of silence.

"That obvious?" he glances down, then at her.  No smile, but his eyes are warm.  Almost hot.  Before she can ask about his department, he adds, "Buuuut." The low hum of his voice gives her goosebumps and she tugs her sleeves down.  He continues, "if you figure out what kind of screw you need. . ." her cheeks burn under her freckles, and her nipples harden.  She crosses her arms.  "I'm pretty good at reading the shelves, so I could help you find it," he finishes, straight faced.  "The screw might depend on the outer panel on your wall at home," he suggests with a shrug. 

Rey thinks about what kind of screw she *really* needs, and the left side of her bottom lip slides under her top teeth. The right side of his mouth breaks into a little smile and he searches her face.  His eyes sparkle and his eyebrows raise like he's about to offer something.  Rey hopes it's his number or at least his name.  

An apron-clad worker arrives and receives somewhat of a glare for interrupting.  "Sorry,” they look down nervously,  “Hux needs you."  They step back a little.  Rey wonders if she should excuse herself. 

His plush lips disappear into a straight line, and he jams his large hands into his pockets.  He closes his eyes and his nose takes in a slow breath, like he’s calming himself.  She wants to feel his nose on her neck, his breath against her mouth.  He nods his head downward as he exhales, then reverses and stares straight up at the ceiling for a beat and blinks as he inhales.  

With his neck outstretched, Rey sees a red mark on it.  Her breath hitches, remembering what she did.  It wasn't real.  It's at the exact right spot.  She feels naked.  Her hand comes up to her own neck and her fingertips feel her heart racing.  She studies the mark.  It's two smaller marks, really.  A perfect match with her teeth.  She can still feel his skin between her lips.  Now she can't even remember what they were talking about.  

His deep voice sharpens, and he turns to the worker. "Tell him I'm with a customer.”  He rises to the tips of his toes then rocks back down. The heels of his work boots land with a soft rubber thud and he looks at the worker expectantly. 

The worker looks hesitant, but replies "Of course," and scurries off.  Rey wonders if Hux is his boss.  Bold response, if so. She stares again at his neck, though she can't see the mark as well in the shadow of his hair and collar.  His hand follows her gaze, and his finger traces his red skin.  Shit. He noticed.  Rey wants to crawl into her wool hat.

"Sorry," she blurts out.

"Oh. . ." he says, dropping his head a little. His hair falls into the far side of his face, forming a private curtain for them.  "Don't be.  It didn't hurt," he adds, almost reassuringly.  She's frozen.  Her mouth is dry.  She swallows.  He quickly corrects himself, "Doesn't. It doesn't hurt." He brushes the curtain of hair back. 

Rey lingers on his words, with her lips slightly parted, then apologizes again, clarifying, "I didn't mean to stare."  He shrugs and picks up a screw to examine.  She wants that red mark to be hers so badly.  Her panties throb.  Then it hits her that the mark might be someone else's.  Her temples feel weak, but she tries to brush it off for now.  

"Occupational hazard," he says, dropping the screw back into its bin. 

Rey's eyes drift to his jeans again, and she yanks them back up.  She abruptly changes the subject, forgetting to ask which department is his.  "Where's the apron?"

"Oh, I just haven't put it on yet," he answers.

"I liked your doodle," she explains, not wanting to sound like a Karen.

"You liked my. . ." 

"Um, the death star."

"Ah, yeah.” He lights up. “Well, I'm glad to hear that.  You know, not everyone-"

A stern voice comes over the intercom:  "Benjamin to Greenery. Benjamin to Greenery.  Please ."  

His nostrils flare and his eyes widen as though to say, how dare he .  He must be getting called back to his department.  "Sorry, I have to go."

"Okay. . . Benjamin," Rey smiles brightly, adding an inquisitive raise of her eyebrows.

"Ben," he chuckles, and doesn’t ask her name.   She's holding the hand basket with both hands. He gives her arm an affectionate squeeze as he turns to leave.  "See you later, Rey."  

Rey feels the blood leave her face at the sound of her name.  "Sorry, what?"

He turns back.  "See you later, I hope."  

Maybe she heard what she wanted to hear the first time – her name sounds so safe in his mouth.  But, he hopes.   She smiles as he walks away with a swift, long stride. 

