#guys i was in such a baking kick over the summer i cannot stop thinking abuot a natejo bakery au

[19871997]

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[whaleofatjme1920]

Denying Feelings on the Tiled Floor (Masky X F!Reader)

[Masky X F!Reader]

[Warnings: blood, angst]

[AN: I genuinely dont think I've posted this here before but it's from my quotev and I want it here lots of love <3]

Tim can’t really describe the first moment he knew he felt something for you, only that he did. And he knew the risks that came along with having such feelings.

Hanahaki, it’s a terrible disease, really. Instead of giving flowers to the person you love, you grow them in your lungs. If the person that you’re so willingly throwing your affections at doesn’t return them, you die. The flowers cloud your lungs and unfurl, sprouting and taking root as they invade your chest, making it harder and harder to breathe until you eventually choke.

He wasn’t supposed to have feelings for anyone, especially as a proxy and even more so as a respectable group leader. His job is to guide and lead, not feel softly for someone who might never return his feelings. Tim doesn't really think he even deserves to have these type of warm feelings, if he’s being honest.

Not after he failed to protect Brian. Not after he failed to protect Amy. Not after he failed to protect Sarah. Not after he failed to save Alex. Not after he barely managed to protect Jessica. And certainly not after he failed to do right by and protect Jay. His existence was always bound to be one of suffering, not warm feelings and sly glances at someone he feels so deeply for.

He supposes that’s where the Hanahaki comes in from. He can’t just have warm feelings, he must suffer for those two. The warmth he felt for you was at first a spark, small, floating on the wind from something greater and bigger than he could ever imagine. Then, it took hold on every part of him, consuming him until it was ablaze and the flames licked upwards to the heels of the sky.

It was something he never wanted to feel, something he wanted to shove back. But sometimes, it was pleasant, and sweet, and it lured him in like sailors to a siren song.

Sometimes it was just a little smile.

“Good work today,” Tim complimented as he patted your back, watching as you tiredly stumbled back into the house. “I wasn’t sure we were gonna be able to get that guy but you? You were on it.”

You glanced over your shoulder and smiled at him. “Thanks! He was a slipper bastard, but I make it work,” you giggled.

Tim chuckled and closed the door of the temp house his group was currently staying in. “Get some rest tonight, okay?”

“Why? We have something big tomorrow?” You asked, tilting your head slightly.

He followed you into the kitchen, watching as you began to rummage in the fridge for something cold to drink. “No,” he started. “I just want you to get some rest.”

You poked your head from back out of the fridge, genuinely smiling at him. “Sure thing, Masky.”

His heart skipped a beat.

Sometimes it was your laugh.

It had just been you and Tim in the car coming back from a late night convenience store run. Apparently, the rest of your group wanted to have a movie night but the snacks were severely lacking.

There was music playing in the car but he hadn’t been focused on it all. In fact, he was more focused on you telling him things from your childhood.

“I can’t believe they just let us do that,” you had giggled. “I know senior pranks can get out of hand but I’m certain we cost them thousands in actual damage and even more in water damage.”

Tim chuckled and nodded. “I remember for our senior prank, Hoodie and I got the bright idea to steal three pigs from one of the local farms in the area with a group of other guys, and marked them with a one, two and four,” he explained, watching from the corner of his eye as you began to grin. “So, we let them loose in the school and of course, the staff and the students that weren’t in on the prank spent the entire day looking for pig three-” he’s barely able to get the rest of the anecdote out before you burst into laughter.

Tim’s heart grows softer as he joins you, fighting the desire to hold your hand. You sound so beautiful to him.

Tim knows he can’t deny his feelings. He couldn’t try any harder, and unfortunately for him, he has the inkling you don’t feel the same. It’s painful because he can feel the seeds of that terrible disease spreading further and further, consuming him slowly.

You’ve mentioned it before, not wanting to be in love. Not desiring a relationship and by extension, him.

“I just don’t think I’m up for those kind of things,” you said one night as the two of you say up on the roof together.

He tilted his head slightly to the side. “What makes you say that?”

You shrugged. “I’m a proxy, and I don’t think love is in the roster for people like us.” You giggled slightly and fixed your posture before shaking your head. “I think the only types of people who would work with people like us is people like us. But, even then, I think we’re way too emotionally unstable.” You then paused and looked over to your group leader. “What about you?”

Tim shrugged, a small, sad smile on his face. “I think I’m in agreement with you.” He said it, but he doesn’t mean it. He watched you carefully after he said it, looking for any signs that you wanted to challenge him, and when he didn’t see them, he felt the flowers bloom.

Coughing is absolutely normal for Tim. He’s handled the Operator’s influence for far longer than anyone should, which has been since his childhood. It’s just his body’s natural reaction to being poisoned all those years. But what wasn’t normal was when he started coughing up petals.

Oh how he hates the color pink now. Carnations. They’re pink carnations. He has no idea why they’re pink carnations as you have shown no type of fondness or specific admiration for the type of flower, but they smell so sweet and the color reminds him of you. He tries to smoke his cigarettes more and more in a vain attempt to smoke the roots that have taken hold in his lungs before they consume him in his entirety.

But he knows he won’t stop them, and that he won’t give into that surgery. What’s the use of living if you cannot have the feelings that come alongside it? All of the things that still make proxies human, life, death, love and birth - peace and war? Happiness when you laugh with friends, confusion, anger and somberness. It’s worth it. Every single part of it is worth it. He doesn’t want to lose the warm feelings he has to you either,

Even if it kills him.

It’s not like you haven’t noticed Tim coughing up pink carnations. The way the sparsely blood covered flowers find their ways into vases or in the trash have been greatly concerning you, and as far as you can tell, it’s not from Toby, Brian, or Kate. The only habitual cougher is Tim, and that makes you concerned.

You don’t know how to feel about Tim most days, but you know it’s something sweeter than what should be allowed as a proxy. You’re finally making your decision when you think you’ve almost lost him.

It’s a warm summer night when you finally come to terms with how you feel. You’ve just returned from some kind of ‘cooperation mission’ with Eyeless Jack and Jeff and you are more than exhausted after the mess you had to put up with.

“Anyone home?” You call out. From the kitchen, you can smell fresh pastries. Looks like Kate and Toby have been baking again. You follow the scent and see platters of brownies, cookies and other sweets laid out on the countertops with little sticky notes telling you to only take from the brownies - the rest are for other proxy groups and independents.

You’re just about to pluck one of the fresh brownies when you hear coughing. It’s soft at first, thick, but sounds like normal Tim coughing. You wonder if you should head over and see if there’s anything he needs. “Masky?” You call out again.

He coughs again. “What?” He sounds exhausted.

“Do you need some water?”

“No, I don’t-” he begins to cough violently, and you swear you can hear something falling to the floor as he does so. Tim rumbles around his room, crawling out of bed as he continues to violently cough and to the bathroom.

Worried, you exit the kitchen hastily to see what’s wrong just to see him slinking into the bathroom. “Masky? What’s going on?” You ask in a growing concerned tone, walking down the darkened hall to where the bathroom light shines from under the door.

And there you see it, flowers. Pink in color, carnations. They’re soft under your shoe as opposed to the hardwood. You feel the blood run cold in your veins. “Tim? Tim? Tim, you gotta open up please-” you rush out as you begin to pound on the door.

“Don’t you dare!” He snarls, pushing his weight against the door, still coughing. “I don’t need your hel-” he practically coughs up his lungs as he falls to the floor.

You panic. “Shit, shit, shit!” You cry out as you lean back in the hallway. “I’m coming in!” You know he can’t really hear you as he continues to hack out his lungs, but you kick the door in, bursting it from its hinges. You catch it and practically tear it out of the frame before shoving it back into the hall.

You widen your eyes upon seeing the state of Tim and immediately fall downwards, your hands sliding over his trembling form. There’s blood all over the sink, the mirror, even some of the sub and on the floor. The red drops leave trails down his mouth like snail trails. “Oh my gods,” you murmur as you rest his head on his lap, stopping his skull from knocking around on the tile floor.

“You shouldn’t-” he coughs more. “You shouldn’t be in here!” He’s not able to reprimand you because he’s practically puking up a bouquet.

“Nonsense,” you shrug off, trying to bring him comfort. “What the hell brought this on?” Your fingertips gently trace around his mouth and help claw the budding flowers out. You’ve never hated carnations so much until now.

Tim glares up at you before closing his eyes in pain, feeling the flowers cloud his lungs further. “It’s nothing-”

“Does this look like nothing?” You sound so cross, but it’s just because you’re so worried about him.

A long, pregnant pause passes between the two of you.

You continue to pull the blossoms from his mouth before looking over his form, seeing how his hand is slowly reaching up for yours. “Tim…”

“I know,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, I never meant for you to-”

You shake your head, your hand reaching out to hold his. You grip him before taking his hand warmly up to the side of your face, allowing him to caress your cheek. “Don’t.”

“But it’s true,” he barely manages to wisp out. “I never meant to throw this onto you,” he finishes before weakly coughing up more petals and full budding flowers. He can barely breathe now.

You sigh as you press his hand up to your cheek just a little firmer, letting him feel your warmth before you softly pull him back. “Open your palm, please,” you say softly as your free hand fishes out yet another bundle of carnations.

He weakly nods, closing his eyes and giving into his labored breathing as his lungs compete with the roots and sick blossoms for air.

You sigh once again, a small smile crossing onto your face before you plant a kiss on the center of his palm, remaining for just a moment before allowing him to pull away all on his own. “You always had me you idiot,” you whisper as you watch his fingers curl inwards, gripping the kiss that you had just planted.

Tim looks up at you, starry eyed before resting his hand on your cheek again.

The garden in his lungs begins to wilt.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Deep and Rapid River, Ch. 11

<- Chapter 10

Summary: The end of a journey and the start of a new one

The world was beautiful—bright blue skies stretched overhead with a few lazy white cotton puffs drifting unhurriedly through and topping distant snow-covered peaks. Insects fluttered and chirped in the afternoon heat from the tall grass that lined the dirt road at the center of town, where tiny white and yellow flowers bloomed. Inside the gloomy church, you hadn't even noticed what was waiting just outside.

It was not a peaceful summer day, however. Word travels fast in a small village, though not always well or with accuracy, and a general chaos turns in the air—villagers carrying buckets of water clamor toward the smoke and others, still screaming, clamor to get away. It won’t be long before men with muskets come to hunt the great beast who had caused the calamity and abducted a bride from her wedding.

A large but fast warmblood waits, loosely tied to post just outside the church door. You could swear you’ve seen it somewhere before.

The creature sets you on its back side-saddle, before climbing on behind you and spurring the horse to a gallop. Behind you, a handful of villagers stare after you in shock.

“We shall be long gone before they recover enough to come after us,” he says, a laugh brightening the edges of his voice. You grin into the wind, fingers grasping at a handful of chestnut mane. You’re both exhilarated, and can hardly believe what just happened.

As you continue down the road, reality has to catch up sooner or later. Fear creeps back into your mind.

“Where are we going? What will we do?!”

“Are you not happy? You came with me of your own accord...”

“Of course I’m happy! “Of course I’m happy! You rescued me from that nightmare.” You’re not sure how to show your affection while trying not to fall off a galloping horse, so you nuzzle your face against the arm he has wrapped around you. “Only, we still have the same problem we had yesterday,” you frown.

“In truth, I may have wallowed and wasted away in self-pity, doubting if interference on my part was wanted, but I was encouraged to action. There is something that may assuage some of your apprehension.”

He slows the horse and turns its reins down a narrow path into the forest, barely visible from the road. You ride for several minutes, ducking sharp branches that tug at your dress, winding through the undergrowth until it opens up upon a small clearing at the edge of the river. The water is cool and clear, far calmer than the angry brown churning that overflowed the banks in the spring.

“This is where we first met, isn’t it?”

He slides himself off the saddle and lands softly in the tall grass. Taking the reins under the animal’s chin, he leads you toward a figure waiting at the far side of the meadow, under the dappled shade where the forest line hangs just over the riverbank. A smaller horse grazes idly beside them. He raises a large hand and waves to them. The figure waves back, mahogany curls bouncing with the movement, the light catching on their long, fussy sleeves.

It couldn’t be.

“Stop where you are!” she barks as the creature approaches too close. “Fifteen feet, remember our deal?” She holds up a hand in front of her eyes and squeezes them shut as if to erase him from her vision.

“Bess?” you stammer.

She looks up at you with big brown eyes and smiles. “Sorry for missing your wedding. I heard it sucked.”

You jump off the horse and nearly knock her her flat with the force of your hug. “What are you doing here? How did? What? And you didn’t—” your mouth is running at a million miles a minute yet you can’t quite manage to articulate words.

“Alright, alright,” she pats your back. “I am astonishing, I know.” She steps back and gestures to a large leather saddle bag next to her on the ground. “While everyone was distracted, I packed everything you’ll need to survive. Baked some hardtack special for you, so you shouldn’t starve for at least a month, though I recommend foraging something to supplement it.”

