#he is for sure anti-running and bad at it

[holocene-sims]

List 5 facts about a favorite sim of yours, and send this to simblrs whose sims you adore ✨️

(Your turn!)

hi hi hi!! thank you so much for sending me this!!

last time i did one of these, i answered it for my (mostly) brand new character, yunha...so, let me introduce her twin brother now!

here come the basic stats ✏️ yunseok is 6'2", his mbti type is infj, his enneagram is 9w1, and his zodiac big three are pisces sun, sagittarius moon, and scorpio rising

he's chronically OFFLINE 🌾 he's never had a social media account other than one on kakaotalk to message friends/family and a profile picture-less youtube account that he uses to watch very specific hobby videos or listen to music. that's it. i wouldn't say he's unaware of memes or online culture overall, like yunha and his friends keep him in the loop so he's not completely baffled at their references, but he doesn't care for being on the internet.

he's kind of the perfect split between nerd and jock ⚽ even though he doesn't spend much time on the internet, he does like video games, and he grew up playing them with yunha whenever they had access to a computer or a console. his favorite games at the moment are project zomboid and elden ring. on the other hand, he's also a big sports guy. he loves baseball, basketball, and soccer, and he's practiced taekwondo for a longgggg time. so, most of the time, if you're trying to find him, he'll be at some sports complex or at the gym!

halloween is his favorite holiday! 🎃 and he spends a considerable amount of energy deciding what costume to wear each year and trying to convince friends and family to do group costumes with him. that hounding sometimes works out and results in, for example, him dressing up as the corpse bride and his (now ex)-girlfriend going with him as victor

he's currently employed as a night security guard at a factory, and wow does he hate it 😭 very rarely does he actually get to do anything, so for 98% of the night he's just sitting there in the booth pretending anything interesting is happening. that 2% of the night that *is* "interesting" is going on foot patrols and sometimes letting a worker inside. it's also quite an isolating job given the schedule and the fact that he's almost always the only guard on duty every night

[guardianbee]

RE: your post about nashuri being compared to re//ylo

you're so correct. i think people get caught up in the whole "quite popular ship about enemies who might have a romantic connection" thing and ignore the fact that the romance in rey//lo is completely fabricated and unsubstantiated while namor and shuri are shown as mirrors of each other since the very beginning and the story cannot go on as it does without the connection between the characters.

kyle doesn't care for rey whatsoever and has no qualms with hurting and torturing her even after he realised they were a force dyad (which was so half assed and obviously only done to fabricate a romance that just wasn't there); on the other hand namor sees himself in shuri since the first meeting and never intended to hurt her, not even after the perceived betrayal of her leaving with nakia. him killing ramonda was a response to ramonda's own actions and a fulfilment of a promise he made to her, he never did it because he intended to hurt shuri and knew that would be the surest way (we know from tenoch's interviews that he never really thought about how shuri would see his actions as an attack to her)

it vexxes me when i see fanfictions about "dark namor" where he acts like an unfeeling asshole who hurts shuri on purpose just because he can and he "breaks" her because that's kyle, not namor. he's a king and a man of his word, his actions against wakanda were a reasonable reaction to them invading his country and killing two handmaidens, and he had warned ramonda what would happen if they did so. his actions might have been morally wrong but not unjustified, and if he didn't stick to his word he would seem a weak leader.

anyway, sorry for the big ask. didn't want to add onto a reblog because people on this app don't know how not to be rude lmao

No worries about the long ask! I like getting asks every now and again, so this was a nice surprise.

Oh my gosh, the part about Ramonda's death being a fulfillment of Namor's promise to her.... I completely forgot about that part of the movie hjsdfgsdh. I only watched the movie once so I'm forgiving myself here, but yeah, this makes total sense! Namor is truly a man of his word - he binds himself to it, for better or worse. Also, I've said this before and N'jadaka confirms it, but ultimately, Ramonda did not have to die - she chose to sacrifice herself for Riri.

And yeah, it also makes sense he wasn't thinking about Shuri in that instance - he was thinking about what was best for his people, how to protect them and keep them safe. He made a tactical decision - by submerging the throne room, he assumed either Riri or Ramonda would die. And hey, if both did, even better. Obviously, that had some unintended consequences since Shuri was devastated by the loss of her mother and wanted vengeance, and Namor is the outlet to lash out both her wrath and the unprocessed grief she still carried for T'challa. That's why the ending of the movie is just... MAN, I cannot wait until February 1 to bawl my eyes out yet again!

Their story is eons different to how Kyle and Reyy interact with one another in the ST. For one, Kyle does not seem to resepct Reyy until the very end of EP9 (I never watched it so I'm just going off the synopsis). Man literally told her she was nothing and came from nothing. Juxtapose that with Namor clearly respecting Shuri as a leader of her nation as well as her intellect and empathy.

Then you just have the differences in character - Kyle is quite literally, until the end of EP9, a fascist that will do whatever it takes to control the galaxy and plunge it into darkness for... really vague reasons like emulating his grandfather? He kills because he wants to, because he likes it, all in a quest for absolute power and control. Meanwhile, Namor is an anti colonialist/anti imperialist who loves his people and will protect them however he can. As an anti hero, that means getting his hands dirty and killing those he sees as a threat to his people's safety, whether they were good people or not, whether they deserved it or not (the contrast between him killing US soldiers plundering his ocean for vibranium vs Ramonda and possibly tens of hundreds of Wakandan citizens). While they both kill, their motivations are fundamentally different and incompatible. Namor would see Kyle for what he is - another white man thinking of only his desires, trying to take what is not his and subjecting communities to unspeakable violence and misery.

Then you got Shuri and Reyy. Both are motivated by love and grief, but in different ways. Shuri is motivated by the deep love she has for her family and her people. Reyy, however, is motivated by the absence of love - she wants love, she wants community. She grieves what she's never had. That's why the scene between her and Finn before Kyle finds them in TFA is so memorable to me. She thought she found someone who could be hers, who could be a part of her community, and Finn seemingly walks away from it. Contrast that with Shuri, who is grieving what she's lost, who is slowly hardening herself to these losses, who is allowing the grief to control her, to slowly consume her, until it might be too late. Shuri and Reyy are fundamentally different characters that tell two different stories about the human experience and its eternal quest to be loved and find purpose within that love.

In fact, the ST and BPWF tell two incredibly, fundamentally different stories. And sorry not sorry, but BPWF is just more impactful, more insightful, and more in-tune with the human experience and nature than the ST ever could be. While BPWF is about grief and honoring loved ones, it's also about rejecting the ideals and methods of a white patriarchal society, about communities of color building and healing and joining forces to combat the erosion of their cultures, their resources, and their rights. It's why Namor and Shuri have an honest albeit complicated connection, while Kyle and Reyy have hastily shoved in forced conversations to get them to a place where it's possible (but definitely not probable) that they can be allies and more.

Now, about dark!namor... I haven't read any fics like that and I'm not going to if I can help it, but that shows a writer's lack of skills in writing complex characters. They're most likely projecting and just place Namor in that "bad boy" cookie cutter mold because that's what they've known and read all their life. This is similar to when I read zutara fics as a kid - there were a lot of people who just could not write Zuko without turning him into a bad boy, obsessed with Katara, and cornering her until she fell in love with him. A lot of complex anti-heroes/villains can easily get watered down in fanfics, especially by people who don't care so much for the characters but rather the tropes they seemingly represent. I like Namor and Shuri both as individuals and as a ship, so shoving them into tropes and situations they canonically would not subject themselves to (unless it's a straight up crackfic) is a no-go for me.

You can make Namor darker, a little more unhinged without going against the character's very nature. He doesn't hurt people just to hurt them - if he did, I doubt his people would love him so unabashedly, or there would be some active resistance against him and his leadership. At the end of the day, people can write whatever they want to write and ship whatever they want to ship and consume whatever they want to consume, but if they write Namor as an abuser (which is problematic for a whole host of reasons other than he would canonically never do that) and Shuri as some hapless victim who will fall in love with him anyway, they are doing a disservice to the characters and are perpetuating the violent ideals BPWF blatantly emphasizes we need to dismantle.

[floral-hex]

So this is my thing now, I’m afraid to go to sleep. This is kinda bullshit, brain.

[xclowniex]

I have seen multiple posts going around making fun of, or minimizing, what happened in Amsterdam from antizionists. So I want to give a timeline of what happened.

Pre the attack:

Before people arrived in Amsterdam for the football match, there were people organizing the pogrom. Stuff like wanting to steal jews passports, were shared on social media. Yes, the word used on social media was jews not Israelis. The main people organizing the attack were arab and muslim. We do not know at this point if all the attackers were arab and muslim, but we do know that at least a majority were. This fact does not mean that all Muslims and arabs want to harm all jews, however the extremism which lead to the attack and antisemitisms place in it can and should be talked about.

The Israeli government got wind of this attack and warned the Netherlands Police, who decided to not do anything to protect jews.

This did not happen because the Israeli team lost, despite what certain people are saying.

Day before or of the attack (unconfirmed which day it was):

Once in Amsterdam, there were some fans who did tear down Palestinian flags and chant a racist anti arab chant. Whilst this is still very much racist and should be labeled as such as viewed as bad, it's not out of character for for European football culture, and has happened before with other fans which have not lead to them being hunted down. The pogrom was pre planned and still not a proportional response.

The attack:

Jews were hunted down, beaten, run over, and many more things. They were also forced to say "free gaza" and "free Palestine"

The attack harmed far more than just those who were racist. They attacked jews and anyone they perceived as Jewish indiscriminately.

Jews were saved by an Arab Israeli football player speaking to them loudly in Arabic so people assumed they were arab Israeli or just Arab.

A Greek man was attacked because he could not prove to the attackers that he wasn't jewish and was in fact Greek.

A brittish man was punched because he helped save jews. And when he told his attackers that he was brittish and not israeli or jewish (not sure if he wasn't, but he told his attackers he wasn't), he was told "but you helped a jew"

Jewish businesses were also broken into.

How and why it is antisemitic:

If at this point, you still cannot see why it was an antisemitic attack, let's recap.

• It was a planned attack on jews, not Israelis, jews. And it was planned before any racist things happened.

● jews were spared if they were perceived to be non jews, including being perceived as arab Israeli and non jews were attacked for being perceived as jews and for helping jews

• Jewish businesses were broken into. If it was about breaking into zionist businesses, ones own by non Jewish zionists also would've been broken into, but they were not.

• Non Israeli jews were attacked

It is antisemitic, as the targets of the attack were specifically jews. It was not revenge for palestine or for racist comments.

Israel intervened and flew people out of Amsterdam as it was no longer safe for jews in the city. Not because they lost the match.

[sistertotheknowitall]

Danny is Some Guy being followed

Part three? I guess, cause apparently it’s not content to stay in my head. Part One, Part Two

To say Danny was awake when he fist met these guys would be true, but to say he was fully aware would be a lie, and to live in Gotham one needed to be constantly aware.

If not, they would end up in this exact situation. Being stalked by vigilantes.

Him, Danny “Phantom” Fenton, Ghost King of the Infinite realms, was being constantly followed by a vigilante family. At least Danny assumed they were a family after hearing Red Hood call Nightwing “little brother.” (“I’m older than you.” “Yeah but you’re shorter.” “That’s not how that works!”) Also there was a child and at least three teenagers running around in spandex and armor. If they weren’t a family Danny wasn’t half-dead.

Anyway, Danny was pretty-sure they were watching him. His only guess as to why, well it started with a comment he made when slightly delirious. Because on that night when he was awake but not really, he called Batman the the fury-vigilante. In front of who the young king now realizes might be the bat’s son.

Danny understands that it might have been embarrassing but also it was just a comment and not even an original one! A lot of people called him that! And sure, not always to his face but still it could not have been his first time hearing it.

So Danny saw it as unnecessary to send out his army of (admittedly nice) children to harass Danny whenever they could. It was getting old and they always looked at him as if he was the odd one. Which he was but they didn’t know that. Like, Danny is just trying to get to where he needs to go, you people are the ones squaring up to random thugs on a school night.

Not that Danny didn’t appreciate the constant rescues, but he knew the life of a teenage vigilante and it wasn’t an easy one. Danny had a list of regrets and the scars to prove it. Hell, Baby Ninja looked younger than Danny when he first started.

In the first month of being shadowed Danny was sure he had met all of Batman’s children, either by rescue or confrontation. (How was he supposed to know he wasn’t allowed near that wearhouse?) He decided that Red Robin and Signal were his favorites, they spoke to him as a fellow person. Dickwing was his least favorite. After the incident with the Fenton anti-creep stick and four creeps, Dickwing started to lecture Danny on self-preservation and “being too young to put himself in that kind of danger.” Danny had stared pointedly at Baby Ninja on the fire escape (not that Dickwing noticed.)

Danny didn’t really now what their goal was, so far outside the three a.m. gun fights, the hypocritical lectures, and Baby Ninja’s prickly nature, the Batkids weren’t so bad. Still Danny wasn’t going to tell them his name. Hello? they were following him. Yes they were vigilantes but they were also stalkers and Danny had rights.