Rey hopes she doesn't look too giddy.  She feels observed.  She adjusts her hat and clears her throat, then checks out and pays.  She makes sure she has her keys and looks at her receipt on her way out.  She reads it again, Ben's Hardware . . .she pines for his hardware.  Maybe the Ben is his dad, and that's how he gets away with defying his manager.  She feels a little bad for thinking it.  He doesn't have a nepotism vibe.  Common name, most likely a coincidence. "Ben," she whispers to herself, approaching her car.  It really suits him. Masculine. Humble.  She puts the receipt in her pocket.   

As she reaches her car door, there’s a loud boom near the store.  She looks back to see a white tractor trailer docked near the greenhouse.  Men in pale jumpsuits appear to be loading crates *into* the truck. Maybe they're remodeling?

She sees Ben's silhouette mount the truck, his hair catching up to him in a bounce.  He’s talking to someone. His hands are on his hips, his jacket pushed back behind him.  He points with his thumb over his shoulder toward the store, then points with both hands into the truck.  He drops an arm and pauses, as though waiting for an answer. He twists toward the parking lot, gesturing with both hands.  He does a double take in her direction before pivoting back toward the inside of the truck.  He steps further into the truck.  As she gets in her car, she hears something clang – from inside the truck, she thinks.  She wonders briefly if Ben has a temper, but she can’t picture it. 

Rey doesn’t have any other plans today, aside from stopping home to water her own plants.  She thinks about finding out what kind of screw she needs and coming back to the store.  She wonders if it would be too much to come twice in one day.   Hey, that’s the kind of screw I need.  Her mind drifts to his climax, and hers. It wasn't real.

Before she turns on her car, she looks in his direction one last time.  Through the nursery, she can just barely see Ben hop down out of the truck. She can't pull herself away just yet.  It's like a magnetic force.  She feels it in her whole body.  Being in the same parking lot as him is enough to make her tingle.  Her stomach growls.

-

Outside the Café  

It's another rare weekday off, so Rey decides to visit Chalmun's Café next door before she leaves.  When she comes out with her soup, she notices the white tractor trailer has moved out of view.  She sits on the patio. It's still bright for December.  She finds her sunglasses.  She kind of feels like a creep sitting there, but she's been going there for years and even worked for Chalmun in high school.  Granted, she's never eaten outside.  

Rey will feel less creepy if she doesn’t stare at the store.  She scoots her chair, metal screaming on the concrete, to face the parking lot instead.  As she situates herself, out of the corner of her eye, she thinks she sees Ben round the corner outside the nursery.  Her heart races.  She can’t help but glance.  It’s him, and he seems to be in a heated argument with a slender, serious-looking man with red hair and pale skin.  They pause at the corner.  

Ben is facing the hardware store, but his voice is booming.  “My customers need it.  Find another way.”  His customers?  Rey smiles with a bit of second-hand embarrassment, but it's charming.  

“Your customers, Ben?” The redhead raises his voice, incredulous, then reigns himself in.  “Respectfully.  We have one customer.”  He's the voice from the intercom.

“Yes, my customers.  My customers here ." He moves both hands in unison like he's explaining a logical sequence that should be common sense:  "There’s no store without the customers, and there are no customers without inventory.  Tell them the rest is staying here.”

The redhead looks distressed.  “If we don’t deliv-”

Unmoved, Ben points at the truck. “Unload those last two crates, too.” 

The redhead is exasperated.  “I tried to call y-”

Ben continues, “You should have made a bigger order.  Don’t they give you a list?”

“We can’t–there’s no–it’s the supply chain-"

“If I hear another word about the supply chain,” Ben warns him with a finger, and pauses. “Get another supplier." He shrugs with his arms raised, then tries to move on.  "What the hell are they building now, anyway? Why could they possibly need so mu-” 

“- What other suppliers?”  

“I don’t know; Mitaka got new suppliers all the time!” 

“Not in this business model,” the redhead responds.  “That was before.” Their heads seem to be cooling.  Rey can just barely hear. 

“Suppliers are suppliers,” Ben insists.  “And now, you’re ordering from a local hardware store.  If anything, more of them should be willing to work with you.  That was the whole point,” he sighs.  

The redhead thinks for a moment, and seems to sour.  He snaps, “Well I can’t exactly ask Mitaka where to find new suppliers.  Maybe if you hadn’t-” She can’t hear the rest, or he stops.  

Ben's hands ball into fists at his sides.  He watches the redhead shrink. “If I hadn’t what?”