“This… this was your idea?” Your jaw hangs open. “But I… But you...” Your open jaw wobbles in disbelief, your last memory of Bess wide-eyed with terror and screaming.

She tucks a hand on her hip and looks aside. “I saw what I saw, and I was shocked. Frankly, it would have been a lot to process even without a damned—whatever you call him—involved. I didn’t say anything of course, but it was distressing. I didn’t know what to think. That you were cavorting with the legions of Hell after all? Then I recalled your strange behavior of late—your distraction, your mysterious smiles and contented sighs. Always hiding away in that barn yet refusing any aid with your chores. After I could breathe again it was not difficult to put together. I’m not a dummy, dummy,” she smiles.

“Suddenly they were forcing you to marry Ferdinand. I knew you would never do so willingly, but I had no power to stop their machinations. I didn't know what to do, so on a hunch, I checked your barn and found this brute curled on the floor with ten cats, weeping into one of your chemises. Thus I recruited him to my aid.”

The creature steps forward and gestures a large hand toward Bess in a friendly manner. “It was she who secured the horse and supplies, and who suggested—”

Bess waves him away sharply, clamping a hand over her eyes. “I’m sorry, guy, I cannot even look at you.” She shudders deep and sickeningly to her core. “You are fucking crazy,” she says to you, “I don’t get it. But this fellow makes you happy, doesn’t he?” You nod. “Then I am happy for you. This town has been a prison for you ever since we were children; I watched it draining your life, your dreams. So take your scary boyfriend and get out of here!”

Tears sting the back of your eyes. The creature was right—all along, Bess would have understood. Instead of confiding in a friend, you let fear lead you by the nose into a trap from which the two of them busted you out just before the door could snap shut behind you forever.

“I should have told you.” You wipe your eyes, laughing softly. “I’m an idiot.”

“No…” she coos soothingly, with some hesitation. “Well, yes. A little. But we love you.” She makes a visor over her brow with her hand and points in the general direction the massive, ominously looming creature is standing. “He loves you quite a lot, you know.”

“I know,” you smile, blessing him with a gaze affectionately returned (though he keeps his distance from the flighty Bess, occupying himself by packing up the horse). “He’s wonderful.”

“It takes all types,” she shakes her head. “Alright then,” she clears her throat, steeling herself, “Ride as hard as you can until you reach the next town. Blake is our fastest, strongest horse and should be able to bear the weight for a sprint of that distance. That should be enough of a head start to then disappear on foot, especially if nobody knows your intended destination is Geneva. If you would be so kind as to return the horse to the livery stable there—it is run by my cousin, and he won’t ask any questions. When you reach your destination, I expect a letter or I’ll think you’re dead.”

“You’re not coming with us?”

Her eyes grow wet. “It isn’t my journey. This place is not so much a cage for me as it has been for you. Though one day, I hope, we shall meet again.”

“I will miss you.” Your lower lips quivers with unspoken sorrow. She hugs you fiercely and protectively one last time before pulling back with a sniffle.

“Now go on! You must hurry before they come looking for you.”

The creature reaches down a hand. You clasp it, warm and strong in its grip, and he pulls you up onto the back of the muscular horse. Bess waves, running after you on foot as he kicks the horse into a brisk canter. “Don’t forget that letter!”

Tears stream down your face as you turn in the saddle and watch Bess and the river grow smaller and smaller, and eventually be swallowed up by the forest. You inhale deeply and let out a long, shaking breath.

“Are you all right?” the creature’s question vibrates in his chest, pressed to your back.

“Yeah.”

He is silent for awhile. The wild exhilaration of your escape from the church has withered and been replaced by a mournful determination to move forward. To begin new lives. The reality is not so glamorous as you reminisce on all the things you are leaving behind—Bess, Edelweiss, your flock of chickens and barn cats, the moss-covered boulders that were your secret place since childhood—yet you are ready to build that new life, whatever challenges lie ahead. You’ll have the best help one can hope for.

You let your weight shift back so your head rests against the creature’s chest. His long black hair flutters around you in the wind. He leans down and presses gentle kisses on your hair and your shoulders, and a comforting warmth spreads beneath your skin. You feel safe and cared for.

“Do you hate me? You must hate me,” you murmur into the wind, but his sharp ears pick up every word.

“I love you,” his chest rumbles. “You are my life, as much as the air that fills my lungs. Why should I hate you?”

“I was useless. I gave up. I was so terrified, I gave up on us. How can you ever forgive me?”

“You saved my wretched life long ago, dear angel.” He holds the reins in one fist, and slides his other hand under your arm, caressing your side and splaying out his fingers over your belly, smoothing the fabric of the gown. The gesture is warm and possessive, and keeps you secure on the speeding horse as you melt into him, intoxicated by his touch. “You dragged me out of misery into the light—cared for me with patience and love I never believed myself deserving of. You stood beside me and tended my wounds of both flesh and of my soul. Your company alone is a gift of which I was made unworthy. I have always wanted to thank you for saving me.”

“Now we’re even, huh?” you laugh.

“No,” he replies softly and insistently. “I think I would like to continue paying you back.”

The hand he had rested on your belly glides up to tip your chin toward him, and he presses a precarious kiss to your lips. A small jolt of hooves over the terrain sends you clutching for mane, but his steady hand darts back around your waist to keep you balanced.

“I will have to exact more payment once we have arrived on solid ground yet again,” you promise sinfully, resting a hand over his and squeezing it. “I want to kiss all of the scars on your handsome face.”

His chest vibrates with an eager hum of anticipation.

As you ride away from your old life, you feel something changing deep in your bones. You are already farther from your home than you have ever been, and ahead of you is the wide horizon of blue skies speared by sharp mountain peaks. You look up at the closest mountain to the road. It is not one you think you have seen before, although its shape is hauntingly familiar, like the face of a childhood friend, after years of separation, as an adult.

“What mountain is that?” You point to it.

“It is the white-crested peak of the great mountain that overlooks your town. The one I greatly admired from the window of the hayloft. We face its west slope, now.”

A wave of excitement for the future surges through you like electricity. What will your life look like from a fresh angle?

[dramaqueeenamby]

Waves [drabble]

A/N: I’m tired, ya’ll, and two Excedrin’s later, this damn migraine will NOT go away! :( All prompts will be finished tomorrow morning/afternoon! Promise! 

In the meantime, here’s this random ass blurb I wrote like two days ago that was inspired by the included pic. :/

TAGS: @honeyybey @purple-apricots @90sinspiredgirl @mbaku-babygirl @killuzumakii

"I just took a DNA test, turns out I'm 100% that bitch."

"Summer."

She smiled, looking over at him to see that he was giving her the "be quiet" look.

Instead of obeying, she straightened up and lifted her elbows off the counter. Using the view of herself provided via her propped up phone, she folded over the band of her shorts and tugged on her bra strap.

"You coulda had a bad bitch, non-committal. Help you with your career just a little,” she continued to sing along, turning sideways as she playfully twerked. "You're 'posed to hold me down, but you're holding me back. And that's the sound of me not calling you back."

"Summer!"

She laughed, covering her face while she grabbed her phone. Summer sauntered over to the other side of the kitchen and placed her phone against one of the kitchen aids.

She bent over to make sure it wasn’t going to fall while taking a few minutes to read the comments from the people who were watching the Live.

Summer rolled her eyes and withheld her smirk as he moved behind her, taking an unnecessary amount of time to reach for the mixer while pressing his crotch into her backside.

"Moveeeee," she stressed the ‘e,’ wiggling to push him off. Before he finally moved, he slapped her ass. "Annoying." Chris chuckled as she rolled her eyes and continued to read. "Hurry up. I’m hungry."

"Why don’t you tell them why you have me up here at 3am, baking you a cake," he grunted, going back to fix his wife’s late night craving.

"Because you looovvveeee me," Summer spoke in a sweet voice. "Right, baby?"

"Fuck off."

She gasped, turning to look at him. "Baby." Nothing. "Christopher." She fake pouted. "He’s so mean to me."

Is he really making you a cake in the middle of the night? 😩 I hate this bitch.

I love how he’s complaining yet still doing it 😂😂😂

Girl, you got that boy so whipped. TEACH US YOUR WAYS, AUNTIE SUMMER 😣

If I asked my man to bake me a cake, he’d break up with me. I need me a Chris 😭😭😭

Tell him you get your cake, he gets his. 👀👀👀

Summer snorted at the last comment. "Girl, why you think I’m trying to get him to hurry up?" She stuck out her tongue and twirled her hips. "I missed my man."

"Show me."

"Feed me."

"I tried. You said you needed a break."

Her eyes widened. "Christopher!"

"Is it a lie?"

"No, but that doesn’t mean you have to broadcast our sex life to all of Instagram."

He rolled his eyes. "I don’t think it’s a secret that we have sex, Heat Index. We have children."

"Those are your kids," Summer quickly interjected, tapping her purple nails against the custom granite. "Badasses."

"She’s upset they like me better."

"Lies," she hummed. "They just can’t get over on me like they do you." Reading the comments, she saw that people were asking what happened. "Ya’ll, he came back home today, right? Tell me why those little traitors barely said five words to me since." Summer feigned annoyance. "Papa comes home, and they forget all about mama."

"They could never forget you, sweetheart. They just ignore you."

She stood up, staring at him with a dropped jaw. "What? It’s true."

As the next song came on, she flipped him off while turning her body away to playfully dance.

"I’m not a teacher, babe, but I can teach you something."

I love how she’s not afraid to show off her stretch marks and tummy.

"Y’all know I’m 100% for keeping it real," Summer spoke, lifting up her shirt to show the stretch marks on her stomach and side. She then turned to the side and tugged on her shorts to show the ones on her hips as well as leaning over to share the ones on her chest. "I have a lot of them now that I think about it," she laughed and shrugged. "I always have, actually. But I could care less because I love em, my husband love em, and that’s really all that matters."

She continued to dance and hum along, watching Chris pour the batter in the bundt pan.

Y’all remember the time Summer was on Live and said she’s not that good at twerking, and Chris said she could come practice on his dick? Well, that ass is MOVING 👀👀👀

Summer busted out laughing. "I actually forgot all about that. But I mean...." She winked and looked over to see Chris setting the timer. "Yay! It’s in the oven, ya’ll!"

"Shut up."

"Thank you, baby," she grinned, jumping on his back and kissing the side of his neck. "Te amo."

Chris pretended to bite her hand while walking over so that they were in view of the camera.

"What are they saying?" She asked as he placed her on the counter and leaned over to read the comments.

CHRIS 😍😍😍

A WHOLE snack 👅👅👅👅

I’ve never been so jealous of a celeb 😭 Chris really just out here existing with his sexy ass

Did she even help him? 😂😂

"No," he answered. "She never helps me, but that’s fine. I’d rather her not burn down the house-"

"Babe!"

"Thermometer, the people of Instagram know that you cannot cook."

"He’s so mean to me!" Summer complained, reaching over to grab and lick the spatula.

"She’s always waking me up," he replied to another comment. "It’s either because she wants me to fix her something to eat, she needs me to kill a bug, or she wants to have sex. Not that I’m complaining about the last one."

"Christopher, stop exposing me!" Summer hit him on his arm. "And these are not just regular bugs. Australia has these mutant ass bugs. I almost died the first time I saw a spider. I’m terrified of insects, and he knows this."

Summer ain’t slick. We don’t care about those bugs, sis. Let’s talk about that S-E-X.

I’m honestly not paying attention to a damn thing that’s being said because these two are literally fucking stunning.

Break up with your wife cause I’m bored 👀👀👀

The real question is how often does he actually get up and cook for her though 😐😐😐

"Every time. Why would I not?" Chris seemed genuinely confused by the insinuation that he’d just ignore his wife’s wishes. "She wants or needs something from me, she has it. No questions asked."

"Can you make me another cake for tomorrow?"

"Fuck off, Celsius."

Her jaw dropped as she kicked him in his ass while he laughed. "Don’t let him deceive you. He’s actually an asshole."

"Lies."

"No, but really, guys. Christopher does all of the cooking. I do breakfast, but lunch and dinner are all him." She supplied. "And when he’s gone, I have a private chef come to make everything because the kids literally hate when I try to cook. They only eat Papa’s food."

Chris grimaced. "You really tried to make them eat your cooking? I thought we agreed that we weren’t going to use cruel and unusual-" he was cut off by her jumping off the counter and hitting him in his stomach. "Assault!"

"Shut up. I am so sick of you." She pretended to be upset as he easily grabbed her by her waist and lifted her up. "He’s the real bully." She squealed as he squeezed her sides, specifically where she was most ticklish. "Put me do-Christopher!" Summer both gasped and laughed as he pushed on her back, forcing her to bend over as he thrust into her from behind.

WE FINALLY GETTING THE SEX TAPE, YALL!

GOD IS REAL! 😱

Drop the clothes. I’m trying to see something.

