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jackrrabbit · 5 years ago

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it will come back [pt. 2] /// Yandere Shigaraki x f!Reader

Summary: You have a bad habit of picking up strays, and the half-dead villain you find bleeding out in a dumpster is no exception. [Part 1] [Part 3]

A/N: Title from the Hozier song—“don’t let it in with no intention to keep it / jesus christ, don’t be kind to it / oh honey don’t feed it / it will come back.”

Tags/warnings: yandere, violence (not directed toward reader), crying, Shiggy REALLY likes you, reader needs a friend and a good night’s sleep, non-explicit sexual content. [In later parts: 18+, sex, other stuff]

He—Tomura—keeps visiting.

At first you think it’s because of the free medical care, and you wish you had the spine to tell him to suck it up and go see a professional. After a couple weeks turn into a couple months and his wounds fade into ragged purple scars, though, you start to think differently.

Within a short time Tomura has figured out your work schedule, and he does a decent job of not showing up after your long shifts. The unavoidable consequence of this is that he ends up monopolizing your precious days off, but you come to the realization about a month and a half in that you don’t actually mind. You like it. It’s like spending time with a friend.

Mostly you guys talk. It doesn’t seem like Tomura really has anyone to talk to the way the two of you do, but that’s probably just you projecting. It’s usually shallow stuff—TV shows you like, video games he plays, funny stories from patients you treated. Sometimes when you’re cooking for yourself, you make extra for him. (It happens a lot, actually, and at one point you bring up how much his appetite is costing you and the next time you see him he brings a bag of rice and makes you a porridge that crunches between your teeth when you try to eat it. You can’t finish yours, but he eats an entire bowl and insists that you’re being picky.)

Sometimes he sleeps over on the couch, but he’s always gone when you wake up.

The two of you skirt around the heavier stuff, and you know it’s intentional on his part. You have to resist the urge to ask him about being a villain—he’s all but confirmed it for you, and it’s human nature to be curious, isn’t it? In the same way you can’t help looking at a car crash, you want to poke and prod and find out what it is, exactly, that Tomura does for a living. That part of his life is suspiciously absent from your discussions—if you didn’t know better, you’d think he spends all of his time sleeping and playing games and breaking into your place.

On the other hand, you don’t want to know. Plausible deniability. You can accept criminality in the abstract, but you’ve treated too many victims of the bullshit hero–villain battle to be comfortable really knowing why Tomura avoids public places.

So you don’t ask about it, and Tomura doesn’t tell, and you don’t look up his name. And it’s easy. It’s nice. You’d forgotten what it’s like to come back to a home that isn’t empty.

And then one day when you get off a few hours early from your shift, you stop by a convenience store to pick up some snacks for yourself (hey, you’ve been working hard, you’re entitled to binge a little on foods that you’re afraid to look at the fat content for), and you think, Hm, I wonder if Tomura wants some.

[You: 7:49 PM] > Are you coming over today? [T: 7:49 PM] > Yeah why [You: 7:51 PM] > Getting snacks > Want some? [T: 7:51 PM] > No

[T: 8:12 PM] > When r u coming back to ur place

[T: 8:58 PM] > Hey where are you

[T: 9:39 PM] > (Y/N)?

There’s a man with a gun in the convenience store.

It takes you a second to process at first. You’re standing in the snack food aisle seeking out Oreos and debating the merits of Double Stuf vs. Mega when you catch the mumbled demand and the metallic clicking noise you’ve only ever heard in movies before. It’s a gun—you know that, but your mind dismisses it because it’s ridiculous. Guns are rare in hero society. People don’t go around robbing bodegas at gunpoint anymore.

(You should know better. You work in a goddamn ER. But you compartmentalize, and the crimes you see written across your patients’ bodies stay out of the realm of your personal life because you need them to.)

It’s only when you see the muzzle of a hunting rifle pushed up to the cashier’s sweaty neck that you really understand what’s happening.

You drop to the ground immediately, looking toward the exit but it’s shut and there’s some kind of metal…thing holding the door closed. The cashier mumbles a denial and you can hear him fumble around with the cash drawer for what feels like ages.

It’s real. This is real. You’re in the middle of a robbery. Where are the heroes? Why isn’t anyone doing anything?

God, you’re a hypocrite, cowering behind the aisle divider and waiting for someone to step up while the robber’s demands get increasingly louder and more frantic. He wants money, and the cashier (who, you remember, is a man in his sixties with hands that shake with Parkinson’s when he holds out your receipt) isn’t being fast enough.

“That’s it? There’s no more? Are you fucking kidding me, there’s gotta be a safe or something—“

“No! No, p-please, I’m sorry, this is all I have!”

You cringe, crushing your eyes closed as if that will make it go away. You’re surprised you can hear at all over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

“Don’t fuck with me old man, I know there’s more! Show me the safe or I’ll blow your goddamn brains out!”

No! You have to do something. You can’t just sit here. You’ve heard plenty of death threats from your patients (not to mention that one from Tomura), and you know the difference between a bluff and a serious warning. Maybe you can catch the robber off guard, try to pull the gun away? You stand up quickly, hoping against hope that you won’t regret this, but in a split second you see that the cashier has the same idea and he’s trying to pull the rifle out of the robber’s hand and—

BANG.

Something warm and wet splatters across your face.

///

Tomura is angry when you get back to the apartment. As soon as he hears your key in the lock he rises from your couch so he can grab your collar with three fingers, jerking your head up to force you to look at him. “Where have you been? Do you know how long I’ve been waiting—“

But he cuts short in the middle of his sentence. Maybe because he sees the look on your face. Or maybe he just notices the traces of blood you haven’t been able to wipe off.

“What happened,” Tomura says. It’s not a question. He adjusts his grip slightly so it’s not quite as punishing, but you hold still anyway.

You have to force your mouth open in order to speak, but when your voice comes out it’s more steady than you thought it would be. “It’s not my blood. There was a robbery at the store. The cashier got shot.”

“Oh.” He releases you and frowns. “That’s it?”

“Fuck you.” You push past him into the kitchen to get yourself a drink with trembling hands. Pantry’s out of shōchū, whiskey will just make you sicker—ahh, there it is. Baijiu. The glug glug glug of the liquor into the glass does nothing to put your nerves at ease, but you pour yourself a double anyway.

“Wait—wait.” Tomura’s hands twitch and rub over his arms like he’s trying to stop himself from grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you. “Calm down. Why are you so upset? Don’t you see this stuff every day?”

You do. You’re an ER nurse. There’s no injury you haven’t seen. But it’s not about the blood. “I...I knew him. The cashier. He was nice. He had a grandkid on the way. I—“ You bite your lip and down the baijiu in one gulp. It burns.

Tomura clearly doesn’t know how to comfort you; probably doesn’t even really know why you need to be comforted. What does it mean that death is so meaningless to him? you wonder. But you need someone to listen to you, clueless or not, and Tomura will have to do.

The baijiu is still bitter and hot down your throat when you speak again. “You know something? Know what they asked me when the heroes finally showed up and pulled us out of there, me and the corpse?”

“…What?” Tomura asks warily.

“They stuck a camera in my face and asked me if there was anything I wanted to say to the hero who saved me. Any words of gratitude I wanted to share,” you spit. Now it’s your turn to feel your hands making fists at your sides. Your fingernails scratch into your palms like the pain can be an outlet for the sudden overwhelming fury spilling over you. “They didn’t save him. They were too late.”

Tomura’s eyes widen, and through your curtain of anger you can tell he’s looking at you in a way he’s never looked at you before. It’s unlike him to even look directly at you, and when he does it’s usually in disinterest or half-sincere irritation. This, though…this is different. He’s watching you like a believer watches a prophet. You can tell—or at least some deep, ugly part of you that you hope is wrong can tell—that he’s trying not to smile.

“I hate this,” you say, and the first tear drips out of your eye and runs down your cheek. It’s awful. You don’t want to cry in front of Tomura. You don’t want to show him how weak you are. But before you can wipe it away, Tomura’s hand comes up and does it for you, smearing the tear over your cheek in a gesture that—for him—is oddly tender.

Then he hugs you.

It’s stiff and awkward, like he’s forgotten how to do it, but the intention is clear. His arms fold around your back, pulling you into his chest while his chin makes its way to rest on your shoulder. He’s leaning into you so deeply that your spine is arched back, and you stagger away from him only for him to step closer again to make up the distance.

“It’s not fair, hm,” he murmurs into your hair. His tone is the closest thing to sympathy you’ve ever heard from him, but there’s an undercurrent of excitement you can’t ignore. “They’re always too late, aren’t they? The heroes… And everyone will watch that video of you thanking the heroes, and they’ll think they’re safe too. They’ll keep going about their lives and think that nothing bad can happen to them because a hero will always be around to save them…but you and I know that’s a lie.”

It takes you a second to recognize the emotion that’s raising goosebumps over your arms while Tomura rubs circles into your back, but when it clicks you shiver because it’s fear. You’ve never really been afraid of Tomura before, even when you should’ve been. Does he realize he’s backing you up with how forcefully he’s pushing himself into you? The backs of your knees hit the arm of your couch and you topple onto it with Tomura following.

He holds himself above you on his hands, legs tangled with yours. His eyes are wild and he’s not even trying to suppress his grin now. You’re trapped lying on your back under him—pinned like a butterfly under glass.

“Get off of me,” you say as calmly as you can.

“It’s all a lie, all of it…” A hand comes up and strokes your cheek, rubbing with two fingers at a stray fleck of blood on your neck. “I’m sorry it had to be like this, but I’m so glad you understand…”

“Let me up now, Tomura.”

He holds still for a long moment—waiting, thinking, considering—and then sits up, still straddling you but loosely enough that you can scramble back away from him on the couch. Your heart is racing, but you try to slow your breaths so he doesn’t pick up on how scared you are.

“Don’t freak out. You’re no fun,” Tomura says, and you exhale a sigh of relief at how normal he sounds. You never thought you’d be so happy about him looking at you like you’re nothing.

“I think you should go,” you say carefully.

He rocks back on his heels and runs a hand through his hair. “Are you mad? I thought I could stay here tonight, like usual. Since I waited for so long.”

“I’m not mad. I just…want to be alone.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone tonight. Not after what you’ve been through.”

Oh, now you care. “Fine. Okay? Fine. You can sleep on the couch.” You’re too tired to argue any more, and you’ve never really been good at convincing Tomura to do anything he doesn’t want to. It’s a miracle he listened to you when you told him to get off you. Considering how often he breaks into your apartment, it’s not like you could keep him out anyway.

So he stays the night. He doesn’t bother you when you take a shower and go to bed, he just lies on the couch in his street clothes. When you wake up in the morning he’s disappeared like he always does, and for the first time since you met him you’re truly relieved that he’s gone.

///

You always thought it would take some level of courage you don’t possess to actually bite the bullet and look Tomura up. To do so would mean saying goodbye to whatever strange relationship the two of you have built over the months, and you’re just not brave enough to risk it.

Turns out it’s not courage that makes you type his name into the search bar. It’s cowardice. You’re lying in bed under the covers when you do it, and the blue-white screen of your laptop is the only light in the room. Your comforter is pulled up almost over your head like it’s a wall that can block out reality.

“tomura”, you enter into the search bar, but you don’t hit return. Instead, you look at the search suggestions.

> tomura shigaraki > tomura shigaraki league of villains > tomura shigaraki decay

Something about it sounds familiar. But you’re not ready. Still, after everything, you’d rather keep your eyes closed. You backspace and snap your laptop shut, and when you do your room is so dark that you think the emptiness might swallow you up.