The redhead is coughing. He catches his breath and tries to rephrase.  “I mean, if Mitaka was still-” He coughs again and starts over more gently.  "If we hadn’t-”

“If HE hadn't.  We had no choice.  Figure it out, Hux," Ben commands.  "And put on the apron.”   Ben shoves a cloth bundle into his chest.  As Hux raises a hand to receive it, Ben gives him an appreciative pat to soften the blow.  Ben steps around him and through a back door to the store.  Hux lingers there for a moment, his head bowed, the strings dangling from the apron.  He scoffs and brings a radio to his mouth as he walks off.  

Rey feels guilty for spying, but it was kind of sexy to see him dress Hux down like that, only because Hux seemed to deserve it.  Hux must not be his manager after all.  Is Ben the Ben?  Or maybe he’s a logistics guy? She’ll learn more about him in due time, she thinks.  She finishes her meal and leaves.  

Today was the most Rey's ever spoken to Ben.  The closest she's ever stood.  The most he’s ever touched her in real life .  Hopefully that won’t hold true for long.  Her arm is still vibrating from his little squeeze.  And his aroma – goodness.  She wants to figure out what it is so she can inhale it before she sleeps.  Anything to see him again. Citrus and eucalyptus?  She scolds herself.  She has to find some kind of release.  Her gym bag is in the hatch, she remembers.  She can make the next boxing class before she goes home.  

-

The Gym

Rey braids her hair into pigtails to keep it out of her face.   The first third of class is on the bags, mostly kicking, then she stretches.  It feels good to limber up her groin.  It’s been holding a lot of tension.  Next, they use handheld strike pads, rotating match-ups with class members.  “Damn, who pissed you off today?” the instructor remarks. “Pair up.” Time to spar. 

There are no other women to spar with today, so she pairs off with the smallest guy.  It’s not the first time she's fought him.  He once decked her in the mouth, even though heads are off-limits in class.  She didn't blame him - reflexes are reflexes - but she doesn’t hold back as much now.  By the end of the match, he looks dejected and embarrassed, and she's finally worn out.  She gives him an apologetic pat on the back on her way to the locker room.  She feels kind of bad but also satisfied.  He returns the gesture and as he raises his arm, she catches a whiff of her victory.  There’s something about the smell of men, she admits.  Even men that don’t interest her.    

***

Rey peels off her sports bra and leggings, which are already cold with sweat, and grabs two towels to hit the sauna.  She steps in and feels the warm floor under her feet.  She wraps a towel around herself and puts another down on the wood bench.  She takes a seat, sinking back into the wood.  The sauna is dimly lit with a salt lamp.   She undoes her pigtails then leans her head back again.  

Her mind and body are humming with the afterglow of seeing (and hearing)  Ben.  Her mind replays things he said to her today, conjuring his voice as best she can. “. . . want my help figuring that out?” She smiles and bites her lip.  It was so hard to pull herself away from him.  He seemed just as reluctant to leave her presence, she realizes: "Tell him I'm with a customer."   

She remembers Ben's confrontation with Hux in the parking lot.  She wants to focus on Ben’s booming voice, but the echo of Hux creeps in.  “We have one customer.”  She can’t help but dwell on it and wonder if there’s something else at play.   It’s none of her business, she tells herself.  She doesn't want to know.  She tries to release Hux from her mind.  The sight of him is killing the mood, too.  

Suddenly she hears Ben’s voice out loud, gentle and clear as a bell: “You heard nothing.  It’s just a hardware store."   It stops her breath and startles her eyes open. Her skin is gooseflesh and her nipples are pebbles.   How did she do that, she wonders.  It was like he was there.  She breathes to slow her heart rate.  Once she can relax again, she tries to hear him say something a little sexier. "If you figure out what kind of screw you need . . ."  but she doesn’t hear it out loud.  It doesn't echo or send a prickle up her neck.    

She can't remember what she was thinking about just before.  Her thoughts turn to the dream, Ben's arms moving her up and down, the shine of cum on his shredded torso.  She rewinds to the beginning of the dream and tries to hear him say “you can sit anywhere you want."  She doesn’t hear it out loud, but the memory is enough to stir something between her legs. She clenches  her thighs together firmly.  Now this sauna is getting hot.  She adjusts her towel at the top.   

“Lower,” the voice says out loud.  “As low as you want,” it encourages.  Oh .  She remembers the towel around her chest.  Okay, she’ll play this game with herself.  She tugs the towel a little lower and a nipple peeks out.  There were no other women in class, so no one will barge in.  