In the kitchen though? Y’all nasty nasty huh 👀

"Guys," she kept laughing as Chris refused to loosen his grip on her hips. "I have to go take care of my husband-"

"Or let your husband take care of you." He mumbled, giving her ass a squeeze before moving out the view of the camera.

Summer’s eyes widened slightly as she caught his drift before she abruptly ended the Live.

“Bye.”

[sassycassie-s-writing]

A Total Boss

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): Final Fantasy XV/Prompto Argentum

Rating: PG-11/T- (for minor peril + spider)

Original Idea: @welovegroot asked: Could I request a bodyguard fic? With Prompto?---coupled with This set of headcanons

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) Heck yes you can! First Prompto one-shot! Isn’t he an adorable sunshine boy? XD Enjoy this Bodyguard!AU

^^^^^

The moment Prompto saw you, his brain stopped working. He wasn’t aware that he was going to be assigned to protect someone so pretty! He had a hard-enough time talking to girls as it was but talking to you? Being around you all day and keeping you safe? He was going to make a complete idiot of himself. Biting his lower lip, he awkwardly approached you.

“Uh… hi. Pleasure to meet you. I'm—” He gulped and stuck his hand out. “—I'm Prompto Argentum.”

You beamed at him and shook his hand, giving him your name in return. He barely heard it over the blood roaring in his ears. “The pleasure is mine, Prompto Argentum,” you said. “I'm grateful for your service.”

OMGOMGOMG, he thought frantically. You were smiling and your smile was breathtaking.

He let go of your hand quickly when he realized his hand was sweating. He was wearing fingerless leather gloves as usual but he didn’t want to take any chances.

“Uh—yeah! Uh, no sweat,” he replied.

Nailed it. Smooth as a cactus. If he’d been alone, he would have smacked himself in the forehead.

Trying to hide the pink rising on his cheeks, he turned to your father. “I, uh, believe there’s still some business to take care of?” he asked.

Your father nodded. “There is. Right this way,” he said. The two step into your father’s study to complete the boring paperwork.

^^^^^

The moment the door shuts, your friend snorts and dissolves into a fit of giggles. She’s been sitting on the couch twiddling with her hair since before your new bodyguard came over. You’re used to her antics by now, but you turn a look at her. “What’s so funny?” you ask.

“He’s so adorable!” she replies. “Who would guess that he’d be a qualified bodyguard?”

You shrug. “My father, apparently,” you say.

“The five-foot-eight blond dork whose bulletproof vest looks like it was made for a man bigger than he is.” She snickers again. “Hey, at least he’s cute.”

“Oh come on, Estelle,” you protest. “That hardly matters—”

“Sure but at least the guy you’re now stuck with all day every day is nice to look at.” She kicks her feet up on the coffee table and twirls a bit of her hair around her fingers casually, her dark eyes glittering with humor. “I, for one, cannot wait to see how this turns out. Two-hundred gil says you two will be dating before he leaves service as your bodyguard.”

“I’ll take that bet,” you say impulsively. “And when it’s over, I’ll be two-hundred gil richer!”

Estelle just grins. “We’ll see.”

^^^^^

Prompto may have seemed flustered and embarrassed when the two of you met, but as time goes on he loosens up. Within the first week of him guarding you, you get a measure of his true personality.

He’s bright and cheerful. A bit talkative, but at least he fills the awkward silences. He gets friendlier the more time he spends with you.

He starts feeling less like a bodyguard and more like a somewhat-overly-attentive friend.

“Look! Puppies!” he exclaims as the two of you walk down the street. He scuttles away excitedly and kneels in front of the couple out walking two very small yellow dogs covered in soft hair. You laugh and jog to catch up. The smaller of the two has a cowlick on the top of its head that reminds you of Prompto’s hair.

“Aw!” the woman says. “You have a very sweet boyfriend, miss.” She smiles at you.

Prompto starts coughing. “Oh, no, no, ma’am, you’re mistaken,” he says politely, pushing himself to his feet. “We’re not… together.”

“He’s a friend,” you put in, smiling back at the woman. “We’re just friends.” It’s too complicated and personal to explain why you have a bodyguard to every stranger on the street—though how they don’t notice his bulletproof vest is beyond you since he doesn’t even wear it under his clothes—so you decide “friends” is the best way to put it.

“Oh. Sorry,” the woman says. “You two have a nice day now!” She and her companion stroll off.

Prompto’s ears and nose turn red. “OMG. I should not have done that. I am so sorry, miss. I’m not supposed to leave your side and—”

“Prompto!” you protest, grabbing his wrist to catch his attention. “It’s okay. No harm done.”

^^^^^

“Boyfriend, huh?” Estelle teases after you tell her what happened in town. Prompto turns a light shade of pink on the armchair in the living room. Estelle gives you a playful raised eyebrow. “I can see why people might think that initially.”

“Estelle,” you begin. “There’s really no reason to—”

“Spider!” Prompto shrieks, waving his hand and arm madly. “Spiderspiderspiderspiderspider!”

Your friend covers her mouth with both hands to hide her laughter as the spider lands on the carpet and gets crushed under Prompto’s boot. When you look up at his face, his eyes are red and tearing up and his lip is quivering. You give him a sympathetic look, get off the sofa, and throw professionalism out the window because goshdangit he looks like he needs a hug. Ignoring Estelle’s barely-muffled snickers, you wrap your arms around him.

Prompto squeaks in surprise. “Uh… miss? What are you doing?”

“This is a hug, Prompto. I'm hugging you.”

“I know what a hug is. Why are you hugging me?”

“Because you look like that spider scared you to death.”

“Well,” Prompto says, slowly prying himself from your hug, “no one likes finding out a spider crawled on their arm.”

“True that,” Estelle remarks with a snap of her fingers pointing at Prompto. She glances at her watch and gets to her feet. “Well, I gotta be off. Boyfriend and I are going out to dinner and if I don’t go put on a nicer shirt my mother will never let me hear the end of it!” She winks at you and ducks out your front door. “Oh, and bye Prompto!” she calls over her shoulder.

“Uh, bye!” Prompto replies.

You roll your eyes at your friend—and immediately rub at your eye as discomfort shoots through it. “Shoot,” you mutter.

“What’s wrong?” Prompto demands, looking around in sudden vigilance you’re not particularly used to.

“Eyelash in my eye,” you say.

“Here. Let me get it out,” he says.

Am I going to trust him with this? Your mind races as you lower your hand and open your eyes wide, looking up so he can get the eyelash out. His face is ridiculously close to yours. You can see every detail in his light blue eyes—and practically count the star-field of freckles across his nose and cheekbones.

You do trust him to remove the eyelash. He does it gently but quickly. Sure it feels wrong to have someone touching your eyeball, but one quick poke and the discomfort goes away. You rub your eye again. “Thanks,” you say.

“Anything for you, miss,” he says professionally—with just a hint of his trademark playful friendliness in his voice.

You laugh and sit back down on the sofa, flipping open the book you’d been looking at before Estelle stopped by. “Hey Prompto?” you ask.

“Yes?” he replies with a bright smile.

“Do me a favor and grab me a pen, would you?”

“You got it, gurl!” He gives you finger guns and does a front-flip over the loveseat toward the kitchen. You can’t help but giggle. He’s a funny guy. Really you couldn’t have asked for a better bodyguard right now. Sure, you were in danger, but with Prompto around life felt almost normal. Like having a friend.

A really overprotective friend who carried a gun.

^^^^^

“LOOK OUT!” Prompto shouted, grabbing your hand and yanking you out of the way of a car that blew through the red light right where you were about to cross. The force of his pull sends you right into his chest. His other arm closes around your back, holding you close.

After a moment of both of you panting with adrenaline and fear, he lets you go. “Oh man. So sorry. I shouldn’t have—oh wow.” He steps back and pushes his hand through his hair. “I shouldn’t have touched your bare skin like that. So unprofessional—I'm so sorry—”

“Prompto! It’s okay. You’re just doing your job. And without you I would have been run over, okay?” you press.

He nods. “Okay. But… still. I'm sorry.”

“Don’t be. I'm safe.” You smile at him. “Now come on. Let’s cross.”

He twitches a bit as you cross the road, making sure you’re not going to be run over again. It’s a nice evening, turning into a warm summer night. The heat of the sun has baked the pavement and the stone that the buildings are made from, and as the sun’s power fades toward darkness, the pavement and stone radiate the heat they’ve captured. It’s fantastic weather.

Perfect for seeing a film.

One good thing about having a bodyguard twenty-four-seven is that going to the movies is easier. You don’t have to try and coordinate schedules with a friend so you don’t go alone. Prompto has a difficult time sitting still in a movie, but sometimes he does manage to relax.

“Come on,” you say, nodding toward a gap between two buildings. “This is a shortcut. Estelle and I always cut through here.”

Prompto looks wary but follows you in. You notice his hand rest on his gun. The buildings cut off the sunlight, plunging you both into near-nighttime. Prompto steps closer to you. You can almost feel him vibrating from anticipation.

“Prompto, it’s okay,” you say. “Nothing ever happ—AAAHHH!”

The scream is torn from your throat before you can stop it. It was just a reaction as Prompto grabbed your hand and yanked backward. He shoves you behind him protectively, one hand gently brushing your upper arm to make sure you’re still there and within reach should something happen.

A man almost twice Prompto’s size emerges from the shadows—how you hadn’t noticed him is beyond you. You see yellow, dirty teeth leering at the both of you and the glint in a pair of eyes too far away to really see.

And the barrel of a gun—gleaming in the half-light.

You yelp, fear catching you up.

Prompto reacts fast—and you’re reminded that he’s there to keep you safe. He’s not just a friendly dork who hangs around all the time.

He kicks the gun out of the man’s hand, using the momentum to flip backward. Sticking the landing, his hand shoots into the air and catches the gun, which he then cocks and points at the man. “Don’t try that again,” he snaps at the huge dark figure.

The man looks as surprised as you are. He puts his hands up and backs off.

Prompto reaches back and finds your wrist. “C’mon. We’re going,” he says. You don’t protest as he keeps you behind him, circles the man, and then runs through the rest of the alley. He puts the safety on the unfamiliar gun into place and shoves it into a spare holster you’d noticed but never thought much of. The two of you are standing near the side-door of the movie theater.

“That… was awesome,” you say. “Terrifying, but awesome. How did you do that?”

“Years of training,” he replies, panting. This time he takes your hand gentler and pulls you toward the front door of the theater.

You’re almost there when he starts to cry.

“Prompto… what’s wrong?” you ask quietly.

“I… I failed you, miss,” he says, voice shaking. “I couldn’t stop the threat before it happened. I'm such an idiot. Completely disposable.”

“Prompto,” you say, reaching up to brush some of his messy hair out of his face. “You are not disposable. I couldn’t ask for a better bodyguard. And look at me—I'm safe! You did not fail, okay? You’re a great bodyguard! A total boss!”

He sniffs and wipes his face on his bare arms—you’re fairly certain he hasn’t worn anything with sleeves since the day he began—giving you a melancholy smile. “You think so?”

Impulsively, you tilt up onto your toes and peck his cheek. “Absolutely. Thank you, Prompto.”

“M-my pleasure, miss,” he says. Still holding your hand, he pulls you around the corner to the front of the theater and opens the door for you, as he always does. “Your evening of entertainment awaits.” There’s his playfulness. You grin, making him smile.

“I’ve had plenty of entertainment already,” you say.

“Too much,” he says. “Hopefully you won’t have to have any more of that kind.”

“Well, with you here, at least I know I’ll be safe,” you say.

I think I might owe Estelle two-hundred gil when all this is over, you think as you give your tickets to the usher and head into the right theater to catch the film.

Surprisingly, you’re pretty sure you’re okay losing that bet.

[snowysamw-moved]

Hot Chocolate (Sam X Reader)

Warnings: none, bc this is all fluffy and cute

Characters: Sam Winchester

Pairings: Sam Winchester x Reader (kinda), Sam Winchester x Friend!Reader

Word Count: 892

Prompt/Insp: “It’s Valentine’s Day and I’m single and you want to cheer me up but you can’t cook nor bake to save your life so you make me hot chocolate instead and it is delicious and I think I love you???” AU from: https://pure-prompts.tumblr.com/post/164355556570/one-cannot-have-enough-of-cute-and-random-aus-so

Summary: It was the first Valentine’s Day since Jess had broken up with Sam. Since you knew Sam was probably feeling down, you went over to fulfill your best friend duties and cheer him up.

A/N: i honestly love this so much oops. also, this is a normal au where Sam and the reader both go to Stanford!!

“I’m coming over,” you inform Sam over the phone. You can practically hear the frown in his voice as he answers. “No, Y/N, you don’t have to do that,” he sighs. You roll your eyes.