[mv1simp]

Into You ♥️

Max Verstappen x Redbull Engineer! Reader

Oh baby, look what you've started, the temperature's rising and is this gonna happen? (Been waitin' and waitin' for you to make a move)

At 27, you've just been promoted to the role of Redbull's race engineer - a very impressive feat in motorsport for a young woman. There's just one issue though - you secretly had a massive crush on the driver you're meant to be guiding, Max Verstappen. Will you make it through the season before he catches on? (You hope so because goddamn, the HR team were a nightmare to deal with.)

Content includes: fluff, humour, Max and reader are simps for each other, sexual tension, pining, drunk confessions, 3.2k WC

Recently, you'd started having some issues at work. Okay, gun to your head, you'll admit it was more like a single issue - in the shape of a very attractive, 6 foot Dutch racing driver who occasionally had problems with anger management. Sure, it didn’t sound that bad, in fact, someone else would just sit back and enjoy the eye candy the F1 paddock provided! But to truly appreciate the full depth of your embarrassing problem, one needed to unpack all the lore behind it.

After graduating from a prestigious mechanical engineering master's program, you'd been ecstatic about getting to intern at Redbull's F1 racing team, department of aerodynamic design. You'd started working at the company at a very good time, because later that year, their top driver Max Verstappen claims his first WDC at age 24 - only 6 months your junior. A very impressive feat for such a young age - as you admire him from a distance in the garage workshop. And, super hot too, you thought cheekily, whoever wifed him up was sure to be a lucky woman.

Your own hard work hadn't gone unnoticed, and many higher-ups and sponsors alike were curious to see the team who had been behind the championship winning changes to the Redbull car. You'd risen very quickly in the ranks, from intern to permanent technical engineer and then last year to to the innovative research & development department, now involved directly with calling the big shots for what each version of the car would look like and coming face to face with Max for the first time in your career with Redbull.

Unlike the other drivers, Max was genuinely curious about your design process. The way he asked questions, thoughtfully listened to your long explanations and then would give you direct feedback about the exact issues he would have in the trial runs had made you flustered, especially from the full intensity of his blue eyes. No, seriously though, Shakespeare himself would have written poetry if he'd gazed into them. The TikTok creators certainly seem to agree, with all their ocean eyes edits. Not that you had any saved. Anyways, moving on-

You were on the quieter side but Max seemed to know just how to get through to you. It meant that your team had been able to design the most dominating car in F1 history - the RB23, and paired with Max Verstappen it was an unstoppable force, almost like you made it just for me, Max had said, smiling gorgeously at you like some GQ Sports model. You stared back at him incredulously, banana choc chip muffin halfway to your mouth, cause who the hell woke up looking like that, you two were wearing identical Redbull shirts but his looked like it had been personally tailored to fit that broad muscular chest and yours was giving oversized trash bag??

Honestly, you'd hoped that working in closer proximity would humanise him more and you'd lose this silly crush of yours the moment you saw him do some icky rich white boy move. Like maybe he’d donate to Donald Trump's anti vaccine campaign or say guys 🥺 Can’t go to Ibiza this weekend the yacht staff had an emergency, got caught in some Gulf war zone or something? Idk

But when he had knocked on your apartment door when you hadn't shown up to work in two days, and found you crying because your childhood dog had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer across the other side of the world and saying I’m sorry, I know it’s not that big of a deal, I’ll come back tomorrow I promise-

And instead of laughing like you’d expected, he’d cut you off, told you to pack a bag and then driven you all the way to his personal jet. You looked into his beautiful blue eyes while he earnestly begged you to use it so you could make it in time to say goodbye to your Arlo before your parents put him down tonight. And that’s when you realised you were doomed to be hopelessly in love with the younger man. (But also, you had a serious discussion with him about the extreme greenhouse gas emissions from private jet fuel use, we only had one planet, you would be happy to just fly first class instead-)

But when your mentor Newey announced his plans to leave Redbull this year, you had planned on following him - making the exec panic at the thought of losing two of their crucial engineers. They frantically thrown random promotions at you, praying one would stick - and Redbull twitter fans breathed a sigh of relief when you took interest in the role of race engineer and stayed in the company.

You'd been excited about becoming one of Checo's engineers, having trained under the current one for the last few months. But to your horror, one day you arrived on the paddock only to be promptly sat down at a meeting along with the two drivers and be informed that they'd had to switch some things around, GP had an emergency to attend and could you pretty please fill in for the role of Max's race engineer this weekend-

NOPE. You'd announced, standing up and slamming your hands on the table, then realising that might be a touch overdramatic as everyone questioningly looked at you. Why not? Christian Horner demanded suspiciously.

Um, because he's super hot, you fool?! How is a girl meant to focus with him whispering track feels really wet today in her headphones? Were the years of self control to just admire from a distance like a loser and not jeopardise your career just a joke to him?? You don’t blink as your boss stared you down, hoping he could pick up on the thoughts that you’re trying to telepathically communicate. The table remained silent, only interrupted by the noisy slurping of Checo's boba tea. You quickly changed tactics - well, Verstappen is the winning champion, he needs an engineer who has experience working alongside him during the race-

Alas, the object of your affections threw a well intended wrench in your escape plans by adding that you were the perfect person, then, since you'd worked together for years and understood his communication style. Unless - he paused, flashing those deadly baby blues at you - unless the issue is you don't want to work with me?

You'd lasted all of three seconds under his hurt gaze before admitting defeat and accepting the role, slumping down next to him and desperately praying you'd wake up a lesbian tomorrow morning. Max continued to sneak long glances at you through the meeting, leaning around you to grab a pen and then his phone and making you jump each time his strong arm wrapped around your small frame. Across the table, Checo thoughtfully chewed on his boba as he watched you two curiously. Ah, young love.

And to no one's surprise the pair of you had made a flawless team, you expertly guiding Max as your engineer instincts took over and him actually listening to your helpful instructions without his usual aggression over the radio. And so when GP announced that his 1 week emergency was now going to be a 6 month break, sorry! - it had been all too easy for Christian Horner to bestow the honour of being Max's primary engineer onto you.

So now, here you sat, before your 4th race with Max, grimly looking on with your chin propped onto interlaced fingers, preparing yourself for his deep, sexy voice that was going to be purring in your ears very soon. The very voice that had become a recurring theme in the dreams you'd been having lately, that and also how he would bite those thick lips of his when he'd stare at you, with his cute little freckle on his top lip-

Why do you look like you're about to go to war, your intern asks bluntly, putting an end to your illicit thoughts and delivering you your triple chocolate caramel frap. Because I am, you hissed, sculling the whole thing in one go. She smirked, leaning in conspiratorially. Was this to do with how categorically down bad you are for your precious Maxie?

You proceeded to inform her that if she ever brought up how you'd drunkedly referred to him that one time, you'd have no problem abusing your authority to shaft her on tire service duty for a week. She wisely chose to leave you be in peace, taking your empty cup as she went.

Taking some meditative breaths, you focus on thinking about unsexy things. Like the hydraulics system of the current car needing to be redesigned to better incorporate-

Your thoughts are cut off a second time as another cup is deposited in front of you, this time by none other than Max himself, who's thoughtfully brought you a triple chocolate caramel frap. You stutter out your thanks, not daring to touch more caffeine currently as you already had sweaty palpitations at the sight of him looking so big and muscled in his slutty tight fireproofs. Dear God, had he no shame? They needed to bring back the Victorian era and cover him up, he was going to distract everyone (mainly you.) He frowns slightly, leaning down to your height, and informs you that you didn't have to call him Verstappen, you know, Max is fine-

Wow. And then what would come next? Maxie? And then you asking him for his hand in marriage? No, no, absolutely not - you needed to maintain strict professional boundaries or risk him catching onto your massive crush and promptly be fired. You politely informed him that for the sake of public decorum and the rabid fangirls that were watching your every move as a young female engineer in proximity to their favourite drivers, that you would refer to him as Verstappen, or Mr. Verstappen if he preferred a more formal title?

He'd pouted those lush lips of his and reluctantly agreed that just Verstappen was okay, he supposed. But he much preferred hearing you call him Max, at least when there were no cameras around? What you had done in your past life to now be forced to resist such temptation, you would never know.

So the season went on, you two continuing to be a smashing success and a very popular internet pairing. Not that you'd been paying that much attention! Just a saved TikTok edit here and there of the time Max had called you schatje over the radio after blowing up about a tire malfunction. He’d then sweetly apologised the next lap when you remained unfazed and told him to sort his shit out, babes, Leclerc was right up his ass with a tire and DRS malfunction, yeah? (Twitter had gone crazy. Who knew Max Verstappen responded so well to a 5 foot, slightly older woman giving him orders over the team radio?! You’d instantly been accepted as a replacement for the beloved GP, original gentle domTM to the Dutch driver.)

And perhaps another saved edit of the time he had protectively held you in those big, strong arms of his, guiding your tiny figure through a massive media-frenzied crowd and whispered reassurances in your ear when you couldn’t breathe properly. Or the time he’d bitten a reporter’s head off with the ferocity of a lion after he suggested that as the first female race engineer, you’d acquired your new job through your…feminine wiles.

And maybe just one of when the PR team had made you do one of those ridiculous hot lap videos with him after seeing the online response, and he'd laughed as you screamed out of fear for your life when he cruised at a cool 200km/hr. The aftermath had been brutal, as you weakly stumble out and almost fall flat on your face, only for him to easily pick you up, carrying you bridal style back towards the garage (Truly, this right here was proof God sent his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers.)

Nearing the end of the 6 month stint, when GP was due back in to resume his role as Max's race engineer, the Redbull team had decided to take a well deserved weekend trip to Verona, Italy. You’d suspiciously looked at your intern, asking why she’d selected the romantic setting of Romeo & Juliet of all places, to which she replied that just cause you’d chosen to cockblock yourself for eternity with a crush on your coworker the millionaire F1 driver, didn’t mean the rest of them couldn’t get some. Valid point, so you shut up.

So now, here you are, sitting in a romantically lit corner of a cute Italian vineyard with a small group from the engineering division, sloshed after a bottle of red wine and asking them be real, be real, you're telling me none of you have been checked out Max's ass in his fireproofs? Lies.

Across the courtyard, Lando is currently extremely unimpressed with his good friend, 3 time Championship winning, and general terror on the track Max Verstappen. That is because said friend has decided, rather pathetically, to lie on the cobblestone and drunkedly ask the stars why fate was so cruel. Seriously mate, Lando sighs, all this over a silly insta post?

Excuse you, it’s not just any insta post! Max had protested, baby tears in his eyes and face flushed from the four G&Ts he’d drunk. Pulling out his phone, he shows Lando the damning evidence of the pictures you'd uploaded from the group trip with your engineering friends. Look. LOOK. His arm is around her and she used a Lana Del Ray lyric in the caption. Do you have any idea what this means?

The Brit has to resist rolling his eyes at the melodrama unfolding in front of him. The Dutchman continues, never one to miss a chance to maxplain - as he details how it had taken him a a whole 2 months to get him to call you by his first name, and then another 2 months before you'd told him your favourite song was Summertime Sadness, and that even now if he hugged you to celebrate a win you would look like you were about to throw up and furiously speed walk away.

Lando is seriously regretting tagging along to the Redbull trip instead of Carlos's invitation to Mallorca. It was bad enough that the whole train ride Max had been on the phone begging GP to take another 6 month break so that you'd continue to be his engineer, but Lando has had his limit with this simpy pining. Taking his phone out as the maxplaining continued in the background, he shoots a text to your intern, who immediately replies, and within minutes the pair of them have hatched a conniving plan to dump you lovesick fools together while the rest of them make their way into town.

And that’s how you and Max find yourself locked inside the upstairs wine cellar, having been separately tricked with various promises from your scheming friends - only to hear the door click behind you and turn to find each other. It's very romantic and all, soft candlelight and bottles of luxurious Italian wine and a shining full moon visible from the terracotta balcony. Someone had even generously left a speaker in the courtyard, with Lana Del Ray's melodic voice rising upto the second floor. Basically, the worst nightmare for your self control as you prayed for inner strength and avoid looking into Max's dreamy blue eyes. This was definitely some twisted beyond the grave revenge from Shakespeare for you saying he'd write poetry about a F1 driver’s eyes.

Max, though, is all too happy to come right over to you with another freshly opened bottle of wine, drunk and flushed and having zero inhibitions about pulling you into his warm side with a strong arm. You're too buzzed to resist, letting yourself fall against his chest to hear his soothing heartbeat and rest a palm against his hard abs, just this once (The real thing was even better than what you'd imagined.)

You're both laughing and giggling then, hearts full, reminiscing about the season together, the inside jokes on the radio, the side eyes to each other when Horner got too wound up at a meeting, and oh did you hear that the McLaren tireboy was hooking up with the Mercedes oilchecker?