///

[T: 5:52 PM] > Are u going to be at home tn

[T: 6:14 PM] > Hey check ur phone

[T: 6:42 PM] > Stop ignoring me > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N) > (Y/N)

[T: 6:46 PM] 3 MISSED CALLS [You: 6:50 PM] > I’m at work [T: 6:50 PM] > Don’t lie > you finished an hour ago

[T: 7:13 PM] 1 MISSED CALL [T: 7:14 PM] > You said you werent mad [You: 7:15 PM] > I’m not [T: 7:15 PM] > Then stop being a brat > im coming over > ill bring takeout

You’re nervous about seeing him, but in the two weeks since he pushed you down on the couch you’ve found yourself…missing him. Like it or not, he’s made himself a fixture in your life. So when you get home you’re brimming with anticipation, wondering who you’ll get when you open the door—the normal Tomura you’ve come to like over the past few months, or the one from that night. The villain.

But it’s just him. Good old Tomura, laden with plastic bags and containers of greasy fast food for the two of you to gorge yourselves on. You tease him for being cheap and he argues that you’re just a snob and everything seems so normal that you can almost forget the look in his red eyes when he told you that you understood.

Almost.

///

You probably have no idea how good you look when you’re crying.

Of the couple thousand views on the news channel video of your “rescue” from the convenience store robber, at least a tenth are from Tomura. Eventually he just downloads the video onto his computer so he doesn’t have to read the inane comments that the other viewers leave on the webpage. It seems like everyone but him thinks you should feel lucky that you were saved by a hero before the robber could get to you, too.

As always, the public are a bunch of shit-soaked morons. Reading the comments makes him angry, so angry he’s tempted to look into a few of these brainless sheep and see how lucky they feel when they’ve caught the attention of a violent criminal. But that wouldn’t be productive, so he saves the video externally and leaves the news website alone. It’s for the best. Besides, seeing the “views” counter on the website tick up and up by the dozen every time he refreshes is just another reminder that other people are watching this; other people are seeing how delicate and vulnerable and pretty you are with tears spilling out of your eyes and the cashier’s blood sprayed over your clothing.

Thousands of useless fucking NPCs are looking at you just like Tomura is. They’re probably thinking about how sweet you look, just like he is. And they’re probably imagining all the ways they can take advantage of your fragile emotional state, just like him.

You’re too trusting for your own good. Tomura used to think it was a virtue, and it is, but only when it comes to him. Whenever he thinks about how your face is slapped over a dozen different news websites for the whole world to see, he has to dig his fingernails into his neck to keep calm. It’s better when he can just watch the video and pretend he’s the only one seeing it.

And it’s not like not watching the video is an option. Tomura can’t resist your crying face. There’s a point around the three minute mark where your voice breaks in the middle of your statement, and sometimes Tomura skips there in the video just so he can hear that pathetic little sob and replay it over and over and over. Maybe it’s sappy, but Tomura really does feel his heart skip a beat at the way your eyes and nose are rubbed red from your misery.

How fucked up is it that he gets off watching you cry?

Would you be angry if you knew? You probably would, but you put up with so much from him already. Maybe you’d be okay with it if he told you he really and truly tried to hold out. The first dozen times Tomura watched the video, he refused to touch himself no matter how tight his pants got while you choked out your stilted answers to the reporters’ questions, but at this point he barely has to click “play” on the video before he gets hard and takes matters into his own hands.

At the end of the day, it’s your fault. Everything about you is so erotic, from your shaky voice to your pouty, bitten-red lips. Isn’t it completely normal to be aroused while looking at the person you like? And Tomura likes you, he really likes you. He doesn’t have any pictures of you, and with the high definition of the news channel’s video he can see every perfect contour of your cheekbones, every pore in your skin, every glistening wet eyelash.

It’s not that Tomura doesn’t feel sympathy for how upset you are in the video. He does! Not even just sympathy, even—he’s empathetic. He knows exactly how it feels to be let down by the heroes. How dare they tell you you need to be grateful while you’re still trying to wipe brain matter off your shirt? Always too little, too late. It’s not fair.

But if he’s being honest? As miserable as you are, Tomura is happy that you were in the store when that robber came in and that you had to watch a man you knew get his brains blown out in front of you. You need a wake-up call to lose faith in hero society. If you have to suffer some emotional trauma in the process, that seems like a fair price to pay.

And the fact that Tomura gets to jerk off to it? It’s almost like destiny.

➠ [Part 3]

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years ago

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Inspired partially by the twitter trend of The Face Vs. The Face Sitting On It and just in time for Valentine’s Day!

Gender Neutral Reader Insert.

Enjoy my masterlist!

Support me on KoFi!

__________________________

While sitting in the car, you watch out the window. Folks buzz around you--some folks looking content, strolling about their day. Others are flitting around, a bit of crease in their forehead. And you feel for them. You know those days where there’s just not enough hours in the day to get it all done. Or it’s when one thing sets off a spiral of all terrible things. Or when you just don’t wake up on the right side of the bed. You know that crease all too well because currently you were having a bad sleeping week.

You were getting tired when you were supposed to but the second you put your head on the pillow your brain was hot wired--keeping you up with all the things you needed to do, hadn’t done, all the appointments you had kept pushing off. It was finding the littlest things to find that anxiety and keep you staring up at the ceiling. Calum noticed the tossing and turning and tried his best to lull you to sleep this week, fixing you tea in the evening, getting you off your phone or laptop a couple hours before bed. He even started reading to you, but your ears picked up on the white noise of everything in the house. Your brain picked up the embarrassing memory that you hadn’t even considered in decades and now holding it in front of your mind’s eye for hours on end during the week.

Like right now, you should’ve been at home sleeping. Your work was giving you a long weekend and you really could’ve used the time to catch some extra Z’s, but you were, admittedly, a little scared to stay home. Sure maybe you did fall asleep cuddled up next to Duke. But you worried that you’d stay up, worry yourself sick some more so when Calum told you he had some errands to run you immediately tagged along. The time running around would hopefully tire you out enough that when you got home you could actually fall asleep.

So after Calum’s personal training session in the morning, which you sort of tagged along for, but mostly went through your own routine and getting a solid breakfast, you two were now buzzing around from store to store. Calum had gotten most of the grocery the other day, but he forgot a couple things so your first objective was to grab those and bring them back up. He then had to go to the post office to mail out his mother’s birthday cards and a few other things.

While in the line at the post office, your head tucked into his back, Calum got a phone call from a guitar shop on the other side of time about a new model that had just come in. Calum had been eying it for ages, but he didn’t want to be reckless with his money especially after getting some work on his teeth and to the house. So he asked the guitar shop to keep an eye out for when more stock arrived in case it sold out before Calum felt comfortable spending a large sum of money like that again.

The store agreed to set one off to the side for him and could keep it on hold until the end of the day. Which was perfect--still gave the two of you time to get lunch. You didn’t need to get anything, didn’t need to do anything. But even after lunch, Calum made one more pit stop. Here now at the gas station, you sit peering through the windshield and can see a mother with her two sons walking from the doors. They boys hold brightly colored icees in their hand, each clutching a bag field with goodies.

You aren’t entirely sure whey Calum needed to stop here for anything. It’s not like he needed stamps, since he got those at the post office. He hadn’t pulled in to get gas. Lunch had been filling, though you tried not to stuff yourself too much just because you knew that on a long car ride, the last thing you wanted to do was be uncomfortably full.

The door opens again, Calum strutting through with his glasses covering his eyes and resting comfortably atop the chubby cheeks. Barely hanging from the crook of his fingers is a brown plastic bag. The doors click open and he climbs into the driver seat. The guitar shop wasn’t that far, but today seemed to be a busy day on the road. Took you all too long just to get to the grocery store this morning.

“Snacks?”

“Was craving something sweet after lunch.”

You peer into the bag as he hands it over to you. Some gummy bears, gum, a bar or two of chocolate you can’t quite tell. You set it onto the floor at your feet. “Let me know when you want something.” But he’s already tearing into a Twix bar when you glance at him. “Or not,” you laugh.

“The other stuff is for you--if you want to indulge. Can’t forget ya,” he pushes the glasses down for just a moment to wink at you and then looks into the rearview mirror.

“Do you think you’re going to get this one?” you asks as the SUV rolls out from the parking lot and onto the asphalt of the highway.

“Hmm, maybe. Gotta see how it feels first.”

You nod at his question, resting your head into the cushion of the seat. And it goes quiet for a while. The radio plays softly in the background, and every so often the packaging crinkles as Calum downs more of the chocolate and caramel treat.

“Valentine’s Day is coming up soon,” Calum states, while paused in a bit of traffic. “Got any ideas on what you want to do for it?”

You think for a moment. Valentine’s Day has never been your thing--being perpetually single does that to a person. “Restaurants are going to be a nightmare.”

“Yeah, they will be.” Another crinkle comes from the right side of the car and then his arm reaches behind your seat, finding the small bag of trash you stash there--though you have to be careful when Duke sits in the backseat. Generally though, he doesn’t mess with too much. “My mom sent me a recipe of hers. It’s really good.”

“I’d be down for cooking.”

“Nothing else? Don’t wanna go sky diving? Give me another heart attack?”

You laugh thinking about the first birthday you spent with Calum together as a couple. “You didn’t die.”

“But I did almost shit myself.”

“You can play on stage to thousands of people, but no, jumping from a plane is a no-go.”

“Yes, because I am a sane human.”

You huff out a small tuft of laughter and turn to look at him. One hand on the wheel with the stainless steel linked chain dangling from his wrist. His other arm is resting against the door, gently tapping out a beat with his long slender fingers. “Do you want to do anything?”

“Valentine’s Day,” he scoffs. “How long have we been dating? When have I ever been dying to do anything on some random day in February.” His statement doesn’t fall venomously from his mouth. He even looks over to you with a smile. “I don’t need one day out of 365 to declare my love for someone.”

And it’s true. While Calum wasn’t super accepting of love from new people, while it took you months to show Calum that you were trustworthy and not someone to keep at an arm’s length, once he cracked open, he oozed adoration and love for people. And you knew it was a defense mechanism. You knew that when someone did care as hard as Calum did it wouldn’t always be an easy thing to win over.

Calum, when he finally let someone one, loved hard. It could be a random Tuesday in July or a Sunday in February, and he would make sure his love was known. He never needed a special occasion to send flowers, to cook dinner, to offer to drive you to doctors appointments because he knew that sometimes you got too nervous or flustered by them to drive but did manage to push through if absolutely necessary. He’d easily pick up some gloves and an extra sponge if he saw you wiping down the walls in the kitchen or wiping through the counter. He kept fridge cleaning days marked on the calendar. And when you added reminders to wash bed sheets to the shared one, he also include rest breaks for you too.

Calum had never needed someone to force him to show appreciation.

“I mean, there is the option to literally do nothing on Valentine’s Day. Like treat it as any other day.”

“That’s still something,” he countered, turning on his signal and switching out from the middle lane. His exit was approaching in another mile and a half.

“Oh fuck off,” you laugh. “We can’t cease to exist that day. Bare minimum we need to convert oxygen into carbon dioxide.”

Calum laughs softly, showing some of his teeth too. “Fair, fair. There’s another Netflix documentary coming out, true crime one. I forget what it’s fully about, but I think it’s about a serial killer if you’d be down to start it then?”

“When would I ever turn down the opportunity to be a detective with you?”

“You haven’t yet,” he states with laughter in his voice.

“And I never will.” The ramp takes the two of you down and down and soon you’re winding through streets and not too far you can see the shopping center coming into view. He pulls into the lot of the shop and the two of you step out in unison.

The bell above the door chimes as he opens it for you and you smile often in your thanks. “Hey, Calum!” one of the guys at the register calls out. The store is fairly empty. But you’re not shocked on a Tuesday afternoon.

“Hey, Derek. How’s it going?” Calum heads directly over to the counter and you look up to the left wall, at the records on display.