“Nah, it’s not nearly enough,” you said with a laugh. He licked a bit of the whipped cream off. “Take a sip,” you urged, wanting to know if he liked it or not. It was white hot chocolate with a hint of peppermint, and was something your mother always made you when you were having a bad day. Even if it was a hundred degrees out and in the middle of August, you would drink that stuff as if your life depended it. “Trying to poison me, Y/L/N?” You rolled your eyes. “Just try it. Unless you’re scared, Winchester.” Before you’ve even finished speaking he’s taken a sip. You eagerly await his reaction, and mirror the smile that appears on his face. “That’s actually really good,” he says, making your smile brighten. “Is it white chocolate?” “Yup. My mom used to make it for me when I had a stressful day at school or just a bad day in general,” you tell him, taking a small sip of your own. “I’ve been practically living it since the beginning of college. I’m surprised I have yet to make it for you.” Sam gives you a fake offended look. “I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me, Y/N.” You simply smirk, turning your attention to the movie as you take another sip of your hot chocolate, quickly licking away the whipped cream mustache that came with it. By the end of the movie, both of you had eaten a significant amount of the snacks you had brought, and you had finished drinking the first batch of hot chocolate you had made. Sam, wanting to know how to make it for future reference, followed you into the kitchen. Before you start to make it, however, you pull your phone from your pocket, and start some music. Your best friend groans as the soundtrack of Grease started. “This? Again?” “Hey, the message of the movie might not be so great, but ya gotta admit, the music is pretty good.” He merely rolled his eyes at your words. Soon, ‘Summer Nights’ came on, and since you were waiting for the hot chocolate to melt, you grabbed Sam’s hands, making him dance with you as you sang along. “You are so ridiculous,” he muttered, though he couldn’t keep a smile off his face. “You love me,” you said with a bright smile, before continuing to sing. As he watched you dance and sing along, reluctantly doing the same, Sam realized that he was so screwed. Because, as he was realizing, he did love you. Just not the way he used to. He loved everything about you, from how caring you were to your smile and laugh. Part of him wondered how he could’ve possibly spent so much time getting over Jessica when he had someone as amazing as you right in front of him.

[popgoesthewiener]

Even The Stars Are Ill At Ease 0001 - Doofus Rick Sanchez/Evil Morty Smith - SFW

Title: Even The Stars Are Ill At Ease Author: Daisy  Fandom: Rick And Morty Setting:  Pairing: Doofus Rick/Evil Morty, J19ζ7 Rick/Evil Morty, Gazorpazorpian Rick/Evil Morty, C137 Rick/Evil Morty, Evil Rick/Evil Morty, Riq IV/Evil Morty, Storage Rick/Evil Morty, Miami Rick/Miami Morty, Miami Rick/Investment Rick/Miami Morty, Super Morty Fan Morty/Miami Morty, Punk Morty/Miami Morty, Greaser Morty/Miami Morty, Punk Morty/Greaser Morty/Miami Morty, Dreamy Rick/Novelist Rick, Dreamy Rick/Punk Morty, Novelist Rick/Greaser Morty, C137 Rick/C137 Morty, Birdperson/Tammy Gueterman, Abradolf Lincoler/Nancy, Mr. Lucius Needful/Summer Smith Characters: Doofus Rick, Evil Morty, Gazorpazorpian Rick, C137 Rick, Evil Rick, Riq IV, Storage Rick, Miami Rick, Investment Rick, Dreamy Rick, Novelist Rick, Miami Morty, Punk Morty, Greaser Morty, Super Morty Fan Morty, C137 Morty, Birdperson, Tammy Gueterman, Abradolf Lincoler, Nancy, Mr. Lucius Needful, C137 Summer Smith, Doofus Jerry, Doofus Beth, Doofus Summer, Doofus Snuffles Genre: Romance/Angst/Drama/Hurt/Comfort Rating: E Chapters: 1/? Word Count: 3522 Type of Work: Chapter Story Status: Incomplete Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, Het, Straight, AU - Canon Divergent, Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Gore, Child Abuse, Incest, Grandfather/Grandson Incest, Selfcest, ABO Dynamics, Alpha!Doofus Rick, Omega!Evil Morty, Some Universes are ABO and others are not, Most pairings are just mentioned, More Tags To Be Added Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. Summary: Evil Morty isn’t totally sure what to do about his desire to have a ‘Proper Rick’, while Doofus Rick is finding that he might have been forced to forget something important. AN: Alright guys, so like… I have this whole headcanon surrounding Doofus Rick being Evil Morty’s original Rick. I’ll let the story tell itself, instead of spoiling things, but some things to note: Evil Morty’s Snuffles never left entirely, he stayed with Morty and kept his mecha suit. Doofus Rick is a trauma therapist that sometimes works with the Rick police/military forces, especially with victims of Ricks’ plots. He deals with a lot of Rickless Mortys, too. 

Rick And Morty Fic Masterlist (Chapters Will Be Posted There) Chapter One: I Woke Up To Something In My Head ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Sunlight filtered into the house through the big picture window downstairs, and everything seemed cheery and bright save for the young teen’s bedroom. The lights were off, blackout curtains drawn, and he lay snuggled down underneath his six blankets, not ready to leave his cocoon of warmth and safety. It brought a sweet smile to the lips of the elder male as he entered the room with a wooden tray full of food in hand.

“Morty?” A smile brighter than a thousand suns met his eyes, the second one slowly refocusing with a few mechanical whirs. Those buck teeth, he’d know them anywhere. “Rick…?” He whispered, slowly pushing up onto his knees, one hand holding up his weight as the other dug the heel into his false eye. “What are you-- I thought you were-- Do you remember…?” “I made you breakfast, silly.” Rick absently flicked some hair out of his face, setting the ornate little tray down in front of his Morty and ruffling his wild, sleep-destroyed curls. “I was thinking maybe later, we could go out. You know, we need some more cesium for something we’re working on, and I thought maybe I could take you out for lunch. Anywhere you like, little buddy! Today’s your special day.” Leaning forward, he pressed his lips softly to Morty’s forehead, before getting up and dusting off his pants.  “Wh-where are you going?” For a second, he couldn’t hide the desperation on his face, the terror in his tone, and his eyes must have looked pained because Rick sat back down beside him, tugging him into his lap. “Oh, baby, don’t look so sad… I need to go grab my breakfast so I can eat with you.” His voice was soft, sincere, and something about it calmed the racing heart of the boy in his arms.  “I just… Don’t want to lose you.” Morty imparted shyly, the brighter aura of his mechanical eye shining in the dimly lit room. It made the red on his cheeks even more obvious, and he looked away as another kiss was pressed to his cheekbone.  “I’m not going anywhere without you, Morty, you know that.” He smiled softly, slowly picking the other up and setting him beside his tray of food, getting up again. “I’ll be right back.” Casting a glance at the pancakes with strawberry glaze, the bacon and egg baked thingy that Rick insisted was the better version of both worlds, the orange juice and milk sitting side by side, he found himself sighing. How could anyone want this to stop? With a little sigh, he tucked into his orange juice, eyelids slipping closed. Seconds later, he was jarred out of his joy by the entire room shaking. Debri fell from the ceiling and his shocked eyes flitted around the room. Hot, wet tears ran rampant down his cheeks as he heard a sob of anguish from downstairs; he could feel his hands quaking, the burn of bile in his-- “Morty.” An almost robotic voice managed to sound concerned. A hot, red tongue swiped over his cheek several more times before the brunet shot up in bed, smacking his head on the mechanical contraption his dog resided in. Tears slipped down his cheeks but it had nothing to do with the pain in his head.  “Sn-Snowball?” He questioned, slowly, eyes narrowing, the right one whirring as it shot about the room. He wasn’t in that sun drenched house anymore, his bed was lumpy and cold despite him sleeping in the same spot all night, and the only other living being worth his time in this place was his dog. The cold metal of the room he was in only helped to amplify the loneliness he felt as he absently reached forward to pet the fluffy dog’s chest, the only spot his neural suit didn’t totally cover. “It appears you were dreaming of him again, Morty.” The dog informed, carefully preparing the suit for exit so that he could hop up onto the bed. The little white Maltese crossed the gray blanket to curl up in his friend’s lap, licking at his chin again before watching him carefully. “If you need it, I am here for emotional support.” Chuckling a little bit, albeit mirthlessly, Morty’s hands lovingly pet down the fluffy dog’s fur, scratching the base of his tail and rubbing along his spine. The human was so good at getting all the spots his companion couldn’t quite reach, and it always made him pant a smile.  “I might just need to go see hi--” A pause, and he gulped, “My therickpist again.”  “You cannot hide forever.” Snowball responded, those beady eyes looking up into Morty’s, “He will find out somehow. His entire livelihood--” “I know. Until then, I have to--” “Make do with other Ricks? Let them treat you poorly so you feel more like one of yourselves?”  “...You’d make a great therick-- Therapist, Snuffles.” But it wasn’t the most praising tone he’d ever heard. Snowball bared his teeth for a moment, before huffing and closing his eyes, sighing gently. “Go, then. I’ve made breakfast, but I know you’d rather not eat before you go to the Citadel. I suppose that means more bacon for me.”  “You eat all the bacon you want, Snuffles. You’re the best friend a Morty could ask for.” Kissing his head, he let the dog make his way back to his suit before getting out of bed and stretching. It would be a long day, most likely, and he wanted to at least look a little less like he’d gotten three hours of sleep this week and hadn’t remembered what a shower was for at least half of that time. It was hard to be involved in a project as large as the one he was busy with, and maybe this particular trip was long, long overdo.  Eyepatch in place, he settled into the scalding water, letting it soak away his fatigue even as he found himself wishing he could crawl back into bed. The desire to go see the man that plagued his dreams was enough to spur his leaden limbs to moving, and he took the bare minimum of showers before he was hopping into his usual shirt and pants. White vans on his feet and black socks climbing up his calves, he closed his eyes as he tried to think about what to do about the circles under his eyes. A glance at the clock told him he needed to go quickly, so he changed his mind about doing anything and simply grabbed his portal gun out of the box labeled ‘PORN’ in his closet.  It took less time to portal to the Citadel of Ricks than it probably should have, and he was thankful that he wasn’t the only solo Morty running around. All he had to do was go to Sanchez And Associates, which would take him six streets north, four to the right and down the last one, across from the McRick’s that he’d probably eat lunch at. It was a simple enough walk, melded in with the other Mortys with his eyepatch in his pocket, and when he finally arrived at the old hotel, he took the stairs to avoid any awkward elevator moments.  Upon arriving on the third floor, even he had to admit he was a little out of breath, panting as he rest against the wall. A couple other Mortys passed him, chatting about this, that and the other thing, giggling like a gaggle of girls. It set his jaw so tight his eyes hurt, and he had to rub them, the whirring of his right eye kicking up another notch as he rolled it up and back. When it came back to a normal setting, he could see through the wall like an X-Ray, trying to find his purpose for coming here in the first place. “...Hey, what the fuck are you doing here again, kid? Weren’t you just--” “Shut it, Rick.” Morty snapped, eyelids narrowing dangerously as he snarled his next words, “I thought it was that Morty’s day to work? Didn’t realize there was going to be a secricktary today.” “I’m the fucking secretary today, you little shit. Don’t bite my balls off, Jesus. Who are you here for?” Leveling a glare on the scowling man behind the desk, Morty finally sighed and rolled his eyes before closing them. Breathe. That was what he’d been instructed whenever his temper was too high. Most Ricks weren’t smart enough to listen, but he still had that Morty disposition, despite the fact. “J19ζ7 Rick.” There was a look settled on him before the Rick laughed around the mouth of the bottle he was drinking from.  “Doofus? You Mortys sure love him as a therapist.” He almost sounded incredulous for a long moment before he shrugged, “And which Morty are you?” “J499.” It was a lie, one he knew well enough, but it was easy to tell, at this point. At least he was believed. It had been awfully hard getting a new dimension, but finding one that had a dead Rick and Morty was a lot easier than he’d thought. Assuming someone else’s identity was always easier said than done. “...You don’t have an--” “I know. I just had a shitty… Experience, and he said that whenever I need him, I could go see him.” “He says that to--” “Shut up, asshole.” Morty sat on the little couch in the waiting room, facing the door, and pulled out his phone. Flipping through a few things, here, there, then another, he finally found himself relaxing a little. It was one, two, three Mortys and a Rick that walked out of that back office before he finally saw the blue-haired angel that would lead to a bit more of a restful night for him. With any luck. “Hey, there, Morty. Are you ready?” His kind smile and soft blue eyes were enough to coax Morty’s heavy limbs into movement, and he offered a small smile as he nodded. Feeling the other’s hand in between his shoulderblades leached ten million years of stress and anxiety from his soul, and he sighed gently. “Y-yeah, uh… I--” “You don’t have to say anything until you’re comfy on the couch.” The way he said it was more something a father or a friend would, and Morty felt his heart flutter in his chest. Maybe this was a mistake. Or, maybe, he would be able to get this nipped in the bud totally. Once they were behind the closed door, Rick seated himself calmly in his usual chair across from the loveseat Morty spread out on like he owned the place. What he wouldn’t have given to lay his head in the other’s lap… But he had to knock that thought out of his head before he said something stupid.  “So, I heard you had an emergency.” Rick’s voice was soft, his tone sympathetic, and his eyes gentle. Every time Morty exposed himself to this, it just made everything worse. Here he was, sitting with the man of his literal dreams, and all he could do was shrug and try not to stutter. “I… I-- I keep having these… These dreams. About someone that I used to know, and I… I shouldn’t… The dreams are…” If only he could finish a sentence like he could a Morty torture device. “The um… Themes behind the dreams can be… Troubling. Not necessarily bad, but… I shouldn’t feel this way about h-- This person. Sometimes they are… Sexual in nature, and others they are… Almost mundane.” The whole time, Rick took quiet notes on his legal pad, keeping his eyes on the other as he listened intently. Nodding a little here and there, he sat forward just slightly, pressing his elbows on his knees and tenting his hands against his mouth. The gesture was oddly attractive, and brown eyes flitted to the ceiling, the boy closing in on himself where he laid on the couch. Bringing his knees up to his chest, he scooted so that he was sitting in the corner of it, he almost looked guilty. When he didn’t continue, Rick nearly chirped his first question. “Regardless of what happens in these dreams, do you remember how they make you feel?” His head tipped to the side, knocking a bit of his dorky bowl cut into his eyes. Morty wrung his hands as he thought about it. He was almost afraid to say what he actually came up with. “They… Make me feel safe. Like I’m only at home in my dreams.” He began, closing his eyes and trying to think of how to word the rest of it, “It’s like… I… I don’t know, you know? I feel… Happy. And then… I wake up and I’m sad. Snuffles has been great about helping me but he… Doesn’t quite understand, I don’t think.” “Well, the important thing to note, I think, is that these dreams shouldn’t give you excess anxiety. Just like Snowball, you take comfort in them. It’s rather likely that you do not feel anything for this person, but you need to feel safe and happy in your waking hours. Being as you know this person, or did at some point, you probably have a heavy connection to them that you might not consciously be aware of.”  Everything that Rick was saying seemed to cement things in place for him. Morty did crave happiness and that feeling of safety and love that the dreams provided him, and he mourned their absence like he were addicted. Maybe it was wrong of him to want to get up, to snuggle into the other’s lap and have his hair pet, but there it was. The urge was sitting in the black pit of his heart, tugging his heartstrings like it might pull the right one to get him to move. Instead, he stayed firmly planted, rolling his fidget cube in his palm.  “So… I should maybe… S-seek out a… A Rick or something?” His cheeks were hot as the question left his lips, and he felt itchy in a way that only wanting out of one’s own skin could bring about.  “You said that yours died a while back,” Rick responded quietly, writing something down before looking up again, “Perhaps you need one in your life. Many Mortys are fine without their Ricks, but it isn’t uncommon to find one side of the other craving the attention of their opposite.” Some part of Morty wished that this Rick understood what he was saying. Craving the attention of a Rick? That, he figured, was probably true. Which was why there was a Gazorpazorpian Rick in an underground part of his lab back on the planet he’d taken up as his. He’d picked up and dropped so many Ricks in his work, used them as shields and reasons to go this place or that one. He let them think they were in control, he turned them into cyborg freaks like himself, all in an attempt to gain some kind of acceptance. The ones he controlled didn’t give him what he wanted of their own free will. The ones mostly governed by instinct didn’t give him a challenge. And, at the end of the day, none of them were his Rick.  But it seemed the devil was always in the details. “Plus, you said you were from dimension J499, right?” Now, Rick was considering something out the window of his office, closing his eyes and sighing slowly out of his mouth. “That is a dimension that deals heavily in Alpha/Omega dynamics, doesn’t it? It would explain your desire to have a connection with a Rick,” For a moment, he paused, sniffing the air before pausing, “Particularly an.. An Alpha.”  Well, J19ζ7 most certainly wasn’t wrong. J499, much like J19ζ7, was a universe with heavy Alpha/Omega dynamics, and Morty was, despite himself, an Omega. With Omega needs. And his body had figured out long before he had that there was a particular Alpha that he wanted. There were studies, some of which he and Snuffles had discovered on their own, that there were some pairs that were True Mates. It made sense, in his head, that his body desired his mate. But the eighteen year old was far from a virgin, and nothing had ever taken. Maybe he needed to stop running. “Yes… I suppose I could use a Rick with a… With a knot, huh?” He murmured softly, finally tossing his eyes over at the other. How could Rick be so… So calm? Could he not feel how they were drawn to one another? Was he so brainwashed that even his heart couldn’t possibly remember him? The mind-wipe gun that he used shouldn’t have erased everything like this… Maybe he was repressing things, too. “Are you uh, implying that you frequently sleep with… With other Ricks?” There was something in the elder’s tone that awakened something in him that had his heart pounding, and he shrugged a little.  “I…” A lie. He had to tell a lie. Even if the only one he could think of wasn’t entirely untrue. “I make money working at one of the um… M-Morty brothels here in the Citadel.” At least he had the decency to sound properly shamed. Rick’s eyes jumped to the other’s face and for a long moment, he looked a little disturbed.  “Do you enjoy it?” He finally asked, his smile soft again, less upset looking, and he reached forward for his water bottle. The way he gulped it down was telling of something, but Morty wasn’t entirely sure what. “I enjoy being close to Ricks that want to… Be with a Morty. I enjoy sex, as well, like most healthy adults do. It shouldn’t matter that…” That he always felt strangely empty afterwards. It didn’t matter how full his belly was, how much he’d been given, how he’d been used and claimed and left with his entire body full… His heart felt empty.  “It shouldn’t matter that what, Morty?” Reaching over the sparse space between them, he rested a gentle hand on the other’s shoulder and the younger man wanted to scream. Skin on skin contact was worse than anything through his shirt, and he had to force himself not to whimper. “It shouldn’t matter that I want more than physical attention.” “Everything that you desire and need emotionally is just as important as physical needs.” Rick was pulling his hand back again, nodding slightly as he continued, “Never neglect these things. Your body knows what it needs.” “Sometimes I wonder if it does.” Morty responded, feeling lightning surge through every nerve ending as the other’s hand slid up his arm to his elbow. This was embarrassing. Shivers ran down his spine and he slowly sat up, curling in on himself, though there was a scent of sad satisfaction in his scent.  A familiar memory of that particular mixture of lavender, gunpowder and green tea flickered over Rick’s brain, and for a long moment, he just stared. There was a brightness to the flavor of it, and it soaked into the air around them in a way that had him breathing in deep through his mouth to avoid doing something stupid. Morty seemed to notice just what was going on, and suddenly rose to his feet.  “Th-thanks, um. I… That’s probably good, I know you have other patients.” They had barely talked for half an hour, but the room was stuffy and he needed to get out onto the street. Maybe he would treat himself to something from the bakery down the street, instead of his usual chicken nuggets at McRick’s. Before the other could stop him, he was out of the room and practically running down the hallway that lead to the lobby. Pushing out the door and into the hallway, he charged down the stairs like there was a fire on his heels. Outside was both a blessing and a curse; he could breathe again, safely and without compromise, but it was too bright. Scrunching up his eyes as he greedily sucked in air like a man drowning, Morty found himself leaning on one of the pillars that held up the building he’d just run out of. His spine screamed at him to rest for a moment, and he knew better than to push himself when it hurt this bad. A glance up at the window of the room he’d just been in showed a concerned J19ζ7 watching him, a hand pressed to the window. For a second, he was sure that there was a glimmer of recognition in his eyes, but the younger couldn’t be bothered with that.  The bakery furthest from his therapist’s office was in the main lobby of the Council Chamber, and it was close to a place where he could lose himself for a while. After all, that was probably what he needed the most. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN: Oh man. xD I honestly don’t know how this got so long. O.o; But hopefully it’s worthwhile.