And then your eyes meet his and your homegirl Lana starts singing dear lord when I get to heaven, please let me bring my man (real) and Max is softly brushing your cheek, leaning down as your heated gazes flit to each other's lips-

NOPE! you force yourself to declare, dramatically leaving his arms and contemplating if you could land the jump from the 2nd floor balcony. The Italian wine has made Max demanding though, as he doesn't let you go, grabbing your hand to pull you back like he was Anthony goddamn Bridgerton and wanting to know Why not, was he just imagining the chemistry, did you not find him hot or?

You'd gaped at him. Not hot? Apparently the Italian wine had gotten to you too because you didn't hold back, launching into a tirade of how no, Max, the issue was actually that he was too hot for his own good and did he even know how unfair it had been to be his engineer, pure torture really, you were sure the American military would be adding it to their interrogation tactics. As if it hadn't been bad enough to crush on him from a distance for years but then have to resist falling for him every time you saw him? So, no, you couldn't just give him a casual drunk kiss because you were in love with him!

Max stares at you, initially smug that you apparently found him so irresistibly good looking, but now completely bewildered when you finished ranting. You think - he swallowed. You think that this is just casual? Cause I- cause I'm drunk?

At your nod, he launches into his own maxplaination, brows furrowed, demanding to know how on earth you could think it was just casual, what about when he diligently showed up to every meeting with a banana choc muffin and caramel frappe and his hoodie for you to wear on the chilly mornings, or when he brought two Lana Del Ray VIP tickets the very same day you'd told him you liked her, or when he'd literally called you darling in Dutch over the team radio for the whole world to hear, or how he even sold his private jet and only jetpooled with the others since you told him off?! Seriously, even that old crone Helmut had asked him when you two were going to hard launch!

Your doe eyes go wider and wider at each statement, a pretty flush taking over your own face as your mind boggles at the realisation that apparently, the love of your life felt just as deeply about you. Stuttering, you try to formulate a reply - only to come up with Oh, well, I, uh - you sold your jet? For me?

Max rolls his eyes, but there's nothing except pure adoration on his face as he pulls you back into his warm chest, grinning down at you when you eagerly wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. Yes, schat, he murmurs gently, the cutest blush painting his cheeks. Because I love you, too. And this time you don't pull away when he finally, finally leans down and meets your lips in a passionate kiss, enjoying the sweet moans he draws out of you as he showcases his numerous talents off the track.

Somewhere, in the middle of a Verona nightclub, your intern gives Lando Norris a firm handshake. Pleasure doing business with you.

_____________________________________________

A/N: A lil sweet fluff for me, this is actually my first fluff piece i think ahaha i've only written like 8 smut pieces in a row!! Hope you enjoyed 💖 and PS thank you ALL for the requests you’ve been sending, been getting them and will work thru them just have a few projects I’m cookin up for u guys hehe xx

[francixoxoxo]

⋆.° Swaddled in Silk ୨ৎ

𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

𝐓𝐖: 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭, 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧, 𝐞𝐭𝐜., 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡 (𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐞!), 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

Little note: reader doesn’t get the abortion not because of pro-life beliefs, but because of personal wishes, this is NOT an anti-abortion sentiment!! Very much pro choice over here!!!!

Mornings tended to be peaceful with Coriolanus.

Your eyes would flutter open, the pale skin of your husband’s bare neck and chest cast in golden morning sunshine the first thing you see. You’d shift, groaning softly at the morning aches and nosing the crook of his neck, grateful he’s a light sleeper when his strong arms wrap tighter around you.

Technically, Coryo had his own room in the Presidential mansion. But he’d admitted to you in soft words late into the night, long ago, that he couldn’t sleep without you.

So you’d wake up in his arms, him holding you close as if somebody would take you from him. You found it endearing, just how possessive Coriolanus was over you. It wasn’t just in the way he held you; it was in the way he made sure you looked and felt your best at every event, so that he hold a hand on your waist and boast his wife’s beauty. It was in the way he spoiled you in just about every aspect, dipping you in diamonds and rubies, keeping your appearance manicured with days at the spa, keeping your every need satisfied, physical or emotional. Doting on you the best he could while running the damn country, loving you like a good husband should.

Except that his love was a bit inconvenient at the moment, as you tried to move from his arms and his grip only tightened. You felt a recognizable bile rising up, a sick feeling taking over your gut. Coriolanus grumbled, his brows drawing and eyes impossibly more blue in the morning as they opened a crack. “Darling..? Where…”

You peeled his arms away from you, and this time Coryo let you go. His expression was twisted in confusion as you jumped to your feet, hand clasped over your mouth as you beelined for the bathroom connected to the bedroom. Oh. He stumbled out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and making his way to the bathroom to soothe you. He picked up the pace as he heard you retching.

Coriolanus knelt beside you, gathering up your smooth tresses and holding the hair back from your face in a ponytail. His other hand rubbed your back with a strong palm. “There you go, there you go. Get it out.”

God, you wouldn’t be surprised if you threw up an intestine. It felt like eternity before you got everything out of your system. “Sorry.” You croaked, wincing and sitting back on your calves.

“Why are you sorry? You can’t control it.” Coryo cooed, the hand holding your hair moving to the side of your head and pressing a kiss to your crown. His forehead creased after a moment though, he leaned away to grab you a towel. He watched you wipe your mouth before speaking hesitantly. “My love?”

“Mhm.” You hummed, swallowing hard and grimacing at the sour taste on your tongue.

“Do you think you ate something bad?” Coryo murmured, his voice suddenly dropping to a whisper. You met his eyes. You knew what he was really asking.

You pressed your lips thoughtfully. “I don’t know.” It seemed unlikely, you weren’t one to get sick at a whim. And you’d eaten rather healthy yesterday.

You two had been.. trying. To say the least. Coriolanus was very eager for a family, as were you. Baby fever actually had a strong hold on you. But you hadn’t realized how difficult it would be. Coryo and you went to the best doctor he could get his hands on, and his meticulous nature led to keeping track of your schedule, the windows where you’d be most fertile. You never grew tired of intimacy with him, but every negative test was daunting. Every vitamin and supplement was growing tiring to keep tabs on.

For months this went on. You couldn’t help feeling that you were failing Coriolanus. He wanted a baby so terribly, and your body just wouldn’t seem to work with you. Whispers were beginning to spread around high society women, questioning why a marriage of four years had yet to produce babies. You were questioning it yourself.

“My love, it’s okay.” Coryo had cooed, folding you into his arms the first night you’d cried to him about the cruel gossip about your marriage and your “failings” as a wife. He shook his head passionately, showering you with kisses. “I love you. A baby will come in time.”

You’d sniffled, burying your face and hiding your eyes into his chest. “But why won’t it come now? We’ve been doing everything right, Coryo, at this point it has to be me.”

Coryo sighed, his arms squeezing you tighter. You were perfect in his eyes, whether or not your body was sustaining a baby didn’t matter to him. He loved you regardless, and he told you so. “Just trust me. You’ll get pregnant when time is right for us. I love you, we have plenty of time.” Coriolanus took your chin in his fingers, tilting up your chin to press his lips to your forehead tenderly.

It seemed that the time was finally right for you. A broad smile spread over Coriolanus’ lips, his hands moving to cup your cheeks. You laughed a bit breathlessly.

“I’ll call the doctor.” Coryo cooed, pressing his lips between your brows. He hummed against your forehead, murmuring after a moment, “I love you. You know that?”

“I know.” You breathed, finding his bare arm and squeezing it affectionately as he pulled away. “I love you.”

The moments the words “You’re pregnant, Mrs. Snow,” slipped from the doctors lips, Coriolanus was changing gears.

He was coaxing you into coming with him to buy baby clothes the very next day. The day after that, you discovered that one of the rooms neighboring your bedroom was being renovated into a nursery. Coryo was delighted when a package he sent his secretary for came in, he’d hurried to find you wherever you’d been and showed you a box full of brand new baby toys. Plush bears, rattles, another large box holding a rocking chair; you wondered how your baby would even get around to using it all.

“You’re spoiling it before it’s even born!” You teased one day as he happily presented a soft muslin baby blanket.

“Damn right.” Coryo had smiled broadly, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone, correcting you, “I’m spoiling her.”

“Girls?” You cocked a brow, slipping a hand into his gelled-locks and probably messing up his styling. He didn’t care. “I’m confident it’s a girl, my love. And I live to spoil my girls.”

His attention didn’t only apply to the baby. You were his top priority these days; he took more time away from his work to dote on your every whim. Coryo was holding your hair back every morning you fell ill. He constantly was taking you shopping, making sure that your maternity clothes weren’t frumpy or ugly, but made you feel beautiful. He had the cooking staff preparing every craving you had.

But sooner than later, pregnancy proved itself to be difficult.

No matter what Coryo did, no matter what doctors he called in or what home remedies he found, you just wouldn’t get healthy. You were wasting away before his eyes. Your ribs jutted out from your sides, your face becoming gaunt and hollow. You simply couldn’t stomach food.

Coriolanus had never been more terrified than when a simple common flu had bedridden you for days. Your immune system was so weakened by your pregnancy, and nothing seemed to help. You looked deathly pale, just the sight of you was enough to bring Coryo to tears. Though he never let you see his distress.

But dear God, he couldn’t lose you. You were scaring him, with that resigned glint in your eyes. As if you knew, and were comfortable with dying. Coriolanus was the furthest thing from comfortable.

At night, he’d run his hands along your ribs, his nose brushing yours as he watched your eyes. They’d be peacefully shut, your breathing calm from his soothing touch. Coriolanus’ hand would always end up on your belly, his thumb rubbing along the gentle curve of it under your night slip. You were featherlight nowadays, when you should’ve been full and glowing.

When your dizzy spells became too powerful to handle without laying down, Coryo called in the doctor again. He wanted a baby with you, he didn’t want this. If he knew that this would’ve been so taxing on your body, he never would’ve done this to you.

That’s how he comforted himself as the doctor left the room, leaving you to sit on the chaise at the foot of your bed and Coryo to pace about, his fingers on his lips and his eyes buggy. You’d just been warned.

This baby was life or death. If you gave birth, you might not survive. It was simply a genetic condition in your family. Nothing to be done. Except..

“We’re getting rid of it.” Coriolanus announced firmly, shaking his head. You lifted your face.

You gawked at your husband. “No!” You huffed, eyes darting around to avoid another bout of tears. Your hands were wrung in your lap, squeezing tight to the point of your knuckles paling. “Don’t even suggest it.”

“I’m not suggesting it, I’m telling you. My love, we are not keeping this baby.” Coriolanus stepped closer, standing in front of you. He outstretched his hand to tilt your chin with a finger, his eyes glimmering with something adamant.

You shook your head, grabbing Coryo’s wrist and squeezing. Your brows pinched up at him. “You aren’t serious. You can’t— you can’t force me. It’s my body.”

Your husbands expression melted like ice in a heatwave, his eyes softening. He snuck his hand around to hold yours in a tight grip. “I won’t force you. I..” Coriolanus sighed in exasperation, moving to sit beside you. His tone was earnest and as kind as he could muster. “But I can’t let you do this.”

“It’s our baby, Coryo.” You pleaded, the hand not holding his coming to rest on your belly defensively. How could he contradict himself so greatly, telling you it was your choice while making it sound like his word was final, as always?

“It will kill you.” Coriolanus hissed, suddenly to his wits end with you. His brow creased, his lips pulling over his teeth in a sneer. He shook his head adamantly. “My love, I won’t lose you for—for it.”

You couldn’t help the lump rising in your throat, making breathing suddenly quite a task. “For her.” You corrected him this time.

Coriolanus sighed, letting go of your hand and pushing himself to his feet. He had to loosen his tie, the red article suddenly suffocating. You helplessly watched him pace, rubbing his forehead in frustration. “It would be okay. I’ve already lived, I think she should get a chance.”

The absurdity of your words brought a humorless snort from Coryo’s nose. He shook his head but seemed so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn’t reply, so you went on. “And you’d have a piece of me, anyway! Coryo, you’d love her so much it’d outweigh whatever grief you’d have, you’d be so happy I went through with it, because you’d get a baby out of—“

Coriolanus was staring at you with wide and buggy eyes, as if you’d suggested he eat you alive. “How dare you say that?” Your husband snapped, stepping towards you with purpose. “How could you think I’d be able to tolerate, let alone love this baby if it killed you?” His nostrils flared in frustration and in his shining sapphire eyes, a wild kind of hurt.

At the sight of the tears welling in Coryo’s eyes, you couldn’t resist reaching for his hands with both of yours. He let you take them, he rubbed his thumbs over the backs of your hands— the ridges of your increasingly apparent bones under his fingers only adding to the wetness in his eyes. “Please.” Coriolanus murmured after a moment, his brows drawing together and creasing his forehead. “Please, my love. We can get a doctor who’ll abort it, no matter what trimester. Please.”

God, he made it sound so easy. Like it was just a procedure. It wasn’t, not to you. You desperately wanted this baby, you couldn’t just wake up to a morning without its life within you.

Perhaps he could see the indecision in your eyes. He squeezed your hands. “Please. I can’t lose you.”