“Let me know if you need anything,” the second guy states to you, “or if you want to see anything.” He’s younger than Derek, both look to be equally tattooed from the pieces that peek out from the short sleeve work shirts, but his face is significantly brighter.

“Thanks,” you return and go back to the displays. You can hear Calum and Derek chatting but slowly tune it out, make it background noise to the music playing through the speakers.

You turn to walk towards the back where more instruments sit and you can see Calum leaning into the glass display of the counter. The palms of his hand pressed into the metal edge. The sunglasses sit on top of his head and you notice the younger guy glancing over at you again.

He nods again and then goes back to his computer. Nothing else is said. And you look over the stringed instruments, ukuleles, some violins and then you spin around again, done with that lap and go to head up to Calum. “See anything?” he asks.

You shake your head. “You’re the musically talented one. I just nod and smile when you talk about it.”

Derek returns, a case in hand. He comes out from the hinged doors that separate the sales floor from the registers and back of the store. You scoot a little closer to the display as the case is transferred over. Calum takes it easily heading to the corner you just abandoned to sit and check out the instrument. It’s a beautiful deep green, almost reminds you of the thick Washington forest. The body is slender.

“That’s a pretty cool color,” you note, watching Calum work his fingers over the frets.

He grins up at you. “Think so?” You give another nod. He doesn’t inspect it long before you can see the desire to give in crosses his face.

Derek’s standing close by and you turn to him and keep your voice as close to a whisper as you can while still being heard. “What’s a bass like that cost?”

He rattles off the price, one eyebrow slightly raised over the other. You know Calum will riot--he’ll pitch a fucking fit. But you reach into your wallet and slide out your card. You had been saving--for a year. You wanted to do something big for Calum. You just didn’t know what it was yet specifically though you had some ideas, a bass was top of the list. But you didn’t want to try and go out and buy a bass without consulting him, without getting an understanding of what he liked. You thought about maybe a really good leather jacket and some more boots. He loved the ones he had, wore them as much as he could.

And when you mentioned possibly getting him more, he told you the ones he had were still in good shape. Calum wasn’t the type to just buy clothes to buy them. He indulged here and there, but always made a point to wear something he had down before replacing it. You’d tease the subject a couple more times after that, but he never took the bait and you weren’t going to force him into a thing he didn’t want or need.

But it’s clear to you that this is something he wants. But he’ll tussle with himself and never give in on it. It’s pricer than you thought it would be. But you too were being smart, having finally paid off the last of your car, you start moving those payments to savings and it helped a great deal. You were fine. You get insurance and the whole deal as Derek advises. By the time you slide the receipt back across the counter, Calum comes back to the registers. “I appreciate you holding it for me, man. But I don’t think I can right now.”

Derek looks at you and you look down into the glass. “It’s--it’s yours, dude.”

“What?” Calum breathes behind you.

“They-uh, they paid for it,” Derek says, nodding at you.

You can feel the heat in your body now and spin around to face Calum in a rush. “Consider it a not Valentine’s Day gift.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Ever since I finished paying off my car, I saved the payments to do something nice for you. Didn’t know what it was going to be for sure. But I know you, Calum. You’d want something and tell yourself no. I mean you can treat yourself sometimes.”

“You-you didn’t?” His eyes are rapidly blinking, head shaking like he doesn’t want to believe you. Like he can’t believe you as his mouth mumbles out, “No,” repeatedly.

“It’s yours,” you nod. “It’s really yours.”

If it weren’t for the weight of the bass, you’re sure Calum would’ve tipped over, maybe even rushed to Derek to hand the case back over, but instead he’s weighed down, chained to this spot in the blue speckled carpet of the store, still repeating, “No,” softly.

“‘I hate to break it to you, but you’re gonna have to find space in your office for it now. Because I refuse to return it.” You step forward, find the handle and slip your hands around it taking it from Calum. A small grunt leaves you and then you start to the door, throwing a thanks to Derek.

The lights to the SUV blink and you can hear the locks clicking open as you push open the door to the store. “Wait--what are you doing?” Calum asks.

“Open the trunk please,” you ask.

“Let me do it,” he demands, stepping in close to take the case with the bass now. “What the fuck did you do? Baby, this is expensive.”

“It’s not a Valentine’s Day gift,” you answer again. “Because I love you. On a random Tuesday.”

He gets the instrument safely into the trunk and then closes it, watching dumbly as you climb into the passenger side. He walks to the driver seat and climbs in, taking you gently by the chin. “That was absolutely reckless and unnecessary-- ”

“I am just absolutely reckless and unnecessary then,” you counter, “because I’m not returning it.”

“--but thank you. Thank you so much,” he continues as if you hadn’t interrupted him. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Then it’s silent, as the two of your gaze at each other, watching what could almost be tears well in his eyes, but they don’t fall.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve a person like you, but whatever it was, I’m glad I did it.”

“I’m glad you did it too.” The two of you return home, Duke rushing to the front door as the two of you step through it. Calum safely places the bass in his music room/office and returns shortly after to help you decide on what to order for dinner.

As the two of you settle onto the couch, Calum takes your hand and presses a kiss to teach knuckle. “I’m gonna teach you how to play.”

“You know we’ve done this before.”

“And you were good at it.”

“I was alright at it.”

“It’ll be your bass,” he whispers.

“I bought it for you,” you return tossing your head back to look at him.

He kisses your lips. “Yeah, but it’ll be the one that I teach you to play for real one and it’ll be yours--just as much as it is mine.”

“A true sap,” you laugh, but nod and return your focus back to the TV.

In the week that follows, Calum makes sure to take an hour in the evenings to set you down and pick up on the lessons. They fizzled out as work for the both of you picked up. But now things are a bit more calm. He sits next to you, assessing what you remember from last time and correcting finger placements as needed, but they go smoothly.

When Valentine’s Day does come, Calum pulls you back into bed for just five more minutes of sleep. And five minutes turns into half an hour. But finally you two pull yourself out from the sheets, figure out what to do in the midmorning that results in food being consumed and then you slowly gravitate towards different sections of the house.

There’s still a bit of laundry to be done and Calum takes Duke out for just a little bit. The two of you migrate back together by mid afternoon. He finds you making a quick lunch and presses a kiss to your cheek. You turn to face him, squeezing at his. “I bought some face masks,” he offers. “Care to join me in doing the bare minimum of converting oxygen into carbon dioxide after your lunch?”

“Don’t see how I could pass up such a wonderful offer? You want anything?” He shakes head, mentioning grubbing on some of the leftovers earlier while you took a nap.

With your lunch done and the plates cleaned, you find Calum in the bedroom and let him know you’re ready for the face masks. He shuffles to the bathroom. “I hope I got the right one for you,” he mutters. “I got them forever ago it feels, so who the hell knows what I got.” His laughter is soft as he rummages through the bins under the skin.

“I’ll be in the office,” you tell him and he nods, still pulling bins out. You settle into the couch and spy the green bass still on the stand from yesterday. You pull it into your lap and sling your arm over it. The amp next to you is off, you know but you still pluck away at it as if it were on.

Calum shuffles in a few minutes later. “Um, babe. It’s off.”

You don’t reply but do look up. He holds up three different packages. “Here’s to hoping one of these is worthwhile.” You place your bass back to the stand and take one that sounds like one you’re okay with using. Calum hands you a towel so you can wipe your fingers off after you get it placed onto your face. He helps get it right and then you help him with his and the two of you slip onto the couch, legs entangled and leaning into opposite ends of the couch.

You laugh at Calum’s story as you scroll mindless through app after app. In the boredom you snap a picture of Calum with the face masks on and don’t think too much of it, saving it to the album with all the silly and cute photos of him are--there are tons.

“I mean the sun is a star. Though the ones we see have been dead for a long time.”

Calum taps your leg with his foot. “It was a simple question--to be the sun or the stars. I didn’t ask for this philosophical crisis.”

“Why would it not weigh in your decision! If you’re a star like the ones we see at night, you’re technically already dead. You wanna be dead?” You huff, sitting up.

“I mean, no, but c’mon.”

“It’s a valid thing to consider, that’s all I’m saying!”

He laughs. “Okay, sun or the moon?”

“You first,” you return and just then your alarm on your phone goes off. The two of you shuffle back to the bathroom and take off the masks.

“Moon, maybe,” he counters.

You nod. “Fitting. When should we get started on that recipe of your moms? Is it super involved?”

“Nah, it’s pretty easy. Normal time should be good. I’m going to read outside if you want to join.”

“Maybe in a bit.”

Calum nods, grabbing his book as he passes through the bedroom and the patter of Duke’s claws follow behind him. You go back to the music room, turn on the amp and then actually play a little something. It’s nothing fancy--just the arrangement you put together with Calum as a practice exercise once. You play it for a bit, adding a little flair. When you phone rings, you pause to answer it. You wouldn’t normally, but the number looks semi recognizable so you answer it.

It’s just a scam call and you hang up but then notice some other notifications. Before you realize it, you’re deep into Twitter. You’ve run across the trend of people posting pictures of themselves and their significant others with the caption, The Face Vs The Face Sitting On It. It made you laugh just a little bit at first. And then you kept going down the rabbit hole. Some are silly, most are good pictures.

While it’s not exactly secret that you and Calum are dating, you two don’t post too much. Calum isn’t incline to post on social media in the first place and while you use it a bit more than him, you try not to post too much about him out of respect. However, as you look tap on quote retweet and bring up your photos you think maybe one silly post wouldn’t hurt. So you grab the one of him recently with the face masks and then one of yourself--it’s silly too, a little blurry too in the darkness that it was taken in.

You hit post and watch the likes come in. Then keep scrolling. Eventually you have to put the bass away and peel yourself from the couch to find Calum and see if he’s hungry enough for dinner. Just as you round the corner to the office, you spy him stepping through the glass sliding backdoor. “Hungry?” you ask.

He nods, “Yeah.”

The two of you, with Duke trotting ahead, make your way down the hallway and into the kitchen. “You’re funny,” he states, washing his hands first.

“Thank you. I’ll be here until you kick me out.”

He laughs. “No, the pictures you posted. On Twitter.”

You’re shocked that he noticed it that fast. Normally it took him a bit longer to see silly stuff like that. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Nah. What I hope you don’t mind is my reply.”

At first you’re nervous. Calum could’ve gone one of two ways--super silly and broke out even worse photos of you possibly not sober or he went super on trend with it and pulled out a photo of you done up for a date night. Not that you preferred one over the other, but sometimes you liked to keep your relationship light on social media. It was easier that way. There wasn’t any real pressure that way. Though the fans seemed to have enjoyed it when you posted more posed and serious content.

You liked to keep it a bit more real. You and Calum didn’t do the whole nine yards a lot--you two were normal people who hated getting out of bed some days and went as well into the afternoon before showering at times and walked Duke and went to doctor’s appointments like everyone does. So you always opted for a bit of a joke, a silly Tweet or photo whenever you could.

“What did you post?” you ask.

He shrugs, taking up the knife to dice the onion. “I’m not telling you.”

You glance at the printed out recipe and get a pan on the aisle over medium heat before pulling out your phone. As you load the app, you listen to the snap of the knife fitting the wooden cutting board. You type Calum’s name and tap onto his profile.

While there’s is silly--I do want to take a moment to show off my favorite person in the world. So here we go, The Face Vs. The Face Sitting On It. Below is attached a picture of him--you snapped while you two were out for lunch one day. The black t-shirt tight around his biceps as he slyly grins into the camera. The lights in the background are just barely in focus of the resturant and Calum’s glancing out of the window next to him. You remember that you were recording him, or at least you thought you were, and told him that he was handsome. Not the first time, but everytime he did, he blushed and turn away. And you captured it here too.