[piracytheorist]

I decided to take a question meme and just answer all of the questions for myself and anyone who might be interested to learn more about me :) Long so under a cut.

1: Do you sleep with your closet doors open or closed?

Uh... you mean my wardrobe doors? Closed, If you mean bathroom, also closed. If you mean my room's door, open.

2: Do you take the shampoos and conditioner bottles from hotel?

If they're in a pretty package, sure. If not, I may not take them.

3: Do you sleep with your sheets tucked in or out?

Out. If I do try to tuck them in, I'll kick them out without realizing it so it'll be a waste of time to tuck them in.

4: Have you ever stolen a street sign before?

Nope. But I've taken posters from events that have already taken place, because those are thrown away afterwards.

5: Do you like to use post-it notes?

Yes but I'm way too unorganized to actually use them, I always forget.

6: Do you cut out coupons but then never use them?

I... never get coupons?

7: Would you rather be attacked by a big bear or a swarm of a bees?

I know that to escape a bear you have to pretend you're dead. In the same article I read that it also showed how to survive a swarm of bees attack but I don't remember how that one went, so I guess a bear? At least it will probably kill you fast if it gets you...

8: Do you have freckles?

Yep, lots! And I'm proud of them :D

9: Do you always smile for pictures?

Yes, fully, with my cheekbones going up. Unless it's just a random photo a friend may take as I'm doing something random.

10: What is your biggest pet peeve?

Cars that ride by and have awful music at full volume.

11: Do you ever count your steps when you walk?

No, but most of the time I try to step on the tiles.

12: Have you ever peed in the woods?

We are a six-member family that used to do long-hour car rides, and I'm the youngest. OF COURSE I've peed in the woods. However, it's been almost ten years since the last time I had to do this.

13: What about pooping in the woods?

I think I remember doing it only once, and I must have been younger than 8.

14: Do you ever dance even if there's no music playing?

Yep.

15: Do you chew your pens and pencils?

I used to. Now I sometimes let a pencil rest between my teeth, if I'm bored, but I'm not actually chewing them much.

16: How many people have you slept with this week?

LOOOL the only people I've EVER slept with are: my mother, my sisters, and two or three friends, in a complete platonic manner.

17: What size is your bed?

Single.

18: What is your Song of the week?

Sweet Child o' Mine by Guns n' Roses.

19: Is it okay for guys to wear pink?

It's okay for everyone to wear anything they want. Sometimes I may be judging inside but that's my problem I need to solve.

20: Do you still watch cartoons?

I did binge-watch Avatar: the Last Airbender and Legend of Korra, if that's what that's about, and I recently watched Moana.

21: Whats your least favorite movie?

Twilight - I literally cannot watch this thing, the whole filming is so repulsive to me.

22: Where would you bury hidden treasure if you had some?

If it's small and light, inside my pad packages - I've actually hid some banknotes in there once. If it's not, probably in my dirty laundry basket.

23: If you're a girl, bra size? If you're a guy, pants size?

80D in European system. If I'm correct, that's 36D in UK, USA and Canada. Yep, I have big boobs.

24: What do you dip a chicken nugget in?

Geez, we rarely even eat chicken nuggets - I prefer whole schnitzel pieces baked in the oven. But usually it's either ketchup or yogurt.

25: What is your favorite food?

Lol, lots. For now I'll go with pita gyro.

26: What movies could you watch over and over and still love?

Chocolat, Finding Nemo, Treasure Planet, The CS movie except from the nonCS parts, Shrek, Corpse Bride... I'm sure I'm missing a few.

27: Last person you kissed/kissed you?

Look, you're dealing with a grey asexual here, ok? I think it was my mother when she was going back home from visiting me at the beginning of this month.

28: Were you ever a boy/girl scout?

No, though I wished my parents had sent me :(

29: Would you ever strip or pose nude in a magazine?

Nope.

30: When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper?

About a month ago while playing D&D. My character was supposed to tell another character something but because it was personal and he didn't want the other characters to know, I slipped a letter to the player playing the character I wanted an interaction with, containing what my character would have told her.

31: Can you change the oil on a car?

Nope.

32: Ever gotten a speeding ticket?

No, I don't drive. Though once I called the police to give someone a ticket for parking on the sidewalk repeatedly.

33: Ever ran out of gas?

No, but once while I was with my father and we were going to Athens, the car stopped for some reason I can't recall and we had to wait for the track to mow us somewhere where it could be fixed.

34: Favorite kind of sandwich?

Sweet Onion Chicken Terriyaki from Subway.

35: Best thing to eat for breakfast?

Pizza, cold from the previous night.

36: What is your usual bedtime?

Lol. That's not even a thing for me anymore.

37: Are you lazy?

Yeah but I think my psychology issues are making it way worse.

38: When you were a kid, what did you dress up as for Halloween?

We don't have Halloween here, but we do celebrate Carnival. So off the top of my mind, I've dressed up as Snow White (reaaaaaly young), witch, hippie, cat, and then there was that time that I wore everything (shirt, trousers, coat, bag) with the back going on the front. I even brushed my hair to fall onto my face and wore a mask at the back side of my head. The only problem were the shoes -_- I also have a cheap pirate hat that I wear for fun, without a full costume.