You couldn’t look Coriolanus in the eyes as you shook your head. “I’m keeping it.”

You kept your gaze fixed on his dress shoes, the leather freshly polished and shiny. You didn’t look up to see the way he wiped his eyes with his knuckles, his nostrils flaring and throat bobbing. You only knew that his hands slipped from yours, his footsteps were departing from you, the door falling shut behind him.

Your due date was nearing. Coriolanus took more time to be with you, masterfully hiding the sadness behind his eyes as you mentioned anything baby-related. You thought he’d distance himself.

Completely the opposite. Though every conversation about the baby brought on a nasty argument, Coryo wasn’t too big a fool to know that you needed him right now. Regardless of his constant reminders that you two could simply adopt, you could go the surrogacy route, anything to keep you alive, you denied him. You were determined to give him a baby of his own from your body.

But no matter how many fights he’d resolve by folding you into his arms, cooing an apology and petting your hair, he knew he would never love the baby that’ll take you away from him.

Coriolanus couldn’t bear watching you waste away like this. This wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted his wife to be glowing, to be happy and full with his baby— he didn’t want to choose between his child and you. He would choose you, if you let him.

Still. You tried to maintain normalcy.

Maybe it was nature, a maternal instinct implanted deep within you, but you were willing to die for this baby. You couldn’t describe it to Coriolanus if you tried. You felt a strange calm, in the weeks leading up to the baby’s birth. Knowing that one might die, being aware of one’s expiration date, well, it was eye-opening. You took to writing down your thoughts, writing down messages to your daughter. You were still quite certain she was a she, though you were keeping the sex a surprise. Oh, you had so much to tell her!

When you told Coryo about the journal, he’d smiled gently and nodded, humming that it was a darling idea. But he left the room a minute later, coming back with eyes rubbed pink.

You were aware of how much of a toll it was taking on Coryo. But you knew it was best. You knew he deserved a baby. You deserved the pride of giving that life to him, to the world.

One day, you’d been helping your maid with folding your clothes and the towels for your bathroom. You’d insisted you help, especially because you loved to chat with her.

You were laughing with her, listening to a story she was telling. You were listening, until you felt an indescribable pain in your lower half. You’d winced, clutching the towel you’d been folding, looking down at yourself and holding your belly with your other hand.

“Mrs. Snow?” Your maid’s voice was full of concern. “Is it—“

“I don’t know.” You gasped, the pain washing over you like a wave, and leaving just as fast as it had come. “Do you think..”

“I’ll call the doctor.” She rose to her feet hesitantly, eyes wide as if you were a time bomb in her hands. You could almost laugh at her expression.

You nodded. “Don’t rush, it might not be—“ you proved yourself wrong as an immense pain knocked the words from your mouth. You fold over, groaning, and sending your maid bolting for the phone.

You’d certainly underestimated childbirth.

It was absolutely the most painful experience of your life. If you hadn’t been afraid of death up until now, you definitely were now. It was a terrifying pain, a terrifying feeling knowing that while most women were strong enough to withstand such a natural pain, you might not be.

An ambulance came to bring you from the presidential mansion to the hospital. The entire ride, screams and tears filled the tiny vehicle. You’d begged for someone to call Coriolanus, the prospect of doing this without him was daunting and downright petrifying.

When you got to the hospital room, Coryo was there, dress-shirt disheveled and hair ungelled. He’d been working at the office today. You thanked every god out there for him, as he squeezed your hand and smoothed back your hair, doing his very best to hide his fear. Your screams wrung his heart, he made sure to wipe your tears and kiss your sweaty brow.

“You’re doing great, my love.” Coriolanus cooed, letting you squeeze his hand until he was numb. You’d whimpered, the pain subsiding and crashing over you again like an ocean wave.

You’d wailed to kingdom come. “I don’t want to die, Coryo!” You’d groaned. He was grateful you weren’t paying much attention to his face, your eyes on the ceiling, otherwise you would’ve seen the way your pleading broke him.

Coryo squeezed your hand, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. “You won’t. You’ll be fine, darling, you’re doing everything right.” He’d promised, voice as assured as he could manage.

Another thing you underestimated was how stupid long the whole ordeal was.

Atleast another hour ticking by meant another hour you were alive. But it also meant another hour of searing pain, the feeling of your body betraying you and ripping itself open, tears wetting your cheeks and wails parting your lips.

Suddenly, it was like all that intense cramping and sharp pains were alleviated in a moment. As if some divine being had graciously lifted you off a bed of nails. Woozily, you lifted your head to see the baby in the nurse’s hands, another nurse cutting the ambilical cord. God, did it look rough, but it was yours. It was beautiful. You immediately reached for your baby, eyes bleary and voice hoarse, “I want to hold it.”

As if anybody would deny the First Lady. Oh, you could bawl as they lowered the baby onto your chest, who was actually bawling and crying. You laughed a bit breathlessly, eyes lifting to Coriolanus. His eyes were wide, bluer than you’d ever seen them, perhaps from the shine to them. But he’d never let his tears escape his eyes, blinking them away to lay a hand on his baby’s head, smiling stupidly.

“I made this.” You breathed, staring down at the little thing. The baby, that you glanced down to find was a girl. Your daughter.

Coriolanus nodded, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. You could hear the smile in his voice. “You’re so strong, my love. So strong.”

“And I’m alive.” You laughed, so focused on your daughter than you didn’t notice Coryo’s sidelong glance to the sheer amount of blood between your legs. He caught the eye of a nurse, who’d given him a curt nod.

Coriolanus let out the breath he’d been holding for the past two months. “I’m infinitely grateful.” He spoke softly, reverently. He was afraid that if he said any more, he wouldn’t be able to stop.

“Isn’t she pretty?” You sighed, looking up to meet your husband’s eye. Coryo just shook his head, smiling to the point that his eyes crinkled— speaking of which, they were welling up again.

“Beautiful.” He cooed. “What’re we calling her?” Coriolanus said that last bit in a breathy chuckle, squeezing your arm gently as a nurse moved to take the baby to be cleaned. You two had spoken about names before, but never decided on something definite.

You stared after your daughter, your tears drying on your cheeks and the pain twixt your legs fading into the background. Your heart was beating, your chest rising and falling. You were alive. Oh, you went from resigning to never feel the swell of your lungs with air to filling them as much as possible.

“Ruby, I think.” You breathed. A name that Coryo had suggested, long ago, perhaps in the first months of your pregnancy. A broad smile tiptoed across his lips as he smoothed down your hair.

Coryo nosed your cheekbone, not minding the sweat lingering on your skin from the whole ordeal, mumbling against you, “A gem.”

“A gem.” You agreed, turning your cheek to press your lips to his. Oh, how you loved him. Your husband. Your lover. The father of your baby. You know he’ll be the best father— doting, loving, protective..

If the way he clutched onto your arm as you kissed, his eyes and grip betraying his anxiety was any indication of how much he cared for you, how terrified he was to lose you? Then you’d married the right man.

If the way he dutifully fluffed your pillows and got his hands on a sleeping mask was a gesture of his love? You were set for life.

If the way his sapphire eyes shone with admiration, with affection and devotion for your little daughter, swaddled in silk in her crib was a testament to the father Coriolanus would be?

Then Ruby was a lucky little girl. You were certainly a lucky woman.

[yuujispinkhair]

So how is no nut November going w modern boyfie sukuna? Idk if u can get him to participate but if he does I bet he makes the whole month as torturous for u as possible.

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader (female) Word Count: 400 Warnings: 18+, smut, creampie, praise, face shot, overstimulation, light dub-con. All characters are of age. Credit for the banner @/benkeibear

Sukuna just huffs and rolls his eyes when he hears someone mention No-Nut-November. Your boyfriend never believes in abiding rules, especially not ridiculous ones like that! Who invented that shit anyways?! Sukuna will show them how much he doesn't let anyone tell him what to do!

He makes sure to nut in you exactly one minute after midnight to say a big fuck you to No-Nut-November, so proud of himself, moaning and smirking against your neck,

"Hmm fuck yeah, feels so good to nut in my girl. What a lovely way to start November."

He's an idiot, but it's incredibly charming somehow. And after all, he also makes sure to make you nut so good that you scream his name and leave scratches on his muscular back, so why should you complain?

A sane person would let it go after that midnight fuck. But not Sukuna. Your boyfriend is a rebel. If someone tells him to do No-Nut-November, he will take it as a personal challenge to nut as often as possible this month.

You whine beneath him, exhausted from all the times he made you cum in one session, pussy throbbing, clit pulsing hotly, both your bodies sweaty and the bedsheets soaked from all your combined cum. You feel light-headed, weakly running your hands up and down Sukuna's flexed, tattoed biceps as you look up at him with your eyes wet from tears,

"Kuna... Baby, I can't go another round... it's too much."

But your pink-haired menace of a boyfriend just smirks and snaps his hips faster, meaner, going even deeper, pounding your sweet spot so good that you mewl his name.

"Aww, princess, we are going at least two more rounds."

But he turns sweeter a moment later, leaning down to trail kisses over your neck while he humps your pussy with slow but deep thrusts.

"My princess can take it. I know that. You're my good girl after all, aren't you, baby? Aren't you gonna cum for me again, sweetheart?"

Of course, you do, your pussy clenching helplessly around Sukuna's talented cock, squealing his name as your legs shake weakly, and your face feels so hot you think you have a fever as you shudder around his fat cock with the next mind-blowing orgasm.

And Kuna chuckles smugly, followed by a low groan of "Yeah, see, I knew it. That's my good girl. I love you, princess."

He pumps your overstimulated pussy full of another load of his thick cum, before giving his little Anti-No-Nut-November performance a cherry on top by nutting one last load over your pretty face this time, just to make sure.

PLEASE I NEED HIM SO BAD!! Sweet anon, thank you for sending me this!! Sukuna can always use me for his personal vendetta against NNN uwu ;)

I hope you enjoyed this little drabble!! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet!!

[not-the-cheese]

one sentence summaries of every TMA episode

(1-60 i'll add more soon)

part 2 up!

world's most effective anti-smoking PSA

man DOES NOT open coffin. everyone claps.

woman is judgemental towards neighbor even though she has hobbies that are just as weird.

book makes multiple people fall off chair.

man finds bag of teeth and decides he absolutely needs to fuck around and find out.

worm sti.

there was a SCARY MAN in the WAR.

fuck this tree

well at least ted bundy was a great father :)

i'm like 55% sure vampires are real and i'm willing to take those odds

bitches be dying. you're next.

we kill this man because he made the soda too warm.

sorry ur husband's dead. maybe get some help.

Unbox with me ! (GONE WRONG)

hah i'm safe from this one because i have decided to Never Go Into a Cave Ever.

man is so annoying about this spider that even his cat can't be bothered

man's bully finds a book about a Bone Turner and subsequently begins turning people's bones.

this guy sucks at DIY home improvement

aw maybe this priest didn't do anything THAT bad!

oh fuck nevermind

THE SKY ATE MY SON.

the worms stole my identity. i haven't left the house in days.

man beats german children at game of bravery and wins a coin (he later loses this coin)

my ex boyfriend gets casted in the muppets and dies

sorry mom, i've abandoned jesus for a new religion : jesus in the dark.

tall squiggly and HANDsome

old man arm wrestles demon through door knob

the buzzfeed unsolved guys finally catch a ghost but it's their sound tech

immortality but at what cost

working at the big meat factory was so traumatizing it made me vegetarian

i go to america and get almost killed by a furry

well if you love that wasp nest so much why don't you MARRY it (and then she did)

antisocial boat crew bands together to exclude one guy from a midnight party. he dies from the rejection.

bone apple teeth

remember when that norwegian guy threw a tantrum about us not digging a hole? turns out we were right to not dig that hole.

babe come over my parents have taken ill and passed away

man fucks around and it costs him everything

HOMOPHOBIC CHINESE VASE

oh god oh fuck the worms are here

thank you for participating in worms! please rate your wormsperience from 1 to 10.

the wormsperience has left me deeply scarred. i'm going to get lost in a tunnel about it.

🎸music makes me loose control🎸

spooky stories to tell at the next police slumber party

child threatens to run away and join the circus one too many times, and now the circus has come to cash in.

these mosquitoes are mad sus

man frequents local barnes and noble and then dies(?) after liking a book too much.

realtor gets eaten by the backrooms twice. it's a terrible shame.

both me and this weird goth dude have an unsatisfying italy vacation

guy who turns people's bones gets a new job where he continues to turn people's bones.

man who should never be allowed to build prisons builds a prison.