The photo of you is actually one with him in it. The guys got together and did a big family dinner and the two of you posed at Crystal’s request in the slightly matching outfits. You hadn’t intended to match--though black was a staple in both your wardrobes. You were a bit different thanks to the pop of color in your shoes, but in the lighting of the street lamp, you had to admit that you did look hot. The first couple of buttons on your shirt you were undone and with your hands tucked into the pockets, you looked like you owned shit.

“While I hoped that you’d go with something more silly, I will take this,” you finally say.

“That picture is literally my background for a reason,” he returns.

You kiss his cheek and then trace over the stubble with your teeth to his ear. “Can I make a reservation for tonight?”

“The table is reserved for you literally at all times,” he returns in a breathe.

“Good,” you laugh and then glance back to the recipe.

#calum hood #calum hood blurb #calum hood x reader #calum hood x reader insert #calum hood imagine #calum hood smut #Calum Hood smut adjacent #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos imagine #h writes #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer imagine #gender netural reader

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newswcanonprompts · 4 years ago

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prompt #37 - Jedi are like Magpies and love their clones

sorry we haven’t posted in forever! to make up for it, i’m posting one of our longest and detailed prompts (maybe even the longest)- this came from a LONG discussion a few weeks back, and it was a lot of fun. this idea morphed a ton, and it became this huge thing. this is personally my favorite one, so hope you enjoy!

Jedi collect trinkets and wear them!!! Hand them to others as a very important gift

The Clones dont really get it, but they are happy

The jedi make them things like jewelry, keychains, little beaded things, colored strings, they’ll give them feathers, you name it

Its another way to show that they are individuals, and that the jedi know them specifically

The veteran clones have long keychain type things and the shiny clones want them very much and it’s something they look forward to

The padawans hand the commanders things and being sad when the CC’s tell them they can’t take them into battle

Krell gets found out earlier.

“Okay, look, i know krell is… well, he is *something* and i don’t want to accuse a master of the order but have you looked at his men?! where the hell are their keychains?!”

The padawans stage a protest at the senate because how else are they going to make sure that their troops know they are loved and get their trinkets

This idea can get angsty really quickly (finding trinkets after battles, in ship crashes, or post-order 66), but we won’t do that because of how angsty this server already is, we need some fluff sometimes

Palaptine can commit self delete

Clones will paint armor for padawans cause that is how they show honor and stuff

The clones, upon figuring out what they mean, give their jedi trinkets also

Mirialan padawan holding armor they got: “ITS GREEN LIKE ME!”

There are little figurines, some painted rocks, some little shiny things found on the battlefield

The clones who aren’t as good with their hands singing songs or telling stories

The jedi record them and keep them on little datachips that they keep on them at all times

Barriss doesn’t go bad because this is happy time

The jedi padawans start a riot / protest outside the senate building because some clones got their trinkets taken away by asshole civilians because they’re “not human”, just copies

The (now very pissed off) jedi sprung into action

If a snooty senator(s) takes away a clone’s trinket, the jedi just sit back and grind to a halt. Because if the clones, the PEOPLE WHO PROTECT THE REPUBLIC, are gonna get treated like that, the war can wait

The jedi knights and masters just meditate wherever the padawans are protesting

This is done to ‘keep the peace’

If anakin hears a snooty senator degrade the clones, he starts ranting and shouting about their individuality and accomplishments, while pointing at each trinket.

Someone live streams this

Luminara joins in (barriss is right behind)

Aayla too

Luminara, anakin, aayla, tag teamed shouted speech

Ahsoka and barriss are being held back by the CC’s (ahsoka is making some very crude hand gestures and barriss is like “i can name every bone in your body as i break it” - cause barriss has all that healer knowledge)

Once these three are done, mace windu comes along with the council. They think mace is going to scold the three of them until mace starts shouting at the senators too. The council just lets mace do all the talking.

This is the most watched live stream this year. It’s very funny and starts a ton of memes (obi wans face, yoda meditating, the look of “oh shit” on the original snooty senator’s face, the look of surprise on everyone when mace starts shouting too - there is also a gif made of the council looking at the situation, looking at themselves (mostly mace) and then they all step back to let mace do the talking, the clones faces when they see that three jedi and then the jedi high council are defending them)

Mace, rolling up his sleeves: “okay let’s do this”

The senators: backing away in fear

Obi wan might commit a war crime right now because no way people can talk about his troops like that

Obi wan: “am i allowed to kill a senator?”

Cody: “General, do not-”

This whole thing leads to a massive debate and overwhelmingly good PR for the jedi and clones

Shady sheev doesn’t like that. Good PR for the jedi? No thank you. But since this is a fixit he gets his ass kicked later on so everything’s fine (skeevy sheev has to scramble to try to fix his plans though)

All the padawans from that one lightsaber episode (the one on ilum where the younglings got their kyber crystals) are there and SHIT’S GOING DOWN

Petro in particular is very close to kicking someone’s ass

Caleb dume is there also.

“Master depa said we should never raise our blades in revenge or anger. But this is not revenge.” this is war, this is justice, this is defense of a defenseless group

Padme also joins in all of this (but much more calmly)

She also might make some passive aggressive comments about the snooty senators trash outfit

She and all her senator friends are gonna blacklist the original culprit

Padme and bail organa (they also got help from many jedi) put in the clone rights bill the next day

In the halls outside the debate chamber, padme threatens to gut people with her hair pins if they don’t vote in her favor

sure, it’s *technically* extortion, but come on, who’s gonna stop her? those pins are pointy y’all

Anakin tried to help draft / present the bill but he spent most of his time ranting about the injustices the clones have to face (leia had to get it from someone)

Anakin, out of breath: “AND ALL YOU SENATORS JUST SIT HERE, DOING NOTHING, WHEN THEY’RE OUT THERE DYING FOR YOU-”

Padme: “okay ani i got this, drink some water please”

Ahsoka also jumps in

Plo, who’s watching the debate: “little ‘soka, please don’t hurt anyone” (but he’s not about to stop her, after all these are his sons we’re talking about)

If someone said “well they’re not slaves?” anakin would go OFF. if you thought he was angry before… you got another thing coming.

“I AM A FREED SLAVE! I KNOW WHAT IT IS LIKE! THESE MEN HAVE LESS RIGHTS THAN I DID AS A SLAVE!”

If the public doesn’t know about his childhood before, they do now

Imagine the shock

Padme: “Ani, deep breaths, it’s gonna be okay.”

Also padme, to the other senators: “well i mean he’s not wrong you assholes”

Padme is also making very well timed comments and suggestions. It’s the most successful day she’s had since she became senator

She’s also revealing all the senators’ dirty secrets

Padme: “oh, senator so-and-so, i released all your finances and your voting history on the holonet. I’m sure your supporters will love that you’re embezzling funds. Oh, you lost your support? Tragic.”

The jedi also have dirt on everyone and they just casually let everything slip like they weren’t secrets

Shady sheev Palpacreep is in his little podium thing during the debate, and he is very pissed, because his plan is getting ruined, but he can’t let it show or else people will discover the truth about him

Anakin: “isn’t it great that we’re finally doing something about it?”

Sheev, pained: “Of course-”

This whole debate is still live streamed - and it’s very popular

The senate who made the original comment and started all of this is #cancelled

This is the greatest thing the galaxy has ever seen / watched because drama

If a jedi dies, and they aren’t brought back to the temple, they are burned with the other dead on the battlefield. Young padawans take their master’s trinkets in remembrance, wanting to follow their path and have tangible proof that the master passed into the force but that they left their mark in the world

You do not burn the trinkets. Krell tried once. It almost started a jedi civil war (maybe that’s how he gets found out)

Or maybe krell was found out because he gives zero trinkets to his men, and everyone caught on and were like “hey wtf man”

But if you wanna make it angsty ( cough cough umbara ) then krell tells the 501st to remove / burn / throw out their trinkets or he’d do it for them

He gives them an example by slicing a very special one that anakin and ahsoka both gave to rex

Krell also slices one of dogma’s. It was the only one dogma had because he was newish to the battalion at the time and wasn’t sure if accepting the trinkets was against regs or not. Krell slashes it and dogma doesn’t say anything but there were tears in his eyes

All the jedi who find out what happened replace all the trinkets so fast. They also give krell’s men a shit ton of presents.

Krell’s men have no idea what to do with them, but they are so touched a few shed tears when they get them

The clones get small tattoos of patterns that the little padawans drew for the men

The tattoos are small because some of them *might* just be random squiggles but the padawans looked so happy the clones just had to get them tattooed

Anakin orders japor wood with padme's bank account to make snippets for the clones because it’s not only a jedi thing, it’s from anakin's homeworld - and that’s like the highest praise you can get from him

The clones might not know exactly what it means but they know its super special

Padme figures out a way to buy japor wood in bulk. Anakin is very touched by this

When snooty senators start badmouthing clones, yoda just sits there and meditates to drive the senators nuts

“Sitting, i am, because stand you bitches, i cannot”

Padme gets many trinkets from the 501st because they all *know* about her and anakin

Any trinkets that she gets she likes to incorporate into her outfits (like the warrior fashionista that she is)

She embroiders some of them into her dresses and hairpieces

They both get a TON of trinkets when the twins are born

Padme also gives trinkets to the 501st, some of the 212th, and all of the coruscant guard. Especially fox cause she sees all the work he does and the senators he has to deal with

She’s besties with the coruscant guard. Like yeah, she knows the 501st and they know about her and anakin (and she’s one of them because of it) but the guard is who she’s always with

She probably wore red on debate day to represent them

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free-pool-trash · 4 years ago

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folklore - isaac lahey {2/?}

part two because i just couldn’t wait lmao! this chapter focuses a lot on the reader but there is some cute isaac moments in there too because i wanted there to be more to the story than just reader and isaac’s relationship <33 this part is kinda just setting stuff up tho so dw!

platonic derek x reader in this part :) and isaac ofc

please let me know what u think :)

word count: 4.4k

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, i think that’s it???? let me know if i misses anything <3

my taglist is still pretty wishy washy for this so i’m gonna tag the people who enjoyed part one, thanks for all the lovely feedback <3

Taglist: @makeusfreefromthisfandom, @cece-lives-here, @chocolate-raspberries, @belsandthings let me know if you’d like to be added or removed <3

PART 1

PART 3

Endless thoughts plagued your mind as you wandered through the crowded halls. It barely registered with you that Derek could be home and not bother to check in, although maybe it was for the best, you were pretty sure that he was still a wanted man- for a crime you were also sure he didn't commit. You knew Derek, despite the fact that you weren't related by blood you saw each other as family, you knew how he treated his family, it was what he treasured above all else and there was absolutely no way in hell that he had burned his whole family tree to ash.

He and his uncle Peter were the only Hale's left as far as you knew, however saying that Peter was "alive" seemed like a bit of a reach. The man who used to tell you stories and sneak you candy whenever he saw you was completely immobilized now, scarred to the point of being almost unrecognizable, he couldn't talk, he could barely move, he was even being fed through a tube.

Peter was a particularly close friend of your father's, he'd always made you refer to him as 'uncle Peter' and the man did the title justice treating you like one of his own. And while you called him Uncle Peter, he- and the rest of the Hale's- always called you something different; "The littlest of the pack" though you never understood why the family had such an obsession with being known as a pack, you were more than delighted to know that they considered you part of it.