“How do you feel,” Ben’s voice says.  Her heart swells, and her eyelids feel heavy.

Relaxed, she thinks.  This is incredibly realistic.  How is she doing it? Incapacitating lust is a hell of a drug, she thinks.  Extreme fatigue doesn’t hurt, either.  She relaxes her shoulders.  She tingles all over.  She closes her eyes gently.   “Say something else,” she whispers to no one. 

“Do you want to touch yourself?” his voice asks.  

No, Rey thinks, startled. At the same time, she reaches to massage the muscle that connects her pec to her armpit, which aches from striking.  She lets her palm rest on her nipple and grazes it lightly.  Wetness seeps into the towel she's sitting on as she recalls how his lips felt on her breasts. She breathes in through her mouth.  It wasn’t real. 

“Where else?” Ben’s voice asks.  She clenches her thighs again, tighter.  “Don’t be shy,” it encourages. She lets her other hand part the towel and find its way to the apex of her entrance.  She holds her hand there, but doesn’t press down.  She can feel the energy there.  She thinks about his hard cock against her.  Ben's hard cock. It’s the only thing she wants to feel.  

“How?” she whispers, wondering how this works.

“Fuck me,” his voice answers.

“How?” she thinks silently  

“Just ask.”  

She relaxes, releasing everything but her memories.   Her fingers are resting gently, practically hovering, right near her sensitive bud.  She feels his cock pressing against her. She begins to move her middle and ring fingers in a come hither motion, without physically touching her own skin.  Truly, all she wants to feel is Ben. 

Gradually, she feels his cock sliding against her to the rhythm of her fingers.   He feels amazing.  She hears him breathing.  She slows her hand, and his cock slows with it.  He softly moans.  It's an exhilarating  sensation.  It’s like she's pulling on invisible strings, operating him as her personal toy.  She speeds up again.   The sauna begins to smell like bergamot and eucalyptus.   She wants him desperately.  Needs him.   

“Take it.”

A pang of pleasure in her core begins to pulse outward.  She clenches her legs desperately, and she comes.  In public.  Her face contorts into a grimace, her head turns to the ceiling, her aching muscles jolt, her feet lift off the warm ground, her back off the bench. 

She catches her breath and wipes sweat off her face.  It’s the relief she needed.  She sinks back into the wood bench, wishing it was his chest.  She hears him breathing so clearly that it could be someone else.  She panics to close her towel as she opens her eyes and is relieved she's still alone.  

-

Thank you for reading and engaging!!

Chapter 3

[theliterarywolf]

Oh my God, so I know you often reblog super cool fashion stuff, and a friend recently made a negative remark about "I could never do goth bc I'm not white." So as I remembered some cool stuff you posted I googled some black goths, and instead of taking it as a cool fact that no, it's not just a white people thing, she just had to be like "Well that doesn't count!" WOMAN, WHY DO YOU HAVE TO TALK SO NEGATIVE ABOUT THIS FASHION SCENE BEING MORE DIVERSE THAN YOU THOUGHT? Sorry it's just annoying.

Ah, I know this song and dance!

I'm reminded of, when I started venturing more towards Goth/Lovecraftian Gothic fashion, I had the same conversation with my mother.

Though, in that case, when I pulled up examples of black and African people in the Goth culture, she just brushed it off as 'they're just trying to be white'.

Though, funnily enough... A few months ago when it was time to decide on my next hairstyle (the one before what I have now), I tried showing her some braided styles that had a vertical 50/50 color split between red and black (since red was the only color she had been approving of for my hair).

When I showed her, she brushed it off as 'something only teenagers would wear' and I was kind of in a tired/bitchy mood that day so I replied 'Well, I want something different and you're the one who said I can't do blue, so...'

Just for her to come out and say 'I never said that. I think black and blue would look nice.'

So, after I had a bout of internal screaming ('THAT'S NOT WHAT YOU SAID AND YOU FUCKING KNOW IT--'), and a bit of tweaking, I finally have my black and blue hair.

[car1no-xx]

Pedri x Swedish reader where she teaches him the basics of Swedish like:

Jag älskar dig = I love you

Hej jag heter = Hello my name is

And some more (use google translate for more lol)

He later scores against Sweden in a match and doesn't celebrate but instead says "jag älskar dig" to the camera and it's all over social media. And it's just puré fluff

You don't have to do this if u don't want to lol, I just haven't seen a y/n from my country, she's either English, Spanish and I once saw a German one, but yeah I don't have to write it, anyways you are really good at writing :)

Älskling (Pedri x Swedish reader)

In which a self-care, takeout night turns into a Swedish lesson with your boyfriend.