Something Big Is In The Water.

what if u heard me about 15 feet behind you fumbling around and calling out ur name 😳 (and we were both prison guards)

i'm going to be honest i didn't retain anything from this episode except that this guy has the silliest old man voice ever

everybody hates the tax man, including these creepy taxidermy animals

hmmgh. ant house.

so turns out being only 55% sure that vampires are real in my career as a vampire hunter has had some consequences.

the only thing keeping you company in space is your abandonment issues

🎶 the snack that smiles back 🎶 (my husband!)

maybe the real treasure was the house siblings we encased in spider web along the way.

your dead brother wrote books about ancient myths and WHAT

Part 2

[temis-de-leon]

When they don't know you as well as they thought they did

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub and Belphegor (x reader, separately)

Main Masterlist

C/W: the boys are crushing on MC and it's implied MC is crushing as well, but there isn't any established relationship. Just friends feeling things for their friend, very common. Self-insert, perhaps?

A/N: this is just fluff, very silly, a little ooc maybe, but I'm not sure. I just wanted to make something fun and lighthearted after the recent news.

.

No one is surprised anymore at the firmness the brothers speak with when they call you part of the family. Between the pacts and the unsolicited free therapy, it’s only fair, and only an idiot wouldn’t be able to see the affection running through the House of Lamentation.

Still, there are instances every once in a while where, although it’s difficult at the beginning, the boys have no other choice but to accept the fact that you have a completely different life back in the human world and they may not know you as good as they would like.

It starts with the small things; embarrassing conversations where their ignorance gets you to laugh like a maniac more than a couple of times. There they are, blushing in self-consciousness while you cackle uncontrollably because they believed some urban legend about a faceless suited man with freakishly long arms.

Then, slowly, but surely, it turns into more personal things about you, like your irrational, downright, phobia of lizards or the fictional characters you’re surprisingly attracted to.

(Some of those aren’t human, which makes them all feel a strong sense of hope, but you don’t need to know that).

The brothers learn about your studies, favourite subjects and what you’d like to do with your future, even if it sounds hopeless or unlikely. They also keep every bit of information about your friends and family; little comments that you let go here and there and help them understand why you are someone they love so much.

The whole situation evolves in such a way that inviting them to your birthday party in the human realm seems to be the obvious next step.

‘It’s so I can celebrate it with all my loved ones’ you say, and they really can’t deny your offer after that.

So, after a few awkward introductions and half-truths about their origin, everyone is happily talking to each other and eagerly waiting for their turn to be with you.

.

Lucifer, who has had a special interest in your family for a while, finds himself chuckling in understanding when your mother complains about the occasional mess in your room. In your defence, he feels obligated to partially throw his brothers under the bus and blame them for keeping you in a constant state of disarray, but then she says something that… perplexes him.

You don’t like perfection? His eyes open wide at the revelation and your mother chuckles, misinterpreting his expression. She doesn’t know who he really is or what he represents, after all.

Just how vast is the veracity of that statement? Does it refer only to a state of mind or do you apply it to everything else?

Thankfully, he doesn’t have time to feel too anxious before he remembers the little details. When your triumphal smile shone in the dimness of his room that time he made a silly mistake in chess, ultimately granting you the win; or when the Anti-Lucifer League managed to leave his hair unkempt for an entire day, which got you to shamelessly look at him for longer than any of his younger brothers would’ve ever liked.

Not being perfect isn’t something he would ever do consciously and he had always found solace in the fact that you like him despite his mistakes. However, knowing you actually like him because of those mistakes? Perhaps letting those cracks show in his façade isn’t so bad as long as it is for you.

.

Not far from him, Mammon chats with your human best friend. There’s an air of competitiveness between them, both wanting to be the ultimate best friend, but it all stays light-hearted. There’s no real threat when Mammon gets to be your first demon, you know? It’s a unique position!

But he still makes sure to assert dominance by stating he would’ve made the perfect party for you, better than the one you’re currently enjoying; with food and decorations from the Devildom and the Celestial realm included, matching outfits and, of course, keeping everything hidden so you can have the best surprise of your life. He had thrown a lot of those with Asmo’s help back home, so he knows you love them!

Or he thinks you do, at least.

Your friend sniggers harmlessly when they hear that last part, pointing at him with an infuriating smartass attitude, and immediately shatters Mammon’s reality.

What the heck do they mean, you don’t like surprise parties? He’d done a lot of those back at the Devildom and you’d never complained, appreciative as you are, even helping him do the same for other’s birthday parties!

Sure, you had always looked dumbfounded by the loud cheering and the confetti after stepping through the door, but that was part of the fun… right? You would tell him if you wanted him to stop, wouldn’t you?

He feels a pang in his heart when the idea of you being uncomfortable for his sake appears in his mind, but it doesn’t make sense. While you undeniably treat him better than anyone else in all of the realms, you still correct him when you see fit and him making you unhappy on your own birthday would be one of those occasions.

He trusts you to confide in him when things are wrong just as much as you trust him to do his best. That’s what friends are for, after all.

.

And where else would Levi be if not hidden in a corner playing with his DDD?

He had tried mingling with people at the party, or at least tried hanging around them, he swears, but conversations became repetitive and boring and then he received a notification for a daily reward from one of his apps, so, of course, he had to sit down to collect it. Then minutes passed as he completed minigames to power up his cards and… you get the idea.

So when a friend of yours walked towards him, complimenting the pins and badges on his bag and the faint music coming out of his headphones, sure, the evening started going way smoother.

He talks enthusiastically, just like any other time his interests are mentioned, wildly gesturing with his hands and letting the little bubble around them be full of their eager exchange. However, a casual lament from his companion stops him right in his tracks.

It’s a shame you don’t like anime…? His first reaction is to laugh, enumerating everything you’d watched, and later commented on, with him under a blanket in the tranquillity of his room, but the utter surprise in your friend’s face leaves him speechless.

You really don’t like it? But… But he’s made you see so many things! Did you like any of them? Did you lie to his face when you said you enjoyed them? He would’ve never chosen a best friend like that; you were not like that and he refused to believe the contrary.

Also, would a liar buy merch on their own like you did? Would they watch the best episodes again or listen to the soundtrack on repeat when they had a bad day? This new revelation only makes him aware he was the one to change your perspective of the fine arts and he’s damn proud of that.

You are still getting an earful when you get back home, though.

.

Satan thinks the kid is a young cousin of yours, but he really hasn’t been paying attention to anything in a long while. How could he, when the enthusiastic toddler had taken their mother’s phone just to show him the family cat’s pictures and videos?

A Mackerel tabby cat, too chubby for his own good but not enough to be actually concerning; playing with feathers, blinking slowly, bumping his head against legs and shoulders, meowing sweetly and, basically, opening his heart in half and making it roam inside his chest like a butterfly.

What a good party.

He mentions all the stray cats behind his house, obviously leaving behind the name of the House of Lamentation and the Devildom, and all the times you’ve gone with him to feed them and play. Satan even shows pictures on his DDD and stops with an adoring expression when you appear on the screen, sitting on your toes with a kitty on your knees and smiling past the camera, straight at Satan.

However, what he hears next takes the air right out of his lungs. He sits down and clutches his pearls and the kid stares at him in anxious confusion, clearly witnessing but not understanding the severity of his distress.

Who, in their right mind, doesn’t like cats?

He remembers the first few times you had accompanied him to his route, intimidated and slightly lingering behind. Initially, he had assumed it was due to the novelty of your friendship or a possible fear of Devildom fauna, but nothing against cats!

Were you afraid of them or just plain uninterested? Why keep going with him if you weren’t as fond of them as he thought you were? Wouldn’t it be because of him, would it?

A warm feeling covers him like a blanket, makes him search for you with his eyes and then immediately blush when you excitedly wave at him, point at the kid and mouth ‘Cute cat!’

Yeah. Very cute.

.

On the other hand, Asmo hangs out with the people responsible for the decorations of the party and compliments them on their work. The colours are well-coordinated, there’s nothing out of place and the distribution was thought with all the guests in mind.

Although he hasn’t been able to help in that regard, he’s made sure you would be the centre of attention that evening; a complicated feature coming from him, but he had never minded sharing the main spot just as long as you were the one by his side; and everyone knows that.

You look cute and pretty and hot in your outfit, a style that both compliments and pleases you. You also worked together in your makeup for hours before getting to the party.

However, taking that much time might have been due to scrolling through social media and gossiping so much, but never mind that. Everyone agrees you look incredible and that is more than enough for him.

It isn’t until one of your friends mentions how weird it is to see you wearing makeup that he dares take his eyes away from you to stare at them in disbelief.

He would’ve never guessed that given that one of your favourite pastimes together is makeup as a whole: going shopping, watching tutorials, following trends, doing your own next to each other, doing each other’s… And, even if he wants to use it, his charming power is useless against you, so he knows you do your makeup because you want to and not because you feel forced by him.

Whether it’s something you share because you enjoy it or something you enjoy because you share it with him, he isn’t sure, but he can swear on his precious damned soul that makeup isn’t a need for you.

It’s just a bonus to your beauty.

.

Sitting at one of the tables, Beel is simultaneously talking to your older sibling while gulping down an entire plate of bite-sized snacks; thankfully, whatever apprehension anyone felt at his hunger died hours ago and now the conversation flowed more naturally, mainly centred around you.

As much as he loves having you near him and his brothers in the House of Lamentation and thinking of you as another member of the family, he is very interested in knowing how your human family is, especially your siblings. It’s another way of relating to you and making him feel closer.

Plus, he gets to know stories from your childhood you may never tell him on your own; anecdotes that will stay at the table he is currently sharing with your sibling.

Unfortunately, they reach a point where, although he wants to keep asking questions about you, doing so with a mouth full of food might end up with Lucifer’s scolding of the year. Also, he really wants to make a good impression.

So your sibling begins asking the questions. Surprisingly, they start with his tattoo; dark red curling around his muscles and almost going unnoticed under the colours of dusk. Beel smiles without giving it any importance because it really doesn’t have it, but forces himself to stop gulping down food when your sibling throws a fun fact about you.

You find tattoos attractive?

He feels an instant burning on his cheeks followed by the rapid beating of his heart and a knot in his stomach, but there’s also a faint unpleasant sour taste in his mouth.

You’ve never asked him about his tattoo, barely sparing a glance at it when you worked out together or he took off his jacket.

He wonders if you don’t like it or if you think it doesn’t look good on him because all he can remember is the focused look in your eyes while looking at his and the curve of your smile growing bigger as you listen to whatever he says, even when it is entirely about food, and…

You know what? He doesn’t really mind. He is fine with things as they are.

.

As both a friend of yours and a fellow younger brother, Belphie respects your sibling’s decision to spill your darkest secrets and thoroughly enjoys the air of comradery between them.

Don’t worry, he won’t let it go past actual serious matters; if you want him to know any of that, he’d rather have you telling him yourself when you’re ready and not get betrayed by your sibling. Silly and harmless pieces of information, however? Those are more than welcome.

And he already has a favourite.

You need to hug plushies to sleep? Tell him more. He doesn’t judge you for feeling the need to hug toys or pillows while sleeping. Actually, he understands.

Do you have a favourite? Is it in the human realm or is it in your room back at the House of Lamentation? While he can recall seeing that ugly zombie iguana on your bed, he’s never seen you cuddling it while sleeping and, other than that, he doesn’t remember seeing one, so he wonders if you hide it somewhere when you know he’s going to your room; but what about those times he enters uninvited?

Does that mean you left your preferred plushie in your room in the human realm? Does that mean that you don’t actually need to hug anything to sleep?

Whenever you share a bed, which is pretty frequent, Belphie can sense an invisible barrier between you that he’s dying to break. It’s nothing physical, given that only he knows how truly comfortable your lap and your chest are, but it’s obvious in the way your hands hesitate to bring him closer.

Shy and indecisive, while you don’t reject his advances, he’s still unsure what your feelings on the matter are. He’d initially thought you weren’t used to having anything so close to you while sleeping, but… now… Maybe he has to assure you that you can hug him as hard as you want.

Belphie is just as good as any plushie, after all; if not better.

.

.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010  @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom

[yandere-daydreams]

Red-Tailed Hawk!Diluc, who crash-lands on your balcony in the middle of winter, long after he should've migrated somewhere more hospitable to his animal counterpart. He's badly injured, half-frozen, and clearly in a state of shock, but you manage to drag him inside after a few minutes of struggling and fussing over his massive wings. An emergency vet is called, a small fortune dulled out in exchange for anti-biotics and bandages, but Diluc only wakes up hours after the chaos has blown over, after he's been moved to your bed and most of his blood has been scrubbed out of your carpeting. If you didn't have such a soft spot for birds, you might've been more mad at him.

Red-Tailed Hawk!Diluc, who's surprisingly calm for a man who was on the verge of death less than a day ago. He apologizes for the trouble he's caused you, explains that his injuries came from a 'minor altercation' with his brother and promises that you'll be repaid for everything he's cost you so far, even if you can't say you're sure how a hybrid would have that kind of funding. His composure only falters when he realizes that he won't be able to fly until his wings heal, and even then, he manages to limit his frustration to a thin scowl and a wary sigh. His poise is a relief. He'll be stuck with you for a while, and a temper would've made a bad situation even worse.