When you were old enough you started volunteering at the hospital which held Peter and after six months of hard work, sweeping hallways and helping the overworked nurses they finally bumped you up to keeping patients company. Since you were still in school you were mostly at the hospital at night and on Sunday mornings, the same time as your favourite nurse, Melissa, who always assigned you to Peter when she was manning the same ward as you. To be honest it was rough seeing him in such a state, it was as though everyone you loved seemed to struggle- the thought alone always made you choke up, made you wish you had some kind of power to take it all away, to make everything better. But you didn't, so you simply read to him, told him about what was happening in the news, stories about what was happening at school as Peter was always one for a good scoop of gossip, you even confided in him about the sharp sting you felt in your chest whenever someone you cared about was in pain, himself included. The logical thing would've been to simply stop visiting him but if you did then he'd barely have any human interaction for the rest of his life and ignoring the fact that he couldn't show it, you knew deep down that he could hear you, felt that he appreciated your visits.

Without even realizing where your feet had been carrying you, too lost in thought to notice, you found yourself nearing Isaac's locker, the boy himself hunched by it, his face hidden by the blue metal door. It was easy to forget over the weekend and after hanging out alone how shy Isaac was, he was a completely different person around you, he was loud, granted he still wasn't as loud as you but he certainly knew how to find his voice, he stood straighter as opposed to how the tall boy stood in the school hallways. To you he stood out, in a perfectly beautiful way, you often chastised him for not giving himself enough credit, always asking if he'd ever even looked in a mirror. Even with your endless compliments that made him blush every time without fail, Isaac still chose to blend in, but you didn't blame him- you blamed his asshole of a father for making him believe he was anything less than wonderful.

It was no secret that Isaac was taller than the average teen in Beacon Hills standing at six foot one, which meant he gave incredible hugs but it also meant he tried his very best to fold into himself in larger crowds and he regularly walked with his head down as to not draw attention to himself, even standing at his locker he bowed his head.

Shaking off your thoughts you walked up to your best friends side, tugging his sleeve softly to alert him of your presence before wrapping your arms around him, enveloping him in a side hug and allowing your head to rest against his arm while he wriggled it out of your grasp to wrap around your waist more comfortably, not paying his burning cheeks and racing heart any mind as he shifted his gaze from organizing his books to the girl clinging to him with a pout on her face, "What's up, buttercup?"

Nuzzling your head further into his side you let out a dramatic sigh, "I heard from Scott that Derek is back in Beacon." Isaac felt his eyebrow raising at the mention of both names, Scott's because you seemed to be hearing a lot of things from him in the last couple of days and at Derek's because he was pretty sure you hadn't seen him in years.

"How would McCall know if Derek's in town? Isn't he pretty much your cousin?" Isaac asked, thumb moving soothingly against your hip as you melted into him, shoulders slumping sadly and your pout only becoming more prominent. His voice sounded slightly aggravated at the mention of Scott but you thought nothing of it, thankfully. Isaac didn't want this to turn into a conversation about his petty jealousy.

"Forget cousin he was more like my big brother. That's what's got me so twisted! Why would he come home and not even bother to check in?" You murmured grumpily against the fabric of the flannel Isaac was sporting instead of his usual cardigan, which reminded you that he couldn't have worn his usual cardigan because you'd forgotten to give it back to him the night before and sported it yourself. The comfy grey material hugging your shoulders as you hugged the boy that the item of clothing actually belonged to.

"When did McCall say he saw him?" Isaac inquired, sorting his books with one hand.

"Yesterday."

"Alright well that wasn't too long ago maybe he's planning on checking in today?" He suggested, finishing up at his locker and throwing his bag over his shoulder, dropping his hand from your hip and sliding it into yours, interlocking your fingers and giving you a comforting squeeze before he began leading you towards the school's double doors, the last class of the day having already ended.

Letting out another sigh you only nodded, swinging your interlocked hands between you as you walked towards the exit.

"I promised my dad I'd finish a plot at the cemetery so he'd let me come over tonight so I'm gonna be a little bit late." Isaac broke the silence, looking at you with an expression that was mixed with disappointment and exhaustion, "That's okay." You offered, squeezing his hand as he'd done yours earlier.

"Do you want a ride home?" You asked him, nodding your head toward your beat up, second hand car that the pair of you had already made several memories in since you got it almost a year ago for your sixteenth birthday.

The brown haired boy only shook his head, giving you a soft smile and nodding towards the bike racks, "Nah, I brought my bike today."

Nodding in understanding, you leaned up and pecked his cheek while you let go of his hand, "Alright. Since you're gonna be late I'll pick up the movie for tonight myself. You just meet me at my place whenever you're ready, Kay?"

"Yes, ma'am." Letting out a soft laugh he watched you walk to your car, already missing your warmth beside him.

The first thing you noticed upon pulling into your driveway was the slick black car that was parked beside your mother's blue one, in your usual spot. The car was new and you didn't recognize it, you quirked an eyebrow, putting your car in park behind your mother's, grabbed your school bag from the passenger seat and got out with a slam of the door.

As you entered the house you were met with the sound of voices floating from the kitchen, picking up on the hushed conversation as you made your way towards the three voices, "You need to tell her." One said, a man. "It's too soon." Another sounded, you recognized the voice to belong to your father. "No, he's right, if what he says is true she's going to get caught up in it either way. Especially now the Argent's are in town." That was your mother. Your eyebrows furrowed, you could only assume that the 'she' they were talking about was you but what you didn't understand was what exactly they were debating telling you and why it had anything to do with the Argent's, were they talking about the Allison girl who had just joined your class?

You pushed open the kitchen door, eyebrows knitted tightly together, your brain taking a second to catch up with who your eyes were seeing, "Derek."

The name left your lips in barely a whisper when your eyes landed on the dark haired man leaning against your kitchen counter with a small smile playing on his lips as he greeted you, "Hey, kid."

Without wasting anymore time you launched yourself forward, arms wrapping around Derek's middle as he let out a sigh, his own arms moving around you slowly to reciprocate your action with a tight squeeze.

"I missed you!" You exclaimed punching the older man in the shoulder once you detached from the hug, expression turning accusing after a moment prompting Derek to purse his lips and brace himself, he knew that look, he hadn't seen it in a while but he knew it. That was your "I've got a bone to pick with you" look, Derek had to fight off the smile that threatened to grow on his lips when he realized that this particular look hadn't changed since you were five years old.

"Do you want to tell me why Scott McCall got to see you before I did?" The man under fire let out a defeated sigh, "If it makes you feel any better I would've rathered it be you that I bumped into." He responded halfheartedly, letting out a huff you turned towards your parents who were sat at the dining table.

"What were you guys talking about before I came in?" You questioned, feeling nervous as the three adults suddenly went rigid, glancing between each other before Derek nodded his head in your father's direction, silently encouraging him to tell you what they'd been discussing earlier.

Letting out a heavy exhale through his nose your father motioned for you to sit down in the chairs across from him, Derek moving to sit beside your father in front of you as you did. "This is going to be hard to believe but I need you to keep an open mind while we explain, alright?" You only managed a nod of your head, nerves ever-growing as you waited for someone to elaborate on whatever they were about to tell you.

"You've heard of werewolves haven't you?"

"Sure." You responded confused, the question seemed out of place in what you assumed was to be a serious conversation.

"Well they're real." Your father responded. You couldn't stop the snort that left your mouth, breaking out into a fit of giggles before you noticed the three adults before you looking at you with absolutely no trace of amusement. "Wait you're serious?!" Your eyes almost bugged out of your head as Derek's eyes flashed blue and he bared his teeth in response to your exclamation.

"...So the howling Scott said he heard in the woods?" You trailed off, eyes wide as Derek nodded his head, "it was a werewolf."

"You?"

"No. An alpha."

Eyes never leaving Derek, you posed another question, "Is this why you're family called themselves a pack?"

The man nodded, not being able to get a word in edgewise while you continued to fire out question after question, "You guys always said I was the littlest of the pack does that mean-" Your mother cut you off with a light chuckle, "No babe, you're not a werewolf." A sigh of relief left you when you slumped back against the kitchen chair, a small twinge of disappointment flooding through you, that would've been cool.

"You may not be a wolf genetically but you're still a member of our pack." Derek assured you, sensing your disappointment. "Are they in the pack too?" You inquired, glancing quickly at your parents before returning your gaze to Derek.

"No. Just you." You couldn't lie and say the statement didn't make you feel special but still, it confused you, "Why not?"

It was your mother's turn to speak now, giving the werewolf a break from your constant curiosity.

"Back before the fire your dad and I had a certain role to play in Beacon Hills," she started, reaching for your hand before she continued, "from the minute you were born you bonded with almost everyone in the Hale house, we didn't understand it completely but we assumed it was because of how close me and your dad were to them. I guess they kind of saw you as their newest cub after Cora." Derek chuckled, chiming in with a quiet, "More like runt of the little." Giving him a glare you kicked his shin under the table while he laughed and you nodded for your mother to keep going.

"Anyway, as you already know me and your dad met in college- studying Mythology. We uncovered supernatural occurrence after supernatural occurrence and those supernatural occurrences eventually led us here, to the Hale's." She told you, looking to your father for him to continue, he cleared his throat before speaking, "We got caught up in it, built a huge repertoire of supernatural entities, including werewolves, I met Peter and we made a truce, ended up becoming best friends in the process."

Nodding your head slowly you spoke up again, "So you guys were like… their supernatural encyclopedia?"

"Pretty much." Derek answered.

"Okayyyy… but that still doesn't answer my question, why am I in the pack and not you guys?" You posed the question to your father who looked at your mother nervously.

"When you were four things got messy, really messy," Derek scoffed, rolling his eyes muttering "understatement of the century" under his breath as your father went on, "Your mother got captured by hunters, Chris Argent and his little gang of merry men." He tensed his jaw, saying the name through clenched teeth before composing himself, "So your uncle Peter made the executive decision to initiate you into the pack to make absolutely sure that nobody would get their hands on you."

"Why?" The three of them erupted into laughs at the look on your face, Derek opting to answer the question, "I don't know how you did it but you had him completely wrapped around your finger. Peter is the most selfish person I've ever met but he would've sooner died himself than let anyone touch a hair on your head. As part of a pack members protect each other at all costs. With you officially a member it meant that we were bonded to you, you were one of us." The mention of Peter made you smile, not that you'd admit it to Derek but you felt the newly exposed pack bond strongest with Peter, the dots only connecting in your head now years later. Derek picking up on your train of thought spoke up, "That's why you can't bring yourself to stop visiting him."

Your mother's voice cut in again, "Those four crescent scars on the back of your neck are from Peter, it's how he marked you as a member without actually turning you." She explained, your hand absentmindedly rubbed the nape of your neck, fingers tracing deftly over the scars that you often forgot about.

"I know it's a lot to digest but there's one more thing." Derek sighed, a slight feeling of guilt growing within him for having to dump this on you all at once. When you didn't say anything, only looked at him he continued, "The hunters who kidnapped your mother, well they're back."

Anxiety bubbled up in your stomach as you whipped your head to your mom, "Are they gonna try take her again?" Your voice was bordering on sounding manic, Derek's voice quelling your worried before you had a panic attack.

"No. I don't think so at least. It's me and the alpha they're after, and- I trust you not to tell anyone this- your friend Scott too." Your eyes widened yet again, Scott was a werewolf? That must have been why he was seeking Derek out earlier today, "That's why he was looking for you isn't it?" You voiced your thoughts, Derek rose an eyebrow in response, "Looking for me?" You nodded enthusiastically, "Yeah, today in school, he and Stilinski started asking me a bunch of questions about why you were here- I told them I'd help them find you." You clarified, trying not to laugh at the exhausted look that came over Derek's face when the name Stilinski fell from your lips.

"Tell him to meet me in the woods later. I need him to help find the alpha." Derek instructed, watching contently as you pulled your phone out of your pocket and began texting Scott, thankful you'd gotten his number.

You: I'm with Derek

You: He wanted me to tell you to meet him in the woods later

Scott: When is later?

"When is later?" You voiced, not looking up from your phone, "After dark." Derek answered and you laughed, "Alright, Bruce Wayne."