39: What is your Chinese astrological sign?

Dog.

40: Are you horny?

Right now? No.

41: Do you have any magazine subscriptions?

No.

42: Which are better legos or lincoln logs?

What the hell are lincoln logs?

43: Are you stubborn?

Yeah but most of the time I keep it all in.

44: Who is better...Leno or Letterman?

What?

45: Ever watch soap operas?

Nah. Though OUAT has turned into a soap opera, hasn't it? To be honest I did watch Days of Our Lives at some point. And then sometimes my grandmother has Bold and the Beautiful, or The Young and the Restless, or maybe some Greek soap operas on when I visit.

46: Are you afraid of heights?

No, but it's not that I've tested it fully. I'd like to try bangee-jumping but I don't know how I may react.

47: Do you sing in the car?

I don't drive, but if I did I would sing.

48: Do you sing in the shower?

Sometimes.

49: Do you dance in the car?

If I did drive, I would only dance while waiting for the light to go green.

50: Ever used a gun?

Only airguns while training shooting, but yes, lots of times.

51: Last time you got a portrait taken by a photographer?

Two years ago, for my passport.

52: Do you think musicals are cheesy?

Yes. Most of them. But then there is that fine line that I can't describe that if not crossed, the musical can be amazing for me. Galavant is an example.

53: Is Christmas stressful?

A little but because I'm around so many people and I need to spend some time alone to recharge my extroversion but I feel bad doing it when the time I have to spend with them is limited in the first place.

54: Ever eat a pierogi?

I don't even know what this is, so no.

55: Favorite type of fruit pie?

I think I'd go with peach. Though this kind of confectionary is not my favourite.

56: Occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid?

Teacher, massage therapist, psychologist, architect...

57: Do you believe in ghosts?

No.

58: Ever have a Deja-vu feeling?

So many times I think I should start writing down whenever I feel them so that I can see if the circumstances are ever the same.

59: Take a vitamin daily?

I try to remember to take a Vitamin C supplement ever day.

60: Wear slippers?

Yep.

61: Wear a bath robe?

No because the climate here is humid af and the robe will never dry out. Otherwise I love them, sometimes even in summer.

62: What do you wear to bed?

Simple cotton pyjamas, and currently leg warmers as well because it's COLD. Never socks, though. My toes need to breathe.

63: First concert?

For non-wide known musicians, it must have been when I was 9, for two Cypriot singers who are very well known and loved in Greece. Widely known, Scorpions in 2009.

64: Wal-Mart, Target or Kmart?

I think I did shop once from Wal-Mart when I was in NY, but I'm not sure. I've never been in any of the others.

65: Nike or Adidas?

Don't care. My requirements are that they're affordable and anatomical.

66: Cheetos Or Fritos?

*regrets choosing this meme* Only Cheetos are available in Greece, so...

67: Peanuts or Sunflower seeds?

Peanuts! Though sunflower seeds are great to pass your time nibbling on something cheap with very few calories.

68: Ever hear of the group Tres Bien?

Nope.

69: Ever take dance lessons?

I took a few months worth of argentine tango.

70: Is there a profession you picture your future spouse doing?

Do I even picture a future spouse, is the question! Though I'd love for them to be into music and all.

71: Can you curl your tongue?

Yep.

72: Ever won a spelling bee?

No.

73: Have you ever cried because you were so happy?

I was touched by Inside Out and Tangled, but I guess this isn't happy exactly... I've also cried from laughter... but I don't think I've ever cried for pure happiness, like meeting relatives or friends I haven't seen in a while.

74: Own any record albums?

No but my mon has some old ones her late father had bought. One of them is Let it Be. We put it on the record player with my sister and danced around as if we were living back when it was first released.

75: Own a record player?

No, but I'd love to.

76: Regularly burn incense?

No.

77: Ever been in love?

I've been infatuated, but it never progressed much (first time the dude wasn't interested, second time he had a girlfriend) so I didn't even get to know them well and I can't call what I had love.

78: Who would you like to see in concert?

Colin O'Donoghue. 😍

79: What was the last concert you saw?

Muse in Athens last July. But after that I was in various other concerts of choirs and little bands here that you probably don't know of.

80: Hot tea or cold tea?

Hot tea.

81: Tea or coffee?

Tea. Coffee causes me to tremble.

82: Sugar or snickerdoodles?

What the hell is a snickerdoodle? *Googles it* A biscuit? Why is it that against sugar... oh. Biscuits, then.

Wow this meme is very American isn't it.

83: Can you swim well?

I can float, move around and sink a little if I want to, but I'm not that good with it. I learnt swimming when I was 11 and I've only practiced about a few weeks per year, some years I didn't even practice at all.

84: Can you hold your breath without holding your nose?

Yes.

85: Are you patient?

I wouldn't say so.

86: DJ or band, at a wedding?

Anything as long as it's not something I hate with the power of a thousand suns and it's not in super ultra full volume. Unfortunately for me, that's how Greek weddings almost always go.

87: Ever won a contest?

There was one singing contest I won when I was in a children's camp some 10 years ago, though not first place.

88: Ever have plastic surgery?

No, though if I ever did, I would do something to raise my upper eyelids.

89: Which are better black or green olives?

I'd say both. We have a black olive tree in our garden back in my hometown though, so I've eaten way more black than green olives.

90: Can you knit or crochet?

My grandma taught me knitting when I was little but I never bothered practicing. Now it's weird because it's such a trend even guys knit.

91: Best room for a fireplace?

In the center of a room, with a circular sofa around it.

92: Do you want to get married?

..... Eh.

93: If married, how long have you been married?

-

94: Who was your HS crush?

Who was my what?

95: Do you cry and throw a fit until you get your own way?

... No, I'm not five anymore.

96: Do you have kids?

No.

97: Do you want kids?

.... Eh.

98: What's your favorite color?

I like most colours, but I'd say my favourite hues are blue and purple.

99: Do you miss anyone right now?

My family, but mostly my sister and my baby nephew.

[commentaryonhowwelive]

July 2016. Age 24. Induced Happiness.

The lightning must’ve struck within a stone’s throw from my car because it shook with a piercing sound and lit up a brilliant white all at once.

I felt an eerie sensation that night. The sensation didn’t come from anything or anyone in particular, but rather from an all encompassing feeling like things weren’t set right. Like wearing your shoes on the wrong feet; you can still get around just fine, but it’s just not right.

“Can you call me when you get off?”

I didn’t respond immediately. Responding immediately would’ve showed that I cared. I didn’t care.

I like when I’m comfortable with not responding to texts and calls immediately. It justifies my current actions. Especially with Sophia, I liked to not respond immediately as a passive way of telling her I was doing other things. It was my way of saying “I don’t need you like you need me.” I needed to do things like this to prove to myself that I didn’t need her because I knew how easy it was to take her back.

Sophia and I met online and started dating when I moved to Boulder alone, then I realized I was underwhelmed, so after a few months I told her we should stop seeing each other. Easy enough, right?

Well, two bored transplants in their early twenties in a new city who sort of find each other attractive don’t just “stop hooking up”. 

We decided to give it another shot about a week after breaking up, then decided to end it again soon after.

Again, the hooking up didn’t stop.

Then we resolved to date again with a different, more companionate relationship in mind. That’s when she talked me into getting off my antidepressants. I began to feel my feelings again and that shit shook me to my core. Sophia became my new antidepressant. It wasn’t really her in particular, inasmuch as just having a human relationship to replace the Serotonin re-uptake inhibitors.

Fast forward a few more months and our relationship got fucked up once again when a new girl moved in down the hall in my apartment building and I started hooking up with her instead. The new girl told me that getting off my antidepressants for Sophia was “retarded”. I liked this girl in the same masochistic way that you blow your ear drums out at a concert; she was just another way of drowning out the void with no foresight into the repercussions. Like I said, it wasn’t Sophia in particular who kept me happy. Rather it was having someone there. And how much easier does it get when they live down the hall? I ghosted Sophia. We weren’t really dating at the time anyways. 

Then my lease ended, I moved into a new apartment, and Sophia and I started talking again.

I know that all sounds like a giant emotional rollercoaster, but it wasn’t. At least not for me. I didn’t give half a shit through all the ups and downs, except for the hot second I wasn’t taking my antidepressants. Of course once I got back on them, it was back to the same old apathetic piece of shit I’d been for the past year or so, which is what typically led me to telling her I didn’t care enough to date her. I didn’t care about her, I didn’t care about myself, I didn’t care about us, I just wanted to go home and drink. And for that, I thank my antidepressants. 

I’ve always strived for sustainability. Not in an environmental way but in an emotional way. I’ve learned that while happiness will always fade, apathy is always there, lurking under whatever is distracting you on the surface. Thus I find myself always falling back toward that center line between sadness and happiness at the ever so indifferent equilibrium that is apathy. It’s a beautiful and sad thing.

In order to maintain my sanity while wearing my insipid apathy badge everywhere I go, I work incessantly delivering pizzas, long days and weeks, then picking up odd jobs on my off days.

I do almost anything to achieve a mind engulfed with the feeling of nothingness. Whether that be running long distances in the morning, working until I can’t think about anything besides going to sleep, or getting plastered alone at night in my apartment then binge eating until I pass out so hard that I don’t wake up until the next day’s agenda of keeping myself busy until I can fall asleep again. You might look at this as a sad way of going through life, and hell, I agree with you.  Luckily, apathy has a funny way of keeping me from caring. There’s a fuzzy little light at the end of the tunnel, and I’m slugging my way there. One drunken step at a time.

This all led me to driving in my car in an intense summer lightning storm during a night delivery shift I picked up on my day off. I couldn’t stand not working on a night that I had nothing going on and work numbed my mind, helping me to achieve that wonderful and comforting feeling of impassivity.

The 10 minute drive back to the pizza shop was just long enough for the sky to clear and paint the dingy alley behind the shop a brilliant gold. After all the time that I’d spent kicking a soccer ball around in that alley and taking hits off my coworker’s bowl after work, I’d never seen it look the way it did that night. 

That eerie vibe I was getting earlier overcame me again as I got out of my car. I stood there staring at the sky vomiting a pale gold color all over the city of Boulder. It didn’t feel real, nor did anything. It was about 7 PM, about an hour and a half before dark since it was summer time. It was slightly warm and humid from the passing storms and if I was out in a corn field somewhere or in the mountains, it would’ve felt positively dreamy. But I wasn’t in either of those places. I was standing in the alley that smelled like mold and piss behind the pizza shop staring into the sky, getting paid $5 an hour. I took a deep breath to remind myself of my existence and walked inside.

I thought of calling Sophia back on my next delivery, but I decided to push it off a bit longer. I figured it’d help assert even further my lack of enthusiasm toward any type of relationship with her. 

I walked through the back door to find Jackson, the general manager posted up against the sinks, hiding in the dish pit and taking a swig out of a handle of rum. We made eye contact as he lowered the bottle. I immediately wanted to disappear. It looked like he was going to choke on the alcohol going down his throat as he looked panicked to get words out. 

“Hey bud”, he said nonchalantly. I realized he wasn’t trying to hide the fact that he was drinking at work, and the dish pit just so happened to be the most convenient place to drink, out of the eye of the customers. I work in a pizza shop so half the guys are high almost all the time, but drinking has been something we typically reserved for the end of the night when we’re closed and just cleaning up.

“Um... hey Jack,” I said as I walked by him toward the front to get my next delivery. I paid little attention to the chaos surrounding me in the shop. The bright florescent lights seemed to make the hip hop music even louder as underpaid college students scurried around enthusiastically answering phones and throwing sloppy pizzas into the oven. They were all as baked as the pizzas coming out of the oven, so they were probably too tunnel visioned to notice the four people standing at the counter. All I was focused on was getting the hell out of there and back into the dark, quiet serenity of my car. I looked at the orders that were ready, took the oldest ones, packed up the pies, and was headed out the back door within a few minutes. 

As I walked by Jack who was now sitting in the computer chair, now in plain sight of customers, he held the bottle out to me.

“One for the road?”, he offered, smiling with glossy red eyes. 

“Sure thanks!” I said grabbing it and pretending to drink some. 

“The fuck bro, you didn’t even drink any”, he said as I handed it back to him. I laughed and took a few steps away. When I looked back at him again, I realized he was serious.

“I’m a driver, remember?”

He stared at me blankly. 

I spoke again, “I cannot drink alcohol when I drive. That’s illegal and dangerous.”

That’s when it hit me just how plastered he was. I looked into his eyes and on the surface he was staring back too, only right through my head and into oblivion. He was g-o-n-e GONE.

I turned around and walked out the back door into the golden alley which was slowly darkening. I put the pizza bag in my car and double checked the time on my order receipt. It was only 20 minutes old so I had a few minutes to spare. 

I hopped out of my car, through the back door of the shop again, and past Jack sitting in the computer chair. He had his head limply hanging back, staring blankly at the ceiling. 