Red-Tailed Hawk!Diluc, who clearly isn't as wild as you initially thought. If anything, your meager apartment seems too a little too modest for his tastes - you're not sure if you've ever heard anyone mention the thread count of your sheets so casually, let alone a hybrid. Still, he adjusts quickly. By the end of his first week with you, you can't stop him from helping around the house. He's a good cook, especially, and he seems to enjoy being able to take some of the stress off of you. You've heard that it's a common trait for hybrids, some universal base instinct to 'provide for a pack'. To be honest, you don't really care. He's nice to have around, even if you know he can't stay forever.

Red-Tailed Hawk!Diluc, who only ever blushes whenever you tend to his wings. You're not a professional, but you do your best to clear away all of the bent and broken feathers, to replace his bandages as often as the vet recommended, but you're still clumsy, still slow enough to mean he has to spend the better part of the hour sitting between your legs with his wings splayed out in your lap. He tries to keep up a conversation, but he trips over his words, balls his fists, pulls his hindlimbs against his chest and tries to pretend he's unaffected. It's cute, watching a creature as stoic as Diluc lose a few of his reservations.

Red-Tailed Hawk!Diluc, who's too massive to sleep anywhere but your bed. You resign yourself to the couch for a while, but it's not long before you give in to his constant offers to share and end up spending most nights pressed into his side, one of his wings draped over you and an arm loosely wrapped around your waist. You learn quickly that hawks are creatures of routine, which means that you now have a very, very strictly enforced bedtime. He's not afraid to sling you over his shoulder and put you where he wants you to be, and there's only so much you can do to fight against a bird-man twice your height and more than double your strength.

Red-Tailed Hawk!Diluc, who gets... protective of your apartment, after a few weeks. It's not much - a small frown when you mention a friend he doesn't care for, a certain caginess when you have guests over - but it's far-cry from his normal, gentlemanly behavior. It might just be the instincts of a wounded animal attempting to protect his nest, but still. You worry about him, sometimes.

Red-Tailed Hawk!Diluc, whose wings are getting better every day. He's able to make short trips, now, and you make sure to praise him as heavily as you can whenever he comes back from a lap around your apartment complex. You swear, when you're at work or running errands, you'll see a scarlet shape circling miles above you and convince yourself it's Diluc, but he's not the secretive type. You're sure, if he was really that far along, he wouldn't be able to hide it from you. You're sure, if he was really able to fly that well, he wouldn't stay any longer than the time it took to tell you that he was going home.

Red-Tailed Hawk!Diluc, who's cuddled against your chest when you come to, your skin still numb from the windburn and your vision still blurred with tears. You can barely keep yourself awake, barely lift your head, but you can make out a lavish, crimson bedroom; a bed of sheets and pillows that goes on as far as you can see. No, not a bed, a nest. One big enough for a hawk and its mate.

Red-Tailed Hawk!Diluc, who's always been territorial. You just weren't able to see that until after he decided you were a part of that territory, too.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Canada sues Google

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/03/clementsy/#can-tech

For a country obsessed with defining itself as "not America," Canada sure likes to copy US policies, especially the really, really terrible policies – especially the really, really, really terrible digital policies.

In Canada's defense: these terrible US policies are high priority for the US Trade Representative, who leans on Canadian lawmakers to ensure that any time America decides to collectively jump off the Empire State Building, Canadian politicians throw us all off the CN Tower. And to Canada's enduring shame, the USTR never has to look very hard to find a lickspittle who's happy to sell Canadians out.

Take anti-circumvention. In 1998, Bill Clinton signed the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, a gnarly hairball of copyright law whose Section 1201 bans reverse-engineering for any purpose. Under DMCA 1201, "access controls" for copyrighted works are elevated to sacred status, and it's a felony (punishable by a five-year prison sentence and a $500k fine) to help someone bypass these access controls.

That's pretty esoteric, even today, and in 1998, it was nearly incomprehensible, except to a small group of extremely alarmed experts who ran around trying to explain to lawmakers why they should not vote for this thing. But by the time Tony Clement and James Moore (Conservative ministers in the Harper regime) introduced a law to import America's stupidest tech idea and paste it into Canada's lawbooks in 2012, the evidence against anti-circumvention was plain for anyone to see.

Under America's anti-circumvention law, any company that added an "access control" to its products instantly felonised any modification to that product. For example, it's not illegal to refill an ink cartridge, but it is illegal to bypass the access control that gets the cartridge to recognise that it's full and start working again. It's not illegal for a Canadian software developer to sell a Canadian Iphone owner an app without cutting Apple in for a 30% of the sale, but it is illegal to mod that Iphone so that it can run apps without downloading them from the App Store first. It's not illegal for a Canadian mechanic to fix a Canadian's car, but it is illegal for that mechanic to bypass the access controls that prevent third-party mechanics from decrypting the error codes the car generates.

We told Clement and Moore about this, and they ignored us. Literally: when they consulted on their proposal in 2010, we filed 6,138 comments explaining why this was a bad idea, while only 53 parties wrote in to support it. Moore publicly announced that he was discarding the objections, on the grounds that they had come from "babyish" "radical extremists":

https://www.cbc.ca/news/science/copyright-debate-turns-ugly-1.898216

For more than a decade, we've had Clement and Moore's Made-in-America law tied to our ankles. Even when Canada copies some good ideas from the US (by passing a Right to Repair law), or even some very good ideas of its own (passing an interoperability law), Canadians can't use those new rights without risking prosecution under Clement and Moore's poisoned gift to the nation:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/15/radical-extremists/#sex-pest

"Not America" is a pretty thin basis for a political identity anyway. There's nothing wrong with copying America's good ideas (like Right to Repair). Indeed, when it comes to tech regulation, the US has had some bangers lately, like prosecuting US tech giants for violating competition law. Given that Canada overhauled its competition law this year, the country's well-poised to tackle America's tech giants.

Which is exactly what's happening! Canada's Competition Bureau just filed a lawsuit against Google over its ad-tech monopoly, which isn't merely a big old Privacy Chernobyl, but is also a massively fraudulent enterprise that rips off both advertisers and publishers:

https://www.reuters.com/technology/canadas-antitrust-watchdog-sues-google-alleging-anti-competitive-conduct-2024-11-28/

The ad-tech industry scoops up about 51 cents out of every dollar (in the pre-digital advertising world the net take by ad agencies was more like 15%). Fucking up Google's ad-tech rip off is a much better way to Canada's press paid than the link tax the country instituted in 2023:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/05/save-news-we-must-ban-surveillance-advertising

After all, what tech steals from the news isn't content (helping people find the news and giving them a forum to discuss it is good) – tech steals news's money. Ad-tech is a giant ripoff. So is the app tax – the 30% Canadian newspapers have to kick up to the Google and Apple crime families every time a subscriber renews their subscriptions in an app. Using Canadian law to force tech to stop stealing the press's money is a way better policy than forcing tech to profit-share with the news. For tech to profit-share with the news, it has to be profitable, meaning that a profit-sharing press benefits from tech's most rapacious and extractive conduct, and rather than serving as watchdogs, they're at risk of being cheerleaders.

Smashing tech power is a better policy than forcing tech to share its stolen loot with newspapers. For one thing, it gets government out of the business of deciding what is and isn't a legit news entity. Maybe you're OK with Trudeau making that call (though I'm not), but how will you feel when PM Polievre decides that Great Replacement-pushing, conspiracy-addled far right rags should receive a subsidy?

Taking on Google is a slam-dunk, not least because the US DoJ just got through prosecuting the exact same case, meaning that Canadian competition enforcers can do some good copying of their American counterparts – like, copying the exhibits, confidential memos, and successful arguments the DoJ brought before the court:

https://www.justice.gov/opa/pr/justice-department-sues-google-monopolizing-digital-advertising-technologies

Indeed, this already a winning formula! Because Big Tech commits the same crimes in every jurisdiction, trustbusters are doing a brisk business by copying each others' cases. The UK Digital Markets Unit released a big, deep market study into Apple's app market monopoly, which the EU Commission used as a roadmap to bring a successful case. Then, competition enforcers in Japan and South Korea recycled the exhibits and arguments from the EU's case to bring their own successful prosecutions:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/10/an-injury-to-one/#is-an-injury-to-all

Canada copying the DoJ's ad-tech case is a genius move – it's the kind of south-of-the-border import that Canadians need. Though, of course, it's a long shot that the Trump regime will produce much more worth copying. Instead, Trump has vowed to slap a 25% tariff on Canadian goods as of January 20.

Which is bad news for Canada's export sector, but it definitely means that Canada no longer has to worry about keeping the US Trade Rep happy. Repealing Clement and Moore's Bill C-11 should be Parliament's first order of business. Tariff or no tariff, Canadian tech entrepreneurs could easily export software-based repair diagnostic tools, Iphone jailbreaking tooks, alternative firmware for tractors and medical implants, and alternative app stores for games consoles, phones and tablets. So long as they can accept a US payment, they can sell to US customers. This is a much bigger opportunity than, say, selling cheap medicine to Americans trying to escape Big Pharma's predation.

What's more, there's no reason this couldn't be policy under Polievre and the Tories. After all, they're supposed to be the party of "respect for private property." What could be more respectful of private property than letting the owners of computers, phones, cars, tractors, printers, medical implants, smart speakers and anything else with a microchip decide for themselves how they want to it work? What could be more respectful of copyright than arranging things so that Canadian copyright holders – like a games studio or an app company – can sell their copyrighted works to Canadian buyers, without forcing the data and the payment to make a round trip through Silicon Valley and come back 30% lighter?

Canadian politicians have bound the Canadian public and Canadian industry to onerous and expensive obligations under treaties like the USMCA (AKA NAFTA2), on promise of tariff-free access to American markets. With that access gone, why on Earth would we continue to voluntarily hobble ourselves?

[moody-alcoholic]

On a Wing and a Prayer

Part 8 - There's Two Types of Trauma

CW: Angst, medical stuff, descriptions of wounds, descriptions of medical procedures. Disclaimer: not real medical advice this is all fake and fantasy. #itsamedicaldrama

It's a long one strap in.

Previous parts - masterlist - next

The doors fly open, you’re on the gurney in a second.

It’s strange seeing Simon with his mask off in his uniform. You’ve only even seen it a few times, when he would come home late pulling his mask off over his head with dark paint still around his eyes. This time his eyes are closed, the mask is sitting on the top of his head hiding his gold locks. His face is splattered with blood, his skin pale.

Fuck, you have to save him. There’s no way you’re letting him die. You look over at one of the nurses pressing on the bandages on his wound. That's a lot of blood. Focus! Your brain shouts at you. 

“What happened!?” You ask turning to John, who’s following behind you.

“We were ambushed. Barely got out in time.” They’re in the room now, the nurses get into position to move him from the gurney onto a bed. You quickly look over at him, he’s walking and talking. You can focus on him later.

“On my count.” you say to the nurses helping them move him over. Your heart is pounding in your chest. The nurses are cutting his clothes off as you take your stethoscope off to listen to his chest. 

“Let’s get a central line in, call radiology and page the doctor again.” You say as you move round to his head. His breathing is ragged, he has a collapsed lung for sure. 

“How long ago was he shot?” You ask, trying to keep your voice steady. You can’t lose him, you won't lose him. You’re lucky for the adrenaline keeping your head clear. 

They always say you should never work on family.

“About 30 minutes. It was quicker to drive than wait for medevac.” Johnny says as he comes into the room, you can see the pain on his face, hear the shake in his voice. You look over at the monitors he’s now hooked up to. His BP is low, his pulse is rapid.  

You need to intubate,  you need blood, you want a clearer picture of the lungs. The wound on the chest is pretty central; they could have hit his heart, it could be too late already. 

Focus, your brain screams at you. CABC then chest tube. Control the bleeding. The nurses and other medics are already working on it, pulling out old bandages out, pressing new gauze in. They’re calling out drugs as they push them; TxA, morphine, anti-nausea. You’re in charge here, the doctor is on another base. People are looking to you for direction.

“Where’s the doctor?” You ask, his airway is clear, that's a good sign. You need to intubate pulling the crash cart over. 

“He’s in surgery, they're asking if you want to leave a message?” The orderly calls. 

“X-ray’s here.” Another nurse says. People move so the tech can get in the room. 

“Tell him it’s an emergency!” She raises her eyebrow. “Just tell him to come.” You move back as they take the x-ray. 

“Shit.” A nurse says. That’s not good. His right lung is collapsed, you look down at the wounds in his chest. He was wearing a vest, these wounds are big. 

“What was he hit with?” You ask looking back at John. 

“Sniper.” 

“Okay we need blood, set up the rapid infuser. Oh-neg.” You say moving over to his head. 

“A positive.” John says, you look up at him. He’s covered in blood, it's the first time you’re getting a proper look at him. 

“Okay, A positive, keep the oh-neg on standby.” You say before the person you’re talking to runs off. 

“Set up a chest tube tray. I’m going to intubate.” You say watching them get into poison as you tip his head back. It makes you feel sick seeing him like this. Something twists in your stomach as you hold his head ready to shove a tube down his throat. This is all your fault. If you had been with him maybe he wouldn’t have been in such bad shape. 