You: He says "after dark"

Scott: :/ cryptic much

You: Best I could do wolfie

Scott: He told you??????

You: Yep, I'll fill you in tomorrow there's a lot to unpack here…

Scott: Please don't tell anybody

You: Your secret is safe with me don't worry

With that you set your phone down in front of you, before something crossed your mind, "Wait you said Argent earlier right?" Derek nodded, your mother and father having moved from the table, preparing food in the kitchen.

"Allison Argent just started at my school, I'm pretty sure Scott has a crush on her actually." You informed, shrugging your shoulders lightly, picking up your phone when it buzzed and missing the way Derek rolls his eyes.

Isaac: I'll be over at 7 <3

You: Great what movie do you want me to get?

Isaac: Ladies choice ;)

You: Hope you like Legally Blonde xoxoxo

Isaac: Seriously again?

You: You said my choice no take backs, love you <3333333

The time was 5:45pm and the sky had turned from blue to black, you assumed Derek would be heading off to stress Scott out soon enough so you stood from the table and grabbed your jacket, "I'm gonna go rent a DVD for me and Isaac, you guys need anything?" You directed towards your parents who were messing around in the kitchen like teenagers causing you to roll your eyes but smile.

"Huh? No we're okay. When is lover boy coming?" Your father asked, wiggling his eyebrows at you, laughing at how you groaned, "Stop calling my best friend 'loverboy' one of these days you're gonna slip up and call him that to his face and he'll literally die of embarrassment on the spot!" You yelled, cheeks burning and expecting your mother to come to your defense only to have her laugh along with your father, "Yeah, don't talk about your future son in law like that."

"God, you two are the worst. Derek tell them to stop harassing my friendships." The dark haired man rose an eyebrow from his seat, a strict look on his face, "She's too young for a boyfriend."

"Thanks, Derek. That was absolutely not helpful at all, but thank you." You muttered, grabbing your car keys and heading out the door.

You loved your parents, adored them, they raised you incredibly- that didn't mean they didn't annoy the hell out of you sometimes, though. They had about fifty names that they liked to call Isaac instead of his actual name, the most popular being "loverboy", "heart eyes", or your mother's personal favorite "future son in law." You supposed it was good that they liked him enough to consider him a future son in law, however, it was pretty insensitive when they could clearly see that you were painfully in love with him and fighting with inner turmoil because of it.

After a five minute drive you pulled up to the video store, stepping out and noticing Lydia Martin in the car next to you, you made brief eye contact with the strawberry blonde and the pair of you exchanged friendly smiles before you entered the store. Lydia was nice but you noticed she wore a facade around school, more specifically around Jackson. You remembered quite vividly how she shot Isaac down rather brutally back in freshman year. He'd only asked her out to prove a point to you, you couldn't remember what now but you'd gotten in some form of argument and the resolution you'd come to was that he prove himself and ask someone out, that someone happened to be Lydia. He didn't really like her but the whole debacle did significantly bruise his ego.

Of course, wherever Lydia Martin is Jackson Whittemore was never far away. You almost laughed when the first thing you heard after walking into the store was the jock shouting about not being able to find "The Notebook".

"It's over there." You chimed in, alerting him of your presence and pointing straight ahead of him towards the movie he was searching for.

Nodding thankfully the blonde made his way toward the far shelf while you walked to the other side of the store.

Despite being across the room, Jackson's gasp sounded clearly making you nearly jump out of your skin. Placing a hand on your rapidly beating heart you just shook your head and let out a long breath. You were probably just hearing things, your mind concocting noises to psych you out after learning the new information about the supernatural, Jackson's gasp had absolutely nothing to do with the snarls you thought you were hearing from behind you.

You had yourself convinced you were just hearing things. That was until the snarls became mingled with hot, slobbery breaths that hit the nape of your neck, shocking you into spinning yourself around. You couldn't help the yelp of fear that left your lips when your eyes met beaming red orbs… the eyes- they weren't human.

What you were looking at you could only describe as a beast. A wolf. The ability you usually possessed to control your breathing left you as you heaved, continuing to stumble back as the creature took steps forward until your back hit a row of shelves painfully. DVDs crashing to the floor in your wake.

The creature was face to face with you now, snout coming in contact with your nose as it's demonic eyes bored into your soul. It snarled as you felt your heart rate increase, it was going so fast you were half scared it would detach from it's blood vessels. Everything about the creature scared you, from its eyes, to it's snarl, to its fangs baring in your face, but what frightened you the most was that you felt like you knew it. There was a familiarity with it and you could not for the life of you explain it but you could feel it.

The scream that left you when the beast finally lunged for you with snapping jaws shook the store as the wolf sunk its teeth into the soft tissue of where your shoulder connects to your neck. The pain you felt was as blinding as the eyes that stared at you, the beast raised it's hair covered paw in the air, fully intent of swiping the last remnants of life from your now limp form before it suddenly stopped, looking at you with so much uncertainty. Not getting a chance to analyze the new look on the things hairy face the creature resumed its position on all fours then crashed out of the store window.

"(L/n)?!" Jackson whisper shouted, from around the corner, only seeing your legs peeking out from behind a row of shelves as he made his way over to you, his movements jittery. You tried to call out but your voice failed you, you kicked your legs out weakly to let him know where you were, not knowing he was already rushing towards you.

"Christ… ok just stay awake I'm calling the police right now." The blond, who you'd never known to care for anything other than himself, spoke frantically- shaking as he pulled out his phone.

Your hearing faded in and out as Jackson shouted at law enforcement over the phone. Tilting your head to the side, very painfully, you began to panic once you noticed the gaping bite that had been taken out of your neck, you whimpered pathetically at the sight of your entire shoulder, neck and hair drenched in blood, your blood. Your panic seemed to rub off on Jackson as he noticed your breath becoming heavier and heavier by the second, tears falling down your face as you stared at your injury in fear.

It was just then that sirens wailed from outside, this eased Jackson's nerves, the boy, you had to hand it to him, didn't leave your side until you were safely in an ambulance- your nerves however were still fried, panic growing by the second as strangers fretted around you, yelling orders at each other and pushing painfully against your wounds. Calm didn't settle over you until one of the medics injected you with a needle, you didn't have a clue what was in it and you didn't have time to theorize as your world turned black.

#isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey imagine #teen wolf x reader #isaac lahey

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cinaja · 4 years ago

Text

The road to peace

Summary: The meeting at the end of acowar, told from Jurian's perspective. (It`s like, 50% just the Fae getting roasted, really)

Note: I am extremely annoyed with how the humans are being treated in acotar in general and this is basically just me venting (with a bit band of exiles and some stuff with Jurian, Miryam and Drakon thrown in because I love all of them). I think Feyre and Rhys are... not handling the situation well, so this fic won't cast either of them in a favourable light. I am not tagging either of them and anyone who is really into them probably won`t like this.

Disclaimer: The exchange in the end is taken directly from acowar, chapter 80.

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The meeting does not begin well. For some reason that goes right over Jurian`s head, the Night Court decides that they should hold the meeting in some destroyed manor over an hour away from the camp, yet they fail to take into account that not everyone can winnow. Meaning the humans have to walk. By the time they finally reach the manor, they are already late and Jurian had to talk Grayson out of turning around five times already.

“I put you on opposite ends of the room”, Feyre Archeron tells them.

She seems to consider it to be a favour, but it feels like an insult. Like they need to be separated from the other participants. Something tells Jurian that it`s not for their comfort, but because Feyre doesn`t want them close to her family and friends.

Jurian doesn`t bother with a reply. Neither does Grayson. They just exchange a quick glance and stride into the meeting room, heads held high. Jurian does not look at anyone in particular as he walks through the room and takes his seat. Only then does he allow himself to look around the room.

The room is crammed with people, but somehow, his eyes still go straight to her.

Miryam isn`t looking at him. Both her and Drakon appear deep in conversation with one of the High Lords – Tarquin. She looks so much like in his memories. Only her clothes are different. During the War, she always made sure to be dressed as elegantly as the Fae royals, even when she despised the dresses and jewellery – like she wanted to proof to them that she might be but a child by their standards, but she could still play their games. Now, she wears a simple tunic that makes her look like she either came straight from her camp without having time to change, or like she purposefully dressed to keep attention away from herself. If it`s the latter, it fails miserably.

Tarquin says something and Miryam smiles in return, tugging a strand of hair behind her ears. Her smile is still the same. It´s like a punch to the stomach.

Jurian doesn`t know how to feel, what to think. Just looking at her is enough to make the memories rise. Miryam smiling at him from across the meeting room. Leaning against him as they sit by the fire with his soldiers. Frowning as they study a map. But then, there are the less pleasant memories. Her crying, and the sinking feeling that it`s because of him. Shaking her head and backing away. I think I should leave.

The worst part is, Jurian can`t place the memories. He isn`t even sure if they are all real. And the only person who could tell him the truth will probably never speak to him again.

“I don`t know what impression you`re going for”, someone says from next to him, “but if you keep staring at your ex like that, it`ll be firmly in the “creepy” territory.”

Jurian forces himself to look away from Miryam and turn around to Queen Vassa who sits down on the chair to his right.

“Your Majesty”, he says and inclines his head.

“General”, she replies.

Before Jurian can tell her that he doesn`t think he holds this title anymore, Feyre Archeron steps forward to welcome them. Then, she tells her story. She talks of years in poverty, of the trials under Amarantha and how she found love in Prythian. Jurian honestly wonders what part of the story is supposed to reassure the humans. The one where she got kidnapped, tortured and killed by Fae? Or maybe how her Fae lover locked her up and how she only managed to find acceptance as a Fae. And how is her relationship drama even relevant to this meeting? Well, maybe she just wants to humiliate her former lover, who is stone-faced by the wall. Jurian smirks at the male, who growls softly in return. Jurian can`t say he pities him. After all, he knew his father during the War and he`ll only believe that the son is better when he sees proof.

By the time Feyre finishes her story, Jurian is barely listening anymore. He immediately jerks to attention, though, when Miryam and Drakon step forward. It seems like they`ll be the next speakers. Jurian isn`t sure what he hopes for. He supposes if they do tell the story, he`ll be the next to be publicly humiliated. But no matter how unflattering the story might be, at least it would give him something to sort his memories by.

As they begin to speak, though, Jurian quickly realize that, unlike Feyre, they don`t tell the stories of their lives. They gloss over anything personal, mention what went down with Jurian only in passing and instead tell a story about the seemingly impossible work of uniting their people. They talk of unforgivable crimes, amends that were made and the long road towards peace. Neither of them so much as looks at Jurian as they speak.

He supposes he should have known. In Prythian, it might be considered normal to let the personal bleed into the political, but rules are far stricter on the Continent. Even if Miryam and Drakon chose to settle matters between them, they would never do it during an official meeting. Besides, Miryam was never overly fond of telling the world her story.

When they sit down and Helion takes their place, Jurian makes himself listen to what the High Lord says. He doesn`t want to be like poor Grayson, who keeps staring at Elain Archeron with longing and fury written equally on his face whenever he thinks no one will notice. No, thank you. He very much plans to get through this meeting with his dignity intact.

Helion and a few others talk of the War and the friendships they made, too. Jurian considers getting up as well, but decides against it. He is still trying to sort through his memories, muddled by five hundred years of torment, and he isn`t entirely sure he could give an accurate account of anything. Or if he could manage to get through telling his story without breaking down.

Soon, the first humans step forward and begin to talk of the crimes the Fae committed against them. Entire villages slaughtered. The Treaty violated again and again. (Jurian could have told them of worse things – and he knows those accounts would pale against anything Miryam might tell – but this meeting is supposed to lead to peace, so he remains silent.) But then, the Fae begin to counter the human tales with ones of their own, about humans who treated them with mistrust. And somehow, these pointy-eared bastards manage to make it sound like their grievances are equal.