Warnings: none

A/N: This is so cute. I love Sweden and hope you enjoy this short fic because I definitely enjoyed writing it xx

~~

The two of you sat cross-legged on the couch, cartons of takeout noodles in front of you. It also didn't take much convincing for Pedri to don a face mask with you. A self-care night, talking about everything and nothing all at once. You had moved to Barcelona a few years ago for work, and although you missed home, Pedri was also your new home.

"Amor, it's not like it's rocket science. Hej jag heter Pedri. Just repeat after me," you giggled, taking another bite of your takeout noodles. "Hej jag heter Pedri," you repeated slowly. My name is Pedri.

"Okay fine," he playfully rolled his eyes. "H-h-hej jag..."

"That's good. Keep going!"

"H-h-heter?" He looked at you, seeking your approval. You burst out into laughter; his pronunciation was fine, but it was the concentrated look on his face that made you amused. He knew how important it was to you for him to know at least some things in your native tongue. It was the effort that counted. That was one of the biggest reasons you loved Pedri. What was important to you, was clearly important to him, too. God only knows you wanted a relationship full of love and laughter like this for so long. Someone who loved you and accepted you for who you were - fully, and without reservations.

"Okay, now try this. Hur mår du?" How are you?

"Hur...what? Okay, just give me a second," he said, grabbing his phone from the coffee table beside you. Typing something into his phone, he then lifted his phone up to his ear. You stared at him with a puzzled look on your face.

"Jag älskar dig, älskling." I love you, darling.

"Did you just Google translate that?" The biggest smile lit up your face.

"I did. But I'm basically fluent now. And I meant what I - well, rather, what Google translate - said." He pulled you into a hug and placed a kiss on your forehead through his face mask.

[satureja13]

Jeb is back at the Burrow and Francine is briefing him on Vlad's progress. Francine: "Since Vlad is still blind... *accusatory look in Vlad's direction* ...we must stimulate his other senses. We need him in top condition when we try to cut the bond to avoid severe damage - or gods forbid - death! So I was googling. They said playing an instrument is an excellent way to achieve this! He used to play the piano, right?"

Jeb: "Oh he can't do that! Vlad swore to himself he would never play the piano again after Leander killed Wesley!"

Vlad: "I am right here! And no, I will never touch a piano again! OUCH!"

Francine: "Poor Vlad! How horrible! I'm sorry, I shouldnt have mentioned it! Of course he should never play the piano again!"

Vlad is a bit on the edge after spending his whole day (again) with Francine and her crazy plans on how to - safely -cut the bond. And Malfoy still hasn't approved of him yet. He's sitting on Vlad's lap for hours now. And everytime Vlad tries to move, let alone stand up, Malfoy claws his sharp talons in his tighs...

Francine: "But when he still loves Wesley so much... this makes things easier to cut the Bond between Ji Ho and Vlad, doesn't it? A lot easier!" Vlad: "Fine! I'll play the piano!" *stands up* "OUCH!" Jeb: "Vlad! Be carful! The box!" But it's too late! Vlad already fell: "OUCH!" Not the best day for Vlad and his pride... Jeb: "I'm going to accompany Vlad to my room." (Francine - this old, manipulative, clever hag! ;)

And Vlad played the piano again. For Ji Ho... Sigh. But Francine was right. There was no need to avoid it any longer. He did stop to play out of grief over Wesley, his first love. But Wesley is back. And together with Leander. So... And if it helps to cut the Bond... And while Vlad plays, Jeb assembled the Whiteboard... Jeb's task to put the Boys back together again won't be an easy one. He doesn't even know where to begin...

Vlad and Ji Ho are out until the Bond is cut. To not be a danger for the others. The Council will be after them as long as the Prophecy is still valid... Kiyoshi is nowhere to be found. And Jeb surely won't put Saiwa back in the first row again. He has enough troubles as it is with Jack now... who lost his Alpha and gained a new family... So Jack is out too... Well, that was easy -.- He's going to start with himself then lol...

From the Beginning  ~  Underwater Love ~  Latest 'Putting the Boys Back together' from the beginning -> here Previous Chapter: The 'Disbandment of the Group' from the beginning -> here