The nurse calls it out as she pushes the drugs, you hold your breath pushing the tube down his throat.

If you had been with them maybe this wouldn’t have happened in the first place. You could have intubated in the field, put in a chest tube. The doctor would be here instead of you. Now there’s no trauma surgeon here. You connect the tube up to the auto pump before listening to his chest again. One job done, now you need to get a chest tube in. 

“The doctor wants to talk to you.” An orderly walks over pressing a phone to your ear. You walk to the side of Simon’s body.

“You can handle this right? What are you working with?” The doctor asks over the phone.

“GSW to the chest, pneumothorax.” You look back up at the x-ray. “Scans don’t look good sir.” 

“I’m not going to be out here for a while. The nearest trauma surgeon is at least a few hours away by car.” He sighs.

“What about the chopper?” 

“No. It’s the only one servicing this region. It has to stay on the base.” 

“Sir, he’s not good.” You say trying to plead with him, you watch as the nurses are pushing more bandages into his stomach, the wound wasn’t as high up as you thought. The bleeding seems to have slowed. 

“You can keep him stable until the trauma surgeon or I can get there.” He says. It’s like someone has just told you the worst news of your life. 

"He’ll die.” You say, you look up at John who has now been joined by Kyle.

“He won't, you’ll keep him alive.” The doctor says. He hangs up and you nod at the orderly to take the phone away from your ear. You turn around for a second. You can’t cry, not in front of your team. You bring the back of your hand up to your lips. You squeeze your eyes. Keep it together! You shout at yourself. You can smell the blood on your glove.

You will save him, no matter what it takes. 

“Price.” You call letting the nurse put a gown on you so you can get a chest tube in. “There’s a trauma surgeon on a base 2 hours away from here. It could take him longer than that to get here.” You look over at him before picking up the scalpel. “There’s a chopper on the roof, would take you half an hour max.” 

“Is he going to make it?” He asks. 

“Not if you don’t get that chopper off the ground and get me a trauma surgeon.” 

“The doctor said the bird has to stay.” Your head snaps to a soldier standing in the room. 

“Then I might as well stop trying to save him because unless you can get me someone to repair this damage he will die. And I am not letting you kill him!” You turn back to John. “Price go!” 

There’s silence in the room, just the beeping of machines as they spit out less than optimal readings. They need to get this under control. A nurse comes in with the blood snapping everyone out of the moment of silence. 

“Let's start with a liter” You say, she nods and someone goes over to help her. John, Kyle and Johnny have gone up to the soldier who spoke earlier. You focus on the chest tube. You’re holding your breath you only have one shot making sure you get right. When it starts to drain you let out a sigh of relief. 

The x-ray tech steps up and takes another picture. You look back down at him. The position is good, it’s draining. You watch his sats, they’re stable for now, as stable as they can be. 

He's out of the woods for now. 

“Let’s take him down to CT.” You say gesturing at the porters. 

...

It feels like time is moving in slow motion. You’re checking the clock every few seconds, waiting by the phone in the nurses station for any news. The soldier who tried to stop John went with them to ‘supervise’ . It's been almost an hour. You should be hearing back from them soon. 

You walk into the bay, a nurse passes you and you walk over to his bed. He’s breathing, the bleeding is controlled. He needs surgery to repair the damage to his lungs. He could end up in the same position as Johnny, he could be worse. 

You just hope you acted quick enough and did a good job. You look around quickly, you’re alone. You pick his hand up, holding it gently in yours. His touch is familiar, warm, you squeeze it rubbing the back with your thumb. 

“You better not die on me.” You say quietly. You lean down to his face pressing your mouth to his ear. “You better not die, not before I tell you I forgive you. You hear that Simon Riley. I forgive you. So you better wake up so I can see the look on your face.” You turn your head slightly, pressing your lips just next to his ear. 

You stand back up squeezing his hand before wiping the tear that escaped. You don’t get to cry now. You have to work, you can cry later. As you turn you see the doctor and John walk into the room. You let out an audible sigh of relief. The doctor picks up the chart and you bring him the CT scans, while you explain what you’ve done so far. 

“OR 1 is prepped and ready.” You say as you wave the porters over. 

“Good job.” He nods. You smile at him as you watch the nurses move everything onto the bed so he can be wheeled out the room. You look back over at the empty bay. Blood soaked bandages strewn all over the floor. You walk over to where the head of the bed was and pick his mask up off the floor. 

You removed it at some point, it would have had to come off in surgery anyway. You hear steps behind you then a hand lands on your shoulder. You know it’s John you don’t care. You turn, throwing your arms around him. For a second it’s like he doesn’t know what to do standing there. You squeeze him tight, his arms eventually come round you and he hugs you back. 

6 months was a long time to think, a long time to be without them. At first you didn’t want to admit you missed them. You wanted to stay mad at them for so long. You didn’t get in contact with John about the house, instead you pushed yourself further away from Johnny and Kyle. 

That felt even more wrong. You went back to the house hoping that would be closure. It was the opposite, you decided to stop fighting it and let yourself miss them. It was the worst 2 weeks of your life. 

“I’ve missed you.” You breathe into his vest. You’re not sure if he will hear you or not. You don’t care. It just feels right again for the first time in months. You break away from his arms as you hear the cleaners coming into the bay. You look up at him, he’s smiling at you. You hand him Simon’s mask.

“Come on. I’ll show you where we can wait for him.” You say leading him out the room. 

You lead him to the quietest part of the hospital, the OR rooms have only been used a handful of times. Most of the time major trauma’s get sent elsewhere. The sketchy electrics being the main issue. You sit together in silence, the hall is dark, the automatic lights flicking off after a few minutes, low emergency lighting is the only source you have.

It’s a nice place to catch a quick nap when you’re on call. You couldn’t sleep now though. 

“What happened?” You ask eventually, it’s been an hour at least, you’ve honestly stopped keeping track of time. It makes you too nervous.

“It was all fine until we were leaving. Place was abandoned, we assumed we missed them.” He sighs rubbing his chin. “They ambushed us during exfil.” 

“Shit.” You say, shaking your head. “They knew you were coming?” 

“Intel was dodgy, we should have waited, Shepherd insisted we go before they crossed the border.” He lets out a long sigh. You place your hand on his, he’s been fidgeting with the mask since you gave it to him. 

“He’ll make it. He’s a tough son of a bitch. Bullets not going to stop him, didn’t stop Johnny.” You smile. It’s all you can do to put his mind at ease. 

“Sergeant!” A voice bellows down the hall. You turn to look, you see Dr. Sands and some soldiers you’ve never seen before. Lights flick back on as you stand up facing them, before you have time to react there are more soldiers coming in. Something feels wrong. They walk over to you stopping in front of you. You hear John get up behind you. You nod as they ask you to confirm your name.

You must have really pissed someone off. 

“Hand over your phone, your radio and pager.” One of them asks. You swallow the nerves following his order and handing over your things. You’re not sure what’s going to happen, maybe you’re about to be fired. Maybe you did something wrong.

“What’s going on?” John asks. 

“You will have to talk to the General.” Another one soldier says to him. You look past them to see the Doctor standing at the end of the hall, he looks at you sympathetically. 

What the hell is going on? This feels wrong, a pit forms in your stomach. 

“Turn around please.” One of the soldiers asks. You frown.

“No. What's going on? What happened?” You turn to look at John, he seems just as confused.

“Treason.” The soldiers reach for your arms forcing you to turn round. You hear handcuffs then the cold metal against your wrists. 

Fear rises in you. This can’t be happening. No way is this happening. You look up at John who reaches out for you as you’re pulled away. You hear more commotion at the end of the hall. You look to see Johnny pushing past the doctor. 

“What’s going on?” He asks, his eyes flicking between John and you as you’re dragged down to the end of the hall. 

“Treason.” You say, your voice breaks. Ringing starts in your ears. It’s like you can’t breathe. You hear shouting but you don’t know who it is.

“I’m sorry,” you hear the doctor say as you make it through the doors. You’re too stunned to speak, you can beary keep steady as hands grip you tight, fingers digging into your skin. 

Treason? 

It’s happening again. You close your eyes as you make it out of the hospital and across to another building. Maybe it’s all a dream, maybe you’ll wake up and it will all have been a terrible nightmare. You stumble on the hard uneven ground, it forces you to open your eyes again as hands hold you firm. 

Not a dream. Just a living waking nightmare.

You’re pulled into a newer looking place you’ve never been before. Small rooms with thick metal doors, a soldier opens one. You're taken inside. It’s a prison cell. The cuffs are taken off you and you stand there rubbing your wrists. Before you have a chance to turn around you hear the door slam closed.

You black up until you hit the wall, the cold concrete wall, the room still smells of paint. Suddenly the light goes out and you’re left in the dark. You don’t care, you sink down to the floor hugging your knees. 

You don’t know what to think, you don’t know what to do. It’s happening again. 

Your breathing picks up, you're panting into your knees. It's deja vu. it's happening again.

They’re going to break you again.  

______________________

Price doesn’t wait storming into the Generals office without knocking.

“Captain what the hell do you think you’re doing!?” He snaps standing up. 

“You think she’s the mole?” Price snaps at him. 

“Based on the evidence, I have no other option.” He says.

“What evidence?” It’s a long shot, it’s most likely confidential. To his surprise the General hands him a file. Price thumbs through it. It’s the evidence they were shown over 6 months ago. The CCTV, the messages. He flicks through the files to make sure he’s not missed anything new. 

“The images were faked, the texts sent from a burner phone. She’s clean, we caught the guy responsible, we had a mole in Konni confirm everything he said.” Price says throwing the folder back down on the table.

“Our analysts disagree.”

“With the CIA? MI6? Because that’s who cleared her last time.”

“Do you really think it is just a coincidence that she happens to be here, and the mission we've been planning for months suddenly goes wrong? An op the US government has poured tens of thousands of dollars into getting intel for.” The General sighs sitting back down in his chair.

“She has means, she has motive. We have to look at her."

“So instead of finding the actual mole you’re blaming someone innocent.” Price crosses his arms.

“Captain. Right now she is the most likely person. We’re looking into everyone, but we can’t have her running. She’ll remain in custody until Commander Graves gets here.” The General says pulling a file over to him.

“Why is he coming?” 

“Someone needs to lead the interrogation. I would ask you but clearly this is too personal. Commander Graves is already in the region he was more than happy to help.” The General looks up at Price. Price shakes his head. This can’t be happening, not after everything.

“There was a point in time when you thought she was guilty. She was on your team then, you haven't seen her in 6 months. You can get up a lot during that time.”  

“She’s innocent.” Price says trying to keep his voice level. The General’s radio goes off, he turns the volume down, sighing.

“With all due respect, Captain, this is not your base. She is under my command, not yours. I have to investigate her based on the evidence I have and the feedback I have from my analysts.” The General says. Price scoffs, shaking his head. 

“For once you better hope you’re right. You better hope she did it for your sake.” Price says turning to leave the room. 

“Is that a threat Captain, we have plenty more cells to fill.” The General snaps back. 

“If I was threatening you would know.” Price says and leaves the room slamming the door behind him. Gaz is waiting for him outside the door.

“Where’s Soap?” 

“With Ghost, he’s out of surgery. He’s okay, they repaired the damage.” Gaz says. Price sighs and heads out the building with Gaz following him.

“What’s going on? Why do they think it’s her? She was cleared, is there something new?” Price can hear the panic in his voice. 

“No, nothing new, apparently it’s too much of a coincidence. They don’t want to admit this whole mission was one giant fuck up to begin with.” Price says his voice hard as he walks out into the open heading back towards the hospital.

“We should have never moved in this quickly. We should have waited them out, waited until they moved back to Urzikstan.” 

“Shit, she’s a scapegoat, they’re going to pin it on her.” Gaz says stopping in his tracks. 

“Graves is coming to lead the interrogation.” Price says stopping too, turning to look at him. 

“It wouldn’t take much to get her to confess to anything. It’s only been 6 months.” Price hears the break in his voice. “What are we going to do?” 

“I don’t know.” 

next Banners by firefly-graphics

[revelboo]

THE HOLIDAYS SPECIAL SHITPOST IS CANON??? Omg, and it’s not a one time thing, anybody can just watch it??? if its in idw does that mean the traveling mtmte can accidentally intercept it? Can anybody, not anybody but a bot, just yoink it? Neutrals just spreading it. Thinking about swindle, or somebody just sending off to different groups aside from the ones in earth. Overlord, Tarn, Kaon, the reason the decepticons lose the war is because theyre humanfraggers. But if it lands on anti-cybertronians hands it can be used for major propaganda :(

Yeah, I suppose it is now canon to the fics on the Masterlist under IDW/G1 🤣 I treat the ones under Lost Light as wholly separate. That little PSA is definitely not going to have the intended effect, though. There are a lot of lonely or just outright bored Cybertronians on both sides.