After a while, Jurian has had enough.

“Right”, he says, just loudly enough that every Fae in the room hears him, “Because humans trying to defend themselves against Fae is just as bad as Fae slaughtering entire human villages for fun.” He snorts. “If you want to get this to work, maybe you should start treating our lives as equal to your own.”

The humans nod along. Most of the Fae shoot him disapproving glances.

“I`m not surprised that you would say that”, one of the Fae hisses, “We all know your stance on Fae. The matter with Clythia -“

Jurian flinches at the name. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries hard not to think of her.

“Jurian merely stated that human and Fae lives should be treated equally”, Miryam cuts in, “Surely you don`t mean to contradict that.”

The Fae opens his mouth, then seems to consider who, exactly, he is speaking to. He squirms in his seat and quickly averts his eyes. Jurian grins. He tries to catch Miryam`s eye, but she refuses to look at him.

“Perhaps”, Rhysand says smoothly, “we ought to return to the true purpose of this meeting. The Wall is gone and it is up to us to find a way to shape this world.”

Jurian rolls his eyes. He wonders how Fae considering human lives and grievances to be unimportant is not relevant to the future of their world.

The discussion begins raging in earnest. Grayson outright refuses to trust the Fae on their word alone – the Treaty, he says, has been violated far too often, even with the Wall in place. Queen Vassa nods and adds that she is not about to leave her people at the mercy of any Fae who decide to make a meal out of them. It is a perfectly valid concern, yet somehow, half of the Fae manage to take offence at it.

It doesn`t take long for the first person to suggest another Wall.

“Might be hard”, Helion drawls, “Without being sure how the first one was created.”

Jurian can`t help it, his gaze flickers to Miryam. For the first time since the meeting started, she, too, is looking at him. Jurian smiles slightly and dips his chin. She nods back, then returns her attention to the discussion.

Drakon begins to explain why another Wall won`t solve their problems, just delay them. Patiently, he describes how they can only achieve lasting peace by having humans and Fae develop a way to life together and that dividing them will only make hate fester and, ultimately, lead to another war. The only way to overcome prejudice, he says, is by having people interact and teaching them about the other side.

Not everyone agrees with him. A few High Lords argue that a Wall would be the better alternative. They talk of security for the humans, but all Jurian hears is that they don`t want to bother with working for peace.

He promised himself not to, but Jurian still finds his gaze drifting over to Miryam, Drakon and their people. Drakon is frowning slightly and keeps flaring his wings in annoyance. Next to him, General Sinna, the commander of his Seraphim legion, keeps whispering with a human man who as far as Jurian knows is their armada`s commander. They both look torn between annoyance and amusement. Miryam`s face doesn`t betray anything, but she keeps scanning the room.

“I think we can all agree”, Feyre Archeron finally says, “that both sides have made mistakes. But it is time for all of us to move past them.”

For a few heartbeats, silence reins. Jurian finds himself staring at her open-mouthed. He can`t believe what he`s hearing and is about to say as much when Miryam beats him to it.

“Both sides have what?”, she asks softly.

Even after five hundred years, Jurian recognizes the look she gives Feyre. There is no mistaking the way her eyes seem to glow. In spite of the serious situation, Jurian grins. He once fell in love with Miryam for her kindness – but damnit, things get entertaining when she stops playing nice.

Feyre seems to realize that something is not going the way she planned. “I was just saying that both sides are to blame. No one is really innocent in this.”

“Then would you kindly explain to me”, Miryam says, and now, there`s nothing remotely friendly about her tone, “how I or any of the other fifty thousand slaves in the Black Land were to blame for what happened to us. Not to mention the hundreds of thousands of slaves in different territories, or the millions who came before us.” She sits up straighter in her seat. “Honestly, I`m curious. How did we deserve being beaten and tortured and killed? What was our crime? Beyond being born human, that is.”

Feyre suddenly finds her the sleeve of her dress in dire need of inspection. She begins fiddling around with it, looking increasingly uncomfortable. But of course, her mate jumps to her defence.

“You`re being unfair”, Rhys says.

Jurian nearly jumps from his seat, Drakon flares his wings so hard that he almost hits Tarquin in the face. It takes Jurian half a heartbeat to decide that Miryam won`t be happy at all if he punches that prick of a High Lord in the face. Across the room, Drakon seems to come to the same conclusion. He tugs his wings close to his body again and mutters an apology to Tarquin.

Rhys continues, “That`s not what Feyre meant and you know it.”

“Then perhaps she should choose her words more carefully”, Sinna hisses. She gives Rhys a look that usually sends her enemies on the battlefield running. Nephelle puts a hand on her arm.

Miryam looks around the room, nailing each person into place with her gaze. “I want peace, too”, she says, “I have only ever wanted peace. But just choosing to forget everything that happened is not the way to achieve that. The past still affects the present and pretending it doesn`t is stupidity. Especially for people who live as long as the Fae do.”

“Forgive me, Lady”, Kallias says. Jurian wonders if he`s purposefully using the wrong title, or if he genuinely does not know that it is common on the Continent for women to hold leading positions, and for married couples to rule together. Sometimes he forgets how annoying Prythian can be. “But did we not fight for your freedom in this very war?”

Jurian snorts softly. As if Hybern hadn`t invaded Prythian before it ever approached the human lands. They were fighting for themselves at least as much as for the humans.

“Yes, you did”, Miryam says, “And I know some of you fought in the War as well.” She pauses. “But tell me, High Lord, who do you think built the palaces you live in? That goes for all of you. Whose hands built your palaces and temples, whose blood paid for the gold in your troves?” She looks around the room. “Every single court in Prythian once owned slaves. Yet, no one ever so much as considered an official apology – not to mention paying reparations to the descendants of the people your ancestors exploited.” She shakes her head. “I`m not saying any of you are bad people. But if you truly believe that you deserve applause for not wanting to enslave us, then perhaps you should consider that you may be setting your bar a little low.”

“Thousands of years of history”, Thesan says says, “you cannot expect us to-“

“Who is talking about a thousand years?”, Grayson asks. Seems like he stopped staring at Elain Archeron long enough to focus on the conversation. “Ever since the Wall was built, Fae have been illegally crossing it and slaughtering humans. I`ve seen entire villages reduced to rubble. Yet not a single Fae lifted a finger to help us.”

“Nothing new, there”, Jurian supplies, “I have yet to see a Fae being punished for ending human lives. After the War, all these Loyalist commanders got away unscathed. Amarantha”, he nearly chokes on the name, “had every single one of her slaves killed, yet no one cared enough to see her punished.” He snorts. “Really shows how much you value our lives.”

At least the Fae now seem somewhat ashamed. Some of them are shifting around on their chairs, refusing to look at the humans. Feyre Archeron is still fiddling around with her dress. Unfortunately, she does not choose to remain silent.

“I, too, was once human”, she says, “I understand your struggles because they were mine as well. But hate and fear are not the way towards peace. We need to move past these things.”

Queen Vassa crosses her arms. “Didn`t you just tell us during your nice little story time that you started out hating Fae and only began to trust them after you saw proof they were better than you thought? And now you just expect us to do the same in one evening, without more than your word to go on?”

“That`s not what I`m saying at all”, Feyre snaps, “But humans, too, have their prejudices. As a human, I experienced first-hand the way the Fae treat us. But I have seen equal amounts of prejudice on the human side. I have seen the hate, the iron walls and ash arrows.”

Grayson lifts his chin and mutters something under his breath. His voice is too low for Jurian to make out words, but the tone makes it clear enough what he is saying. A reply is burning on Jurian`s tongue, but he swallows it. He knows how the Fae see him – his word would probably not help matters.

Again, it is Miryam who replies. “You`ll forgive me for saying this, High Lady”, she says, “but your experience with the Fae must have been pleasant indeed if you believe this to be a fitting comparison. You talk of prejudice. Well, I watched thousands of humans be slaughtered for no crime other than existing. I saw children get beaten to death just because they spilled a drop of water they were supposed to serve – and those were the lucky ones. When someone did something truly bad, you know, like stealing some rotten bread from the trash because none of us had eaten in five days, they drew out the punishment over hours. I…” She shakes her head and takes a deep breath. Drakon itches a bit closer, the movement barely noticeable. When Miryam continues, her voice is calmer. “I want peace as much as you do. Truly. I have spent most of my life working for it.” She turns back to Feyre. “But I won`t stand here and let you disregard thousands of years of human suffering.”

For a heartbeat, there is silence. Then, Rhysand lets out a soft growl. His power rumbles through the air. “Don`t you ever”, he says with cold command in his voice, “speak to my mate like this again.”

Drakon arches an eyebrow at him. Sinna leans in to Nephelle to whisper something into her ear, making the smaller female laugh softly. Jurian just leans back in his seat. This is about to get entertaining. Maybe he should have brought snacks.

“I spoke politely and I will continue to do so”, Miryam says, completely unfazed, “Since I am not one of your subjects, though, I would appreciate you not giving me orders.”

Rhysand`s power flares so hard that a few of the humans flinch back and one of the windows begins to rattle. Jurian rolls his eyes. If that is the Prythian version of politics, he can only hope for their sakes that they don`t ever go to the Continent. He can`t think of a single Continental ruler who would tolerate that behaviour.

“Are you having trouble controlling your power?”, Miryam asks softly, “In that case, taking a deep breath usually helps.”

Rhysand opens his mouth and closes it again. A few of the Fae are now trying to hide their laughter. Jurian grins. He hasn`t had such fun in… well, in a while.

“No”, Rhys finally growls and reins his power back in.

Silence follows. A few of the Fae exchange uncomfortable looks.

Finally, Mor laughs, perhaps a bit too brightly, and winks at Miryam and Drakon. “Well, seeing how difficult this meeting is, I`m twice as impressed that you got things working on Cretea.”

Drakon grins back. “If that`s any consolation to you, it took us quite a while.”

“And I can assure you”, Sinna mutters, “that we did not run around blaming the humans for being scared or try to make ourselves into the victims.”

A few people laugh. Most don`t.

“Having our people learn to live together”, Drakon says, much more seriously this time, “is the only way towards lasting peace. But every one here should be aware that this takes work and that the work will be mainly for the Fae to be done.” He inclines his head towards the human side of the room. “Humans are afraid, some angry, and rightly so. But that is not the problem we are facing, it`s the consequence.” He turns to the Fae. “Because the problem is that many Fae consider humans beneath them and have committed unspeakable crimes against them without punishment. This is what needs to be addressed and it`s why it`s up to us Fae to prove that we, as a people, have changed. Not through words, but action.”

“We now fought two wars for the humans”, Rhys says, “I`d say that`s plenty of action.”

Jurian considers banging his head against the wall. “Yes”, he says slowly, “Because your… brethren first enslaved us and then went to war to do it again – if this skirmish can even be called that.”

“And if you`re looking for actions you can take”, Vassa says, “then how about you start by stopping your people from entering our territory and killing us. Might be a good first step, you know.”

“Another Wall”, Thesan says, “would solve this problem.”

Drakon puts his head in his hands. “No”, he says, voice muffled through his fingers, “it would not.”

Jurian grins. He still isn`t entirely sure how he feels about Drakon (after all, he spent the most part of the last five centuries hating the male`s guts and is only now beginning to remember that there might have been a time when they were friends), but on this, they are in agreement.

“And how can you be so sure of that”, Beron drawls, “Suddenly became a seer?”

“No, but through the magical power of having studied these things, I can predict what consequences certain actions will likely have on society. In this case, though, I wouldn`t even need to have studied it, because it`s literally what happened last time.” Then, almost like he can`t help it, he adds, “Which I tried to warn you about back then already. So we can either try to get it right this time, or we`ll all meet here again in a few years.”