“Forgot a soda”, I said to him in passing, though I probably could’ve said “I’m going to take a shit in the cooler before my run” and he wouldn’t have batted an eye.

I looked at the screen which was filled with orders and only Carly and Donald on the prep line barely keeping up. 

I had to yell over the loud rap music and N-words getting thrown out left and right, even though we were a shop full of white kids in Boulder, Colorado, statistically one of the whitest towns in America. 

“Hey, um, guys?”

Carly lifted her head up from furiously topping a pizza, looking like she was about to start tearing up. I wasn’t sure if she was upset or stressed or both, so I just kept talking. 

“Yeah Jackson is like, super drunk.”

“No fucking shit.” Donald snapped back as he slid the pizza into the oven so violently that half of the sausage balls rolled off.

“When did this happen? Why did—“

“Because his girl broke up with him an hour ago.” Donald interrupted me and continued, “She came into the shop with a box of his shit and left.” He topped another pizza and just as violently as the first, threw it into the oven, clearly displaying his ill-directed sense of urgency.

Carly spoke up, “That’s a $150 bottle of Rum he’s downing back there. It was in the box she brought.”

“Jesus tap dancing Christ,” I said shaking my head, “Well are you guys good in here? Or do you need help when I get back from this run?” I couldn’t believe I was actually offering to do a favor for someone.

“We’re fine,” Donald responded, “Just go, we got this.” I was so relieved.

  He turned around and saw the pizzas piling up at the exit of the oven, “Shit!”, he exclaimed and grabbed the giant spatula, pulling the pizzas out and boxing them. I swiftly left through the back door, walking past Jack once again, this time with his head down on the desk in his folded arms. He didn’t notice that I didn’t have a soda.

As I got in my car and took off west toward the mountains basking in the golden sun slides, my phone rang again. Sophia was calling. 

“Ah fuck”, I muttered and answered it. 

“Hey.”

“Hi….are you off yet?”

“No.”

“Do you have a minute to talk?” 

“Not really, I’m going to be at my delivery in two minutes.”

“Ok well I just wanted someone to talk to. I’m just feeling really sad and my stomach hurts I think from crying and-“

“Look can we talk later I gotta go.”

“Yeah.”

And I hung up the phone. I didn’t care about listening to her sob stories about nothing. There was never any substance or reason to why she was always sad, she just was. She was depressed. She was the goddamn poster child for a classic case of depression. 

She would always cry for no reason. She worked maybe 15 hours a week, and the rest of the time she spent being sad about herself in her room. She’d ask me to come over which inevitably led me to lying in her bed as she stroked my head while desperately looking out the window as if waiting for an owl to fly in from Hogwarts with a letter explaining how to fix her life. She reminded me of the sad woman on the antidepressant commercial staring out the window with the rain pitter-pattering against the glass. Only she refused antidepressants. “They’re not natural” she’d say. She tried to cure it with weed because it’s “natural”. 

“You know what else is natural? Arsenic. Just take a few drops of that and that’ll cure you real quick”, I’d say sarcastically.

I should’ve been more empathetic though. I knew what it’s like to be depressed. But I wasn’t empathetic, I wasn’t even sympathetic, I was apathetic. As I was towards everything in the world all the time. I was apathetic and uncaring toward someone that had played such a large role in my life for the past year, who was battling in depression. Someone who loved me. Who had spent more time doing things for me than me. The best way I knew how to thank her was a big “fuck you” when things weren’t great for her.

We weren’t really dating at this point. We were just kind of around each other a lot and actively not dating other people. Is that dating? We didn’t want to call it that. We knew once we said we were dating then we’d break up again and it’d be back to the same old cycle again. So we just hovered in the gray area.

I rolled up to the house, handed it off, and once again was back in my car. Clock work. I got a 40% tip on the $50 delivery but I didn’t care. I accepted it as part of the ups and downs of the service industry, knowing that it’ll just cover me for the inevitable stiffs I’ll get from the shit head college students I’ll be visiting later that night. I had about seven minutes before I got back to the shop to call Sophia but I didn’t bother. 

The stainless silver prep line tray was sitting in the garbage can which was filled with the bathroom garbage I had emptied earlier that day. I stood there and stared at it for a moment, examining it for cracks. The dirty homeless kid Jack hired to be a night driver a few weeks previous walked by me.

“Hey..” I said to him without taking my eyes off the garbage can.

“Sup bud, I’m headin’ out on a run”, he stepped toward the back doorway.

“Why is this in the garbage? Is it broken?”

“Oh no, I just needed to clean it and I didn’t get the chance to scrape it yet so I put it there so I wouldn’t forget before I left,” he responded with no severance of understanding of wrongdoing. “By the way, I just filled the sink with clean water if you wanna start any dishes.”

I stood there with my eyes wide open, mouth half open, staring at the prep tray sitting in the trash, a used bandaid resting against the same stainless steel that holds the food that we put on pizzas. Sometimes salads too.

I walked to the front to find only Donald now on the prep line. That’s when I realized I didn’t see Jackson or Carly anywhere.

“Can you grab the oven bro!?” Donald yelled at me after looking up briefly from his pizza making.

“Yeah yeah”, I said grabbing the spatula and pulling out some sloppy looking shit pies.

“Where’s Carly and Jackson?”

“I don’t know, she went to the back to talk to him a few minutes ago. You didn’t see them back there?”

“No, just the prep tray in the garbage,” I replied bluntly.

“The fuck?”

“Jody.”

“Fucking Jody.”

A few minutes later I was standing there next to the bathroom waiting for the sink to refill. I was refilling the “clean” water that homeless Jody said he just filled the sink with. He did fill it with clean water, but he then proceeded to dump a pile of dirty dishes into it immediately afterwards. I had to wash it all before I left, so better to do them while I had spare time during my shift than extend my shift 30 minutes at the end getting paid $5 an hour to do dishes while I could spend that precious time getting shit faced at my apartment with Sophia. I knew that even though I’d been ignoring her my entire shift, she’d be over the second I invited her.

“Ungh”, the closed bathroom door said.

“LET IT GO, LET IT GO,”, I sung over the music so whoever was taking a shit could hear me. I laughed at my own joke. 

I was expecting them to yell something back to me but there was only silence.

Five minutes later, Jackson walked out, being sure to close the door closely behind him. 

“Yeah keep it shut for the sake of everyone else here,” I said drying off my hands. He looked up at me wide and glossy eyed and didn’t say a word. He proceeded to stumble out the propped open back door and vomit all over the dark alley. 

Then the bathroom door opened again. Carly walked out wiping off her bleeding eyeliner with a wad of wet toilet paper. 

“Were you just. In the. With. Um.”

She looked at me and started bawling. Head down, she shuffled towards me and shoved her head into my chest. I instinctually put my arms around her.

I was pretty sure they were banging in the bathroom. What the fuck. I didn’t know for sure and I didn’t care. I just stood there, fluid leaking from Carly’s eyeballs onto my flour laden shirt. I thought how if I added yeast then we could make little tear pizza crusts as I stared forward wondering when she would walk away. I just wanted to take my delivery so I could clock out and go home.

It seemed like I always wanted to get blacked out because I was running from a feeling of nothingness toward a feeling of even more intense nothingness, while Jackson was running from the soul crushing despair which was inflicted by his girlfriend dumping him mid shift toward the intense comfort of an alcohol induced stupor, lack of sexual inhibition and the ability to take advantage of a young girl who was into fucking her bosses.  

I hadn’t eaten all day, which was half on purpose and half because I just couldn’t bring myself to do so. I ate so much the previous night when I was drunk, like I almost always do, that I’ve gotten to the point that I can barely eat sober. Each night after a day long stagnant feeling of okayness, I end up binge drinking to feel something before I go to sleep. It’s the feeling of not feeling. It’s kind of great. Then inevitably once I’m drunk, I feel the need to eat as much as I can fit inside of me since I hadn’t eaten all day. I did the same goddamn thing the night before and I knew I’d be doing the same thing the next night. The only thing that breaks it is when Sophia comes over and instead of eating 3000 calories in the span of 60 minutes, we just fuck.

---------

[elizabethleslie7654]

How the GOP Establishment Created the Alt-Right and How Democrats are Supplying its 2nd Wave

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If we go back in time, not far mind you, just barely over one decade ago, we see a political landscape that looks almost nothing like the one we have today. It is unbelievable how rapidly everything changed in such a short period of time. The date was May 3, 2007 – the site was Simi, California. As springtime was warming and fading into the start of summer, the first debate between the Republican 2008 primary field was set to kick off at the Reagan library. In retrospect this seems like a quaint time and a calm before the storm. George W. Bush was a beleaguered president who had not won the promised quick and total victory in Iraq, still had a giant blackeye from the botched response to Hurricane Katrina, and was about to cap his second term under the greatest financial disaster since the Great Depression. Even by that point in 2007, Bush had few fans or even defenders left; wisely no one seated in his White House admin was going to enter the race. This left an entirely wide open field of candidates for the GOP, yet very few were willing to counter signal Bush no matter how unpopular he was. It was an odd deference to what no one wanted to (yet) confess was a failed and disastrous presidency.

To set the stage, Q-1 home sales were down, there were murmurs that some of the financial houses were over-leveraged, some were saying there was a “housing bubble,” but the DJIA was still trading very high, and the economy was still in great shape a year and a half from the November 2008 casting of ballots. The slate of debate topics from that night are pretty laughable now given the benefit of hindsight and seeing what we now know would become the decade of pure, non-stop pozzing. Everyone and everything seems so naïve and doe-eyed from that 2007-2008 period. This was a kinder, gentler time, way before Trayvon Martin and George Zimmerman threw down at a Florida apartment complex, before tranny bathrooms, before BLM riots, there were not yet facebook background filters to virtue signal, this was still prior to frequent broad daylight executions of policemen in ambushes, no widespread opioid epidemic yet, no bake the gay wedding cake or else, and way before the third world crime and rape invasion of Europe unleashed by the Syrian “Civil” War. The main issues that night were figuring out how to exit Iraq and how to prevent another 9/11 style attack at home, everything else seemed pretty stable domestically, hardly worthy of presidential debate questions.

There was no housing collapse yet, which means there was no financial crisis yet, ergo no recession yet. Which means that there was no Obama yet. Which means there was no “tea party” yet. Identity politics were in their infancy and had not yet been fully and tactically deployed against the right wing, who in the name of respectability, refused to use the same tool. All of these things we are now familiar with were absent then but would come in rapid succession, acting as the gasoline that changed how Americans do politics by fire in the decade that followed.

Each of the candidates represented a faction of what broadly comes together to form the Republican/conservative brand. Mike Huckabee and Fred Thompson were the aww shucks, Southern candidates with deep accents and evangelical gestures. McCain and Romney were the GOP establishment choices, only needing to see which of the two emerged from the pageantry of early primaries before big pocket donors would know who to throw all support behind. Ron Paul’s paleo conservative, non-interventionism was preferred by the most optimistic and youngest Republicans but virtually no one else within the party. Giuliani was actually the front runner initially, running solely on the fading momentum of appealing to 9/11 themed patriotism and anti-terrorism. Tancredo and Hunter were basically single issue candidates who ironically ran on a border wall and aggressive deportation strategies, which while popular positions, could not catapult them out of the basement of the candidate field. The candidates pretty much spent an hour and a half discussing the theoretical destruction of Israel at any moment from the hands of an Iranian nuke, and creationism. Weird, I can’t imagine how they lost that election!

It was extremely apparent to anyone paying any attention that all of the energy and enthusiasm of those under 30 were breaking along lines of race and sex. The grassroots fundraising and activism was occurring almost exclusively in these age brackets. Young white men were overwhelmingly interested in Ron Paul, while young white women and non-whites of “all genders” were interested in Obama. There was virtually no interest whatsoever in the establishment candidates of either party from the young voters, a trend that repeated in 2012, and that then violently exploded in 2016. The major difference between the two parties in 2008 is that the Democrats allowed their activists, idealists, and optimists to decide who represented them – the GOP told theirs to shut up and get out.

The true power brokers and deep State did not feel threatened by anything Obama was offering, so he was never attacked. They sensed something threatening with Ron Paul though, so he was attacked. What were the primary differences?

A Ron Paul presidency would not have involved itself in Syria, would have jailed rather than bailed out the banks who defrauded the American public, would not have passed the insurance lobby subsidy called Obamacare, and would have ended the tribal collection of tribute sent back via “foreign aid” to Israel. Because of these things, all efforts were made to marginalize and drive Paul out of the primaries, the only problem is he kept getting donations and his activists did not get discouraged. As the rest of the GOP field folded with no ability to support themselves, Paul remained in the race, State after State, and continued to gather double digit vote percentages, yet he still was not asked many questions in the debates even as the field thinned down to 4, then 3, then finally 2 – only Ron Paul and John McCain. It was that important for the party machinery to prevent his counter-narrative message from being heard, especially by conservative audiences who were carefully managed and corralled by Conservative(INC). It was so obvious and so painful that the fix was in for those of us that were hardcore Paul backers. When the same thing happened in the 2012 primary, the repeating of the process removed the final fantasy that we would ever calmly steer the ship away from the rocks.