Everything Is Alright Pt 96

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Leaning his chin on a fist as you sit with your back to him on the other arm of his throne, he listens to you tell him about the wreck. About blundering into the middle of a fire fight between Starscream and the Autobots. About talking to him after he’d taken you and decided to keep you, asking him about his day and Megatron hears your voice soften with genuine affection. You talk about meeting Soundwave and the cassettes. Starscream’s failed attempt to free you giving him pause, because when has the Seeker ever cared for someone besides himself? But listening to you, it sounds like he’s learning to care. You leave out some things, he knows. Not mentioning how Star had claimed you. Or Soundwave. But finally you fall silent, little shoulders tense. And your story just leaves him more exhausted. Because he’s not sure what to do. Punishing Starscream will also punish Soundwave. And you.

• Behind you, Megatron is silent. For all you know, your story bored him so bad he fell into recharge. So it’s a surprise when he reaches and runs his servo against your side and you look up at him, those red optics staring at you. “You’re an incredible amount of trouble for being so small,” he mutters, chin still on his fist as the servo slides to tip your chin up. “But useful. That fool can’t act out for fear of you being harmed. He might be trained yet.” And he smiles down at you, that look making your skin prickle. Trained? “Don’t worry, I think you’ll enjoy helping.”

• “I’m not helping you make him miserable,” you say, pushing at his servo with warm little hands as your eyes narrow. That unexpected attitude sparking through him. He’s seen little glimpses of it amid the submissiveness, but usually you’re quick to hide it. To play at being docile. It makes him want to push to see how far you’ll bend before you lash out. And he’s curious despite himself. Remembering that little glimpse of you under the Seeker. The sounds.

• “I only want to reward good behavior,” he says, that smile becoming something wicked that makes you freeze. Because he’s not so scary or intimidating when he smiles, that severe face seeming younger, more open. Pushing away from his servos, you scowl at him, trying your hardest not to acknowledge that for a heartbeat you thought he was handsome. Absolutely not. “And you don’t really have any say in it, pet.”

• Stuck patrolling with Soundwave even though the communications officer isn’t at all suitable for this, Starscream knows it’s just so Soundwave can watch him. Make sure he’s not plotting and he hates it. Still needs to do more research and right now? He can’t even think about his plan or Soundwave will know. He has no doubt the other mech is eavesdropping in his mind. Spying. For Megatron. Frustrated, they walk their circuit looking for any sign of Autobots and coming up empty. The enemy quiet lately. And he almost wishes an Autobot would show up, someone to take his frustration out on. And even if he could plot, he’s too distracted with worry. Hates leaving you at Megatron’s mercy. He’s felt that mercy, bears the scars of it and you’re so small. So fragile.

• Feeling the Seeker’s thoughts seething almost out of control, Soundwave vents tiredly. Understands the worry, but he trusts Megatron. He’d tried pinging Rumble and Frenzy both and had only gotten a distracted ‘busy’ from Frenzy and a flicker of emotion he really doesn’t want to think too closely on. Almost sure both cassettes are busy with the same human Rumble had disappeared with. Hoping they don’t do anything too impulsive but also sure that they likely did. Neither had ever been great at thinking things through, preferring to act on impulse. Like you. Reaching for things you want no matter the consequences.

• Returning to base, Starscream heads for the bridge and his optics narrow to find no guards waiting today. Wings flaring, he strides inside and freezes. Hissing softly as Soundwave brushes past him and also stops. Because there’s Megatron sprawled on his throne, but he’s pulled a little table in front of him and you’re in the center of it in a nest of blankets, one draped around you so only your face is visible. It’s the embarrassed anger on your face that snares his attention. “If you hurt-”

• “Your little mate is fine. Just a bit put out. Did you patrol as I asked?” Megatron growls, cutting Starscream off. Sees the Seeker’s wings flick up, trembling with rage, but he sullenly nods. “Good. Claim your reward.” Flicking his servos at you as you stand, he growls softly. “The blanket?” Now you’re shooting him a sullen look, eyes narrowed as you let the blanket fall with your back to him. He can see enough, though. The delicate chains dangling from your wrists and throat, and the draped, sheer cloth that doesn’t even start to hide you. That covering had been a happy find amid the pile of soft things Starscream had for you and the look on your face when his Insecticons had fetched it to him along with the chain? That had been even better. Almost as amusing as leashing you and watching you change into your new covering while trying to keep yourself hidden from him. Those angry eyes doing things to him. “Mass displace and claim your reward.”

• Embarassed you look at Soundwave and Starscream. Soundwave frozen and Starscream’s optics are sliding over you hungrily despite how mad he looks. Part of him likes this, you think. Seeing you bound. It’s not like Megatron had touched you aside from attaching the chains about your wrists and throat. And there’s enough extra chain you’re not actually restricted, the chains looping up to the thin collar around your neck. Know it’s meant to mock you and infuriate Starscream and Soundwave. A punishment for them lying about you being a pet. Megatron trussing you up like a pet. A plaything. Soundwave moves first, hands on the table and lunging up as he mass displaces to drag you into his arms. Big hands running over you checking that you’re okay and reassuring himself. That concern taking the edge off your mortified anger. It’s not like Megatron hasn’t seen Starscream fucking you. Is the warlord playing chicken? Trying to shame Soundwave and Starscream for wanting you? Or does he just want to watch? “Star?”

• Soundwave’s hands are on your hips as you look back at him. Those chains making a silvery sound where they slide against Soundwave’s plating, your skin on full display through the sheer fabric you’re wearing. But he’s frozen trying to figure out the game. To humiliate him? To mock him? There’s an angle, but as you stare up at him he finds himself coming to you anyway. Mass displacing and reaching to touch you through the fabric. Pulling you back to him, Soundwave following with a soft growl. Aware of Megatron staring at him in challenge. Daring him. Ignoring the warlord, he brushes his mouth against your throat. “Are you okay?” Relaxing a tiny bit when you nod, soft hands touching his sides, running up his chassis. Tangling his servos in your hair, he pulls you into his arms. Growling when his arm bumps Soundwave, the communications officer’s hands on your hips so you’re pinned between them.

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[burning-academia-if]

Burning Academia [Play Here]

Demo Updated: June 7th, 2024 (Prologue-Chapter 2)

Current Word Count: 91.4k (w/code)

Word Count per Play Through: ~34k

F.A.Q | Navigation | Bonus Content | Pinterest | Spotify | Character Quiz |

You never thought you'd go to college, due to your circumstances. But you especially didn't dream you'd be forced to attend the prestigious Vales Grove University after being attacked by wraiths in their library. What started as a visit to a long time friend, ended with your hands burned, your innocence questioned, and the startling realization magic is real. To apologize for what's happened to you, or more accurately, to keep an eye on you, the Headmaster himself offers you enrollment with all fees waived. With no real choice in the matter, you become a student, and try to ignore the suspicion everyone throws your way. Besides, you have worse things to deal with. Like how you've started to attract ghosts and other dead things, or the fact that there is a very living thing inside your head, waiting for you to lower your guard and take control. And most pressing of all, managing your obligation to a family that hasn't been such a thing in years. Tread carefully, if the ghosts don't devour you, the university certainly might.

Customize the MC; gender, appearance, personality, etc!

Romance six questionable love interests, or not!

A morality system which changes how your story will go. Do you belong to the day, the night, or somewhere in between?

A complicated family, which you've been shackled to your whole life. Will you ever be able to escape them? Do you even want to?

Survive college, your job, and attempt to not have a quarter life crisis.

Avoid getting devoured by all the things that go bump in the night.

Retain your free will.

Dawn: The world has never been kind, but that hasn't stopped you from giving up. You'll run through the night and embrace the rising dawn. A path of becoming hope.

Day: There's light in the world, if one only knows how to look. As long as you hold on, the light will find you, too. A path of finding solace.

Dusk: All you've known is suffering, and you won't stand for it any longer. Regardless where that leads you, or the choices you need to make to save yourself. A path leading to freedom.

Night: There's no hope here, not as things stand. You'll change it all, even if you must stand in the darkness. A path of destroying everything which has sought to destroy you.

More simply: Dawn/Day: traditional good paths, Dusk: anti-hero path, Night: "villain" path

Rook Bellerose [M]: A "best friend" you've known for almost a decade now. He's never let you get close even after all this time. He's the king of jokes and immaturity, but after the events which led to your enrollment at Vales Grove, something's changed. Maybe it's the guilt, or maybe it's the mask finally slipping.

Beck Castro [M]: Rook's detested roommate, although you aren't sure why. He's the kind of guy who likes to hear himself talk, and he's pretty good at it. He can captivate a room or get himself out of any situation. For whatever reason, he's taken a keen interest in you, and has offered his help for whatever you might need.

Rhea Windsor [F]: The Headmaster's daughter. Everyone who talks about her often complains that she's the traditional prim and proper young woman one would expect from a Headmaster's daughter. However, the more you talk to her, the more you realize she's the exact opposite with a dorky personality and a streak of clumsiness.

Zoe Ripley [NB]: A loner who hides in the library to avoid people. They saw what went down the day you were forced to attend Vales Grove. Despite their prickly attitude, you get the sense they aren't a bad person, and despite how they act, they've never refused to help you. If anything, you seem to be the one person on campus who doesn't get on their nerves, professors included.

Lars Angel [M]: The most exhausted person you've ever seen, and that's saying something. He's a grad student, and one you keep running in to. He can't stand you, and you can only guess at why. With a sharp tongue and a bitter disposition, he tries his best to avoid you. Too bad you both keep running into each other. It looks like fate has other plans.

??? [M/F/NB]: The thing which haunts you. You have no idea how the two of you got connected, but you can feel it in your blood, organs, neurons, synapses. You know it's evil, you know it wants to consume you, but tell me? Has anything ever cradled your soul so gently before?

Poly Route options:

Beck/Rook [triad]: Dawn or Day Path

Rook/??? [triad]: Night Path

Rhea and Zoe [V]: Dawn or Dusk Path

[RO Portraits]

CW: Gore, violence, discussions and depictions of death, parental neglect, emotional abuse, parental abuse, alcoholism, depression, classism, mtc

RO Route CWs (contains spoilers): Read here

[qqueenofhades]

Not that anything's a for sure bet but my read on the general situation re: Harris-Walz is that there's going to be a lot less headwind to fight for Harris specifically as opposed to Clinton because the amazing right wing media hasn't had twenty years for poison to seep into the layperson's thoughts about Clinton's "worthiness"

Well, that and the fact that the MAGA crowd are just really, really bad strategic planners (especially since a solid 75% of their strategy is "lol we'll just cheat and win it that way, we don't need anything else.") They howled for 3.5 years about how Biden was too old to serve and should step down, and then when he did, they had zero plan how to run against Kamala and Trump is now practically begging Biden to magically get back into the race and save him. They ran an anti-Shapiro influence campaign by encouraging the antisemitic online left and planning to exploit the issue among Democrats divided on Israel/Gaza, then furiously melted down when Walz was picked and had no plan to deal with him either. Fascism is a helluva drug, kiddos. Don't try it at home.

The reason Harris has been able to rocket so high is simple, which is that she's channeling Obama 08 energy in more ways than one. Obama also came onto the national political scene four years before (with his speech at the 2004 DNC) and four years later, he was the party's nominee. It didn't even matter that he was a skinny brown guy named Barack Hussein Obama, because people were so tired of the chaos and war and incompetence of Bush Jr that they latched onto a simple message of hope and change and the historical nature of his candidacy felt like an optimistic risk worth taking. Why couldn't it be time for the first African American president? Yes, of course, there was incredible vitriol and we are still dealing with that backlash in some ways now, but still.

As I have said before, Trump is technically not the incumbent, but the last 8 years have been dominated by his hatred, chaos, division, rage, and treason in a way even Bush could never quite manage, and when people get to that point, there's a lot of coiled-up energy that has at last come bursting out. We needed Biden's old-moderate-white-man cred to defeat Trump as the sitting president in 2020, when most of his worst scandals hadn't even happened yet, but this is not 2020 (or 2016) and the dynamic is different. We are now on offense and playing to win, people have readily and eagerly embraced the absolute god tier karma that would come from a black female prosecutor finally ending the Orange Menace's reign of terror once and for all, and the Republicans are spitting smoke and spinning gears running frantically through their usual tired old stupid cliche attacks. GAY TRANS EVIL BIRTHERISM SWIFTBOAT FOREIGN FAR LEFT COMMIE LIBERAL HEATHEN!! they scream desperately, trying to find something that sticks. Except this time, no matter how hard the corporate media tries to help them out, nobody is listening. Nobody is buying it. We know exactly what BS they're trying and we're just shrugging and going "Yeah, no. Weird."

It absolutely helps that Kamala is not dragging the ball and chain of 20 years of Republican smear attacks, yes. But there are a lot of reasons why the GOP is imploding before our eyes and it's probably now more statistically likely that there is a blue tsunami than it is that Trump wins. I still cannot, CANNOT, believe it has been barely three fucking weeks. If this is a dream don't want to wake up, etc. Let me goddamn stay in this timeline just a little longer. And if we do the work, we can in fact make it that way, and Yeah. Yeah.