If you ever wonder: “What ever happened to all of those Ron Paul supporters? There used to be so many of them, so vocal, so active online – but I never see them anymore.” That guy that you remember who used to share 20 links a day about Ron Paul and campaign for liberty, but now never speaks about politics on facebook anymore — Do you ACTUALLY think he really just stopped caring about stuff? … care to guess WHERE he ended up when he was denied the opportunity to merely be “a moderate Republican?”

What the GOP establishment did in the handling of Ron Paul will eventually be looked back at as one of the biggest, high time preference, blunders of all time. For many of us, as young and engaged idealists, this was our first introduction to “the JQ” and the first time we had seen “ZOG” in action. This was a sweet old man who wanted sensible non-intervention, but even that was too much of a threat to the

Likud wing of the GOP. It is honestly as simple as that. Instead of giving passionate young men a place at the table within the party that is normatively attractive to them, they told these White millennials/late X’ers they were not welcome in the GOP … because they didn’t, as a priority, sufficiently value Israel’s interests. Perhaps that is why only a few short years later that there was an audience receptive to a candidate promising a radically different set of priorities that placed, dare we say, America first.

Ten years ago, the GOP establishment could have kept these young white libertarian men under the Aegis of Conservative(INC) by simply letting them be just one more new addition to a family filled with other quirky, mostly harmless, focused issues client groups who reliably vote Republican. They made similar compromises with evangelicals and hardcore NRA types. Instead, they acted like White Boomers raised in a high trust society and suckled on controlled media narrative would live forever. They mortgaged the future by ignoring the impassioned youth, and they lost the election anyways … TWICE.

Who do you think inherits the GOP as those boomers begin passing away? The same young men they denied political voice, and trust me, those young White men remember precisely WHO denied them and WHY. These are men raised in the internet age, not an era with three major networks pushing the same message and directing a binary and easily manipulated form of consensus. These are men who were forced to interact with the realities of race daily and intimately in a way that boomers never did, and who, because of those experiences, cannot be swayed by the same priestly class or hear the appeals to the superstitions of a different, and more gullible generation.

These are also the men who saw upfront and firsthand an almost exclusively Jewish neo-conservative set of keepers guarding the gates and preventing their access to participating in representative political life. And this experience will stick with them forever.

After having been told (and shown) that they were not welcome by the inner machinery that runs the Republican party, these libertarians began doing serious soul searching by reevaluatng every single one of their fundamental premises. Dispossessed and forsaken, these young men became what the French call in politics, “Les Enfants Terribles,” – the bad children.

All the while, the left hammered away with pozz, combined with racial flashpoints and fractures sprouting up like fountains for the next 8 years. It was in this incubating climate that what would begin calling itself the “alt-right” emerged from the womb as the unwanted offspring of the two parents responsible for forming them, and towards whom these “enfants terribles” held only contempt, even as their existence was only possible from the role each progenitor played in the procreation – George Bush (pure ZOG foreign policy, population replacement immigration, predatory capitalism) and Barack Obama (non-stop pozz, cultural Marxism, and anti-white domestic policies.)

Since there was no political inroad to a major party, there was also no longer any need to revere the sacred bulls and golden calf of society either, chiefly the taboo discussions of unaccountable Jewish power and racial group differences. Whereas we, like all respectable people, had broken out in uncomfortable sweats and promptly run as far and fast away as possible from those subjects, these two things were now on the table to finally examine honestly — to address humorously, irreverently, and without abandon. Is there any point to being politically correct when you are actively denied political access? It is not as though such an action will preserve a respectable political station. And let’s face it, is there any humor more exciting and more fun than the most transgressive and taboo? Is there any reaction more comical than that of the self-righteous, shaming zealot, reeling from shocked sensibilities and wounded by affronts to a morality they feel the need to puritanically enforce upon an unsaved society?

Like a doctor inducing labor, the GOP establishment had effectively forced these men, suddenly, painfully, and before they were ready, out of the safe and polite world to stand on their own. Perhaps that is why these fellows place such little value in taking safe and polite positions now… We had watched FOOTLOOSE and decided being Kevin Bacon was way cooler than being John Lithgow. Church ladies exist. They have pink hair, septum piercings, and like a Pentecostal in rapture, “literally shaking,” cannot deal with someone having a different moral axis. Their Jehovah’s Witness tier reactions will never not be funny to trigger.

It was a very strange thing. All of these men were having simultaneous and similar evolutions. It was a true phenomenon to see identical organic spontaneous responses to the exact same stimuli, at the exact same time, coast to coast, across populations that had never met one another. These atomized individuals soon discovered that none of them was transforming in this way alone. They were organically having the same mutation — they then found one another, and began forming communities and networks. Troll armies on Twitter.

  So why were we all libertarians?

One of the oldest jokes and outside criticisms of libertarianism was that it appealed (even more so than the Republican party) to almost exclusively Whites (90%+) and males (98%+.) Is it possible that we subconsciously saw that political philosophy as a roundabout path towards representing the group interests neither major party would, we the “collection of individuals” who “just all happened to be” from identical backgrounds – young, high IQ, white men – the demographic primarily being targeted, squeezed, and replaced in the increasingly anti-white political system?

As it turns out most of our instincts were pretty good in the things we opposed. We already had all of the correct enemies. Libertarianism offered us a way to address them without going to the core of the issue nor offending society’s shibboleths directly. The system also tolerated us in that space as an escape valve since it offered only minimal threat to ZOG while also being fully compatible with all of society’s foundational myths of race. On the flip side, every time laboratory libertarianism had to interact with the harsh realities of race and group differences, it failed to deliver, and was therefore exposed as fantasy thinking, at least under the current racial composition of the United States. Libertarianism had to evolve, or rather its adherents did, particularly in the face of the increasingly racially defined identity politics. For most of us, we discarded it when it demonstrated its uselessness on the identity driven 21st century field of battle. We would not fight second generation warfare with first generation tactics. … Those kinds of bloodbaths and slaughters are for baby boomers and conservatives, duh.

As “libertarians” we thought we wanted a strict non-interventionist foreign policy, but what we really wanted was not having foreign powers, in direct violation of our own interests, dictating how we behaved internationally. We were against “the domestic police state” and “the prison industrial complex,” but realized that to the degree that those things exist, their construction as institutions was a response to the sheer volume and statistical frequency of crime created by the non-whites living among us. These kinds of violent institutions with aggressive posturing struggle to justify themselves in societies and municipalities without large numbers of black and brown people. That very same system that “imprisons people of color” also prevents Whites from escaping their presence. Our sentence is a ball and chain, overseen by a man with a gun, ensuring that the White and non-white are forever tethered to each other, no matter how much both dislike the arrangement.

We were against “high taxes” and “welfare” not because it distorted market values of labor and encouraged malinvestment, or whatever other highfalutin arguments we used to give, but because deep down we understood that those systems take from the productive and give to the non-productive. This again, had crystal clear “color coding” regarding which groups of people performed which function. The “surveillance and anti-privacy” laws that we hated, were the acts of a schizophrenic State having a completely illogical Visa and immigration system that refused to account for race, culture, and identity as conditions for entry, and rather than address those foolish policies, that State asked us to become less free and more scrutinized. We were being denied a high trust, high productivity society, and our liberties were disappearing under the weight of our increasing “56%” flavor of non-whiteness, that none of us had ever been asked if we consented to.

We could go on and on, but essentially all of the libertarian positions were a proxy for the various battlefronts of diversity eroding livable societies. Libertarianism was the White man’s negotiating tactic to secure minor concessions in an exchange for a general surrender. The death of libertarianism was this portion the body politic finally succumbing to the mental exhaustion of constantly denying race, so they simply stopped doing the thing that wore them out. Libertarians were the first to tap out, but they will not be the last. One by one, the rest of the electorate will also lose its devotion and stamina against the strains of diversity. We just got there first.

Jettisoning that deadweight had its own energizing effect. Enter Donald Trump … and the emergence of the frenetic “alt-right” as a legitimate constituency with the ability to sway close elections in swing States, no longer wasting energy on lies and wishful thinking – by 2015, these libertarians had recuperated and gathered, free to battle under a different and more genuine flag. They had officially arrived as an actual political force – a “basket of deplorables.”

  Can Democrats learn anything from this?

Without giving away the game, it may be too late since everything is already in motion. The same way that the machinery in the GOP actively denied a political home to passionate, high IQ, high agency white men in 2008 and 2012 — the Democrats repeat performed from this script upon their passionate, high IQ, high agency white men in 2016. It was nearly a perfect copy pasta with Bernie Sanders, only more transparently and aggressively, with actual underhanded things done by the victorious, cheating candidate, and against a more broadly popular candidate with even wider support within the party. Will they make the same mistake and do this again in 2020? Are they willing to permanently chase out all straight White men from their midst? Are they willing to donate what would combine to form a monopoly of highly intelligent, highly creative minds to the alt-right … a group more than happy to welcome them in crafting a third position of politics?

There were several flashpoints in the election that made it quite clear how the Democrats would deal with White men first, and White women eventually. The first instance was when several black women grabbed the microphone on the stage in Seattle, chided the crowd under racial language, and pushed Bernie to the back.

The second was when globalist Sarah Silverman and fellow sexual predator and globalist Al Franken stood on the stage at the DNC and associated support for Bernie Sanders as akin to having an STD. They then promptly told Whites (because let’s face it, that’s who Sanders constituency is) to shut up, get in line, and cheer the candidate who manipulated the primary process to deny them political will – literally cheer your replacement, weakened position, and lack of a future – or leave. Will these Whites take them up on the offer?

The only available role for a White man in this party from this point forward is as a disliked and barely tolerated auxillary working in the baggage train. Sure, you can participate, but only if you remain silent and do not pursue leadership roles. How long do you think exceptionally bright, fiery, passionate, left wing White men with good ideas and true leadership qualities are going to be okay with that arrangement? Especially as the party doubles down on poor strategies that lose elections? Where there is no coherent ideologically left wing platform, because identity is more important to the “coalition of the ascendant” — a group whose appetite must constantly be sated with red meat — than economic fundamentals? Are these intelligent white guys really going to sit back and say nothing? Or do you think they will pursue another option?

If you don’t think there are millions more White males, this time on the left instead of the right, reevaluating their political positions as a result of their disenfranchisement, you don’t understand politics at all. The same way that the libertarians had to concede that their idealism could not work because of diversity, the Bernie bros. will learn that their idealism is destined for failure for the same reasons too. The alt-right doesn’t have to do a damn thing but sit back, watch, wait, and find room for these White men and give them voice and leadership after they have had enough with the Democrat party, who doesn’t want their talents anyway.

The Democrat party is so racially charged as a starting point on every issue that Universalist policies are seen as awful by the “coalition of the ascendant.” Free college education for all? Free healthcare for all? Guaranteed living wage for all? NOPE. The fracture point is the phrase “for all.” The racial spoils system has been nurtured so long and so aggressively by Democrats to bribe non-Whites that the idea of these constituencies sharing with Whites under a “for all” arrangement is a complete non-starter. There is absolutely no enthusiasm from people of color to contribute towards a colorblind society that would still disproportionately benefit Whites, the numerical majority. White Millenials will eventually discover that they are not seen as “allies” only competitors for the distribution of the spoils. The non-Whites do not see you as a teammate, they see you as a speedbump to run over along the way to controlling a political party that works solely for their interests. As we see more “browning of America” this political State of mind will increase, not decrease. Ironically, this is how politics works in shithole countries too … weird right? It is almost as if societies take upon the traits of their component parts.

There will be no socialism and shared progressive safety net without a White supermajority, “an Ethnostate” if you will. People of color controlling elections will happen within the Democrat party well before it is able to branch out into the larger political landscape. The few remaining Whites within the Democrat party will recognize this when they are eventually no longer able to seat candidates in party primaries, a point which may have already occurred. There are certainly some States, and countless cities and counties where this is already the reality. People of color as voting blocs have demonstrated no interest in gay and transgender issues, GMO food, global warming and environment, nor anything else urbanite, white, and hipster. City dwelling liberal Whites will not remain in a party where those things have zero traction or priority. They will want to go somewhere else.

Perhaps they will find a home with the hip and rebellious group that the GOP assures everyone “are not even conservatives….” Many have already made the jump.

Their establishment is effectively chasing these left wing White men into a harsh and painful birth, where they will have no choice but to become honest about race, just as ours did to us. The alt-right is waiting to work with them, our brothers, to come up with the solutions that modernity and the future will require. We are glad to welcome you. I suppose that this entire process was inevitable and the politics of the 20th century can fade permanently, giving way to what will be the inevitable politics of the 21st — identity …. blood and soil … whether we will or will not be replaced …

Welcome to the fight fellas! – Gwoobus Harmon

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