This, Jurian supposes, is where the argument might have ended. Had they been in a reasonable company, they now might have begun discussing how to actually solve these problems. Unfortunately, most Fae are not overly reasonable. So instead, another argument breaks out.

By the time Feyre Archeron finally declares the meeting to be over, Jurian has rolled his eyes so often he fears he may have pulled a muscle. She thanks them for their time and everyone gets up.

“That was fun, wasn`t it?”, Vassa asks, grinning broadly.

“Absolutely”, Jurian mutters. He stands up on his toes.

“She left already”, Vassa says, “By the way, constantly staring at your married ex-lover is kind of weird.”

Jurian glares at her. “It´s not like that. I just want to talk to her.”

“Do it, then. What`s the worst that could happen?”, Vassa asks. She frowns, then laughs. “Well, she could try to kill you again, I suppose.”

“She didn`t want to kill me”, Jurian mutters.

Vassa laughs and says, “Well, then you guys have a really strange way to discuss your break-up.”

Jurian feels his face beginning to burn. “It wasn`t about our relationship at all”, he says with all the dignity he can muster. Unless his old friends really changed in the past centuries, they would not react like this to a personal problem. But with him putting their people into danger… “It was about me sending Hybern after them.”

When he made the split-second decision to name revenge against Miryam and Drakon as his price to Hybern, he hadn`t considered what that might mean for them. The people who might have died if Hybern had managed to track them down and sent an army after them. Not to mention what might have happened if Miryam had been dead, as he first believed, and Hybern would have brought her back.

No, Jurian does not blame her and Drakon for being angry at all. And he still hasn`t figured out a way how to explain. He isn`t even sure he can put into words how he`s feeling about… well, everything.

“Well”, Vassa mutters, “I guess they can count themselves lucky. At least they didn`t get turned into birds.” Her tone is light, but there`s a bitterness underneath.

Jurian winces. “I never apologized”, he says, “for the role I played in that. They didn`t tell me what they had planned – I would have tried to stop them otherwise.”

Vassa waves him off. “You just did what you had to. I don`t blame you.” She winks. “I mean, I don`t think you are the traitorous piece of shit I first considered you to be.”

In spite of himself, Jurian laughs. “Well, thank you for the flattering compliment.”

“You`re welcome.” Vassa grins, then sobers up. “But there was something I wanted you to talk about. My general did not survive this battle. I have to find a suitable replacement before I have to… leave again.”

Jurian blinks. “And you`re asking me?”

It seems ridiculous. Why would anyone want him around, much less in a position of power? He isn`t even sure if he`s in any state to lead again.

“Who`d be better suited than the most legendary General in human history?”

“Oh, I…” Jurian hesitates. “Thank you.”

Vassa smiles again, but he doesn`t look happy at all. “You`ll look after my people, won`t you? When I`m gone.” She stares down at her fingers like she expects them to turn into claws again any moment.

“Is there no way to break your curse?”, Jurian asks.

She shrugs. “I had hoped Feyre Archeron might be able to help. That was before I found out that she got her title as Cursebreaker by solving a riddle, though.”

“I could ask Helion to look into it”, Jurian says, “He has over eight hundred years of experience. We knew each other during the War and as far as I know, he doesn`t hate my guts, so I might be able to get him to help you.”

“That would be great”, Vassa says.

“And you might want to talk to Miryam.”

“Why? Want me to put in a good word for me?”

Jurian groans. “First of all, don`t you dare. And no - she`s good with spells and doesn`t know the word impossible.”

“I might as well give it a try”, Vassa says. She sounds like she`s trying hard to not get her hopes up. “It`s not like I have many other options.”

Before Jurian gets the chance to reply, Lucien Vanserra appears next to them.

“Quite the meeting, wasn`t it?”, he says and nudges Vassa in the side. “I have to say, watching our dear Lord and Lady Night get their asses handed to them was quite enjoyable.”

Jurian nods his agreement. Looking around the room, he finds that they are now almost alone in the destroyed manor. Most of the others have left already.

“Do any of you know where Grayson and the others vanished to?”, he asks.

“Left already”, Lucien says.

“Oh, charming”, Jurian mutters. It seems like Grayson was so desperate to get away from Elain Archeron that he`d forgotten that they had arrived together. “I should probably go after them.”

He waves goodbye to Vassa and Lucien and makes for the door. However, he finds Feyre Archeron standing in the doorway, looking out into the dark. He is about to push past her when she says, “Where do you go now?”

Jurian pauses besides her and stares into the darkness, trying to make out Grayson and his men.

“Queen Vassa offered me a position in her court”, he says, not really willing to discuss this with Feyre.

“Are you going to accept?”

Jurian shrugs. He doesn`t know where else he would go – it`s not like he has any place he belongs anymore. And the offer was certainly an honour. But still-

“What sort of court can a cursed queen have?”, he asks, “She`s bound to that death-lord – she has to go back to his lake on the continent at some point.” And he knows what that would mean, what she`d expect. He just isn`t sure if he can lead the humans again after everything that happened. It should be someone else – Vassa herself, preferably. “Too bad the king was so spectacularly beheaded by your sister. I bet he could have found a way to break that curse of hers.”

“Too bad indeed”, Feyre mutters.

Jurian grunts in amusement.

“Do you think we stand a chance?”, Feyre asks, motioning in the dark to something Jurian`s human eyes can`t make out. “Of peace between all of us?”

Not with attitudes like the one you displayed at that meeting, Jurian thinks. But she looks so hopeful, so young, that he doesn`t say it. Besides, does he truly think that they don`t stand a chance?

He thinks back to the meeting. The humans who came in spite of the history and held their own against the Fae. Miryam, Drakon and their people who already achieved what they are now trying to do five hundred years ago. And if he`s being honest, there were several Fae who were willing to try, too. They might have argued, but at least they took the first step towards peace.

“Yes”, he answers softly, “I think we do.”

After all that suffering, they would certainly deserve it.

----

Another note: What I've written is canon compliant, but I've added certain things. Some of the implications I make about characters fit with the story I'm writing about the War (although everyone gets along significantly better back then, and Rhys is not that much of an ass yet)

Tags: @sjm-things @herpowerisdeath @clolikescloquetas @sunsummoner

#jurian having fun watching shit go down #the Fae are being bashed #rightfully so #miryam and drakon are done with everyone's shit #everyone in prythian is horrible at politics #miryam may not be overly fond of Jurian but she likes entitled Fae assholes even less #jurian #miryam #drakon #vassa #band of exiles #grayson

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holylulusworld · 5 years ago

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No one gets to see my weak side

Request: Would you please write for Bucky & reader, wherein he's in love with Natasha but is forced to marry reader, he's never home ignores her even when she tries hard. She even must work as a waitress for money, one-night Brock tries to rape her, Steve arrives just in time and saves her. They become good friends. It's on you if you want her to stay with Bucky or get married to Steve. It could be an au where they are not Avengers.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky x Mobster!Reader, Mobster!Steve x Mobster!Reader

Warnings: angst, feisty reader, language, smut, unprotected sex, polyamory, betrayal

Consolation Bride Masterlist

Three months later…

“Just like that, taking me so good, doll.” Steve bites your neck as his hands hold yours pinned to the bed. “I love fucking you in the morning after you wake up.”

Purring against your throat the tall mobster drive into you with full force, enjoying you cry out with every thrust.

“Fuck, Stevie.” Sweat is dripping down your back and you hear Steve pant heavily on top of you, but you don’t care at all.

Everyone passing your bedroom by will know you are fucking your husband’s best friend and you care even less as Steve brings you to the edge of an orgasm in no time.

“Let go, Baby. Come all over me and cry out my name…” Steve slams into you, stilling as he can feel your pussy contort around him. “I love the way you moan my name…”

Laughing you enjoy the way Steve kisses you after the rough sex. He was more than needy after not seeing you for over four weeks but now he’s gentle, caring and you lean into his touch.

“Steve, hmm…feels good. We need to talk about something.” Steve shifts his weight off you, gently pulling and you roll onto your back, grabbing the blanket to cover your sweaty body. “I think we have a problem.”

“Is it Bucky? Does he want us to stop rolling in the hay?” Smirking Steve watches you snuggle into his chest.

“I think Bucky finally accepted I want you too, Steve. I’m concerned about someone I thought I can trust but lately, I got the feeling, she’s playing me.” Sitting up you wrap your arms around your body, loving Steve gently kisses your shoulder.

“Who is playing you, Y/N? I don’t understand.”

“Do you remember the girls we saved? Especially Gamora and her sister?” Steve nods, now listening closely as you keep on talking.

“I thought I found a friend, Steve. After I lost Wanda…” Sniffling you wipe a few tears away. “Wanda was my only friend and losing her was hard. It felt as if I lost a sister. Gamora, she needed my help and over the last months we became friends.” Slamming your fist into the mattress you laugh about your stupidity.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Baby.” Steve’s hands slide over your back, gently caressing your skin to calm you.

“Bucky will hate me for sure, if not at least laugh about me…” Sighing you turn around to crawl onto Steve’s lap, resting your head against his shoulder. “I told her about Brock, how Bucky treated me, Steve…”

“I get it, Y/N.” Rubbing your back your lover listens to your silent sobs.

“I thought I can trust her, Stevie. She got abused and treated badly by men, I experienced Brock and James's rejection. I wanted someone to talk to and it felt good to tell someone else than you or Bucky.” Falling silent you look up at Steve.

“That’s no crime, Y/N. I assume there’s more?” Cocking a brow Steve waits for you to tell him what’s bugging you.

“The problem is Steve, I let Thor run a background check about the club, the girls and all. Every girl has a sob story. Abuse, kidnapping, some were victims of human trafficking…” Grabbing your phone from the nightstand you show Steve the files.

“Gamora has one too…no problem.” Steve swipes through the documents, not knowing why you believe your friend could be a traitor.

“Steve, look at her life. Every girl has months or even years in which they disappeared. Gamora is different. We have information for all her years in life, that’s fishy. Even I disappeared for a few months after my mom’s death.” Steve looks at your data once again, wrinkling his forehead.

“Shit, you think she’s a fed?”

“I think so, Steve. Lately, she started asking me questions about you, Bucky and Tony. Before she was just listening or telling me stuff about her life, what happened in that club, but I talked to the other girls. Gamora arrived a few weeks before we burned the club down.”

Blanket wrapped around your body you get off the bed to walk toward the showers. “I’ll have a shower and then we should talk to Thor and Bucky, maybe even call Tony. If the feds are after us, they need to know, and I’ll have to play Gamora.”

----

“That’s not funny.” Bucky paces around the room, blinking a few times to let your information sink in. “You told her about me and our marriage?”

“I needed a friend and…” Jumping up you point toward Bucky. “I missed Wanda, okay. We always talked about everything going on and now I have no one left.”

Balling his leather-gloved hands into fists Bucky rolls his shoulders. His eyes darken as he can see the hurting all over your face. “She betrayed you, Y/N. I’ll kill her.”

“NO!” Walking toward your husband you move your hands over his black leather jacket, feeling the rough fabric. “If we kill her, the feds will know we are behind her death, Bucky. We need to be smart.”

“Y/N is right. As much as I want to kill that bitch, we need to be careful. After the disaster with your arm and all…” Steve leans against your desk, sighing as Bucky looks at his friend, murder in his eyes.

“She hurt my wife and betrayed her. I don’t care…” Your lips silence Bucky and you fist his jacket to not let him protest.

“Bucky calm down. I’m angry too, disappointed, to say the least, but Gamora got nothing to use against us. I only told her about your infidelity and that someone attacked me one night. I lied and said he escaped.”

“Good. We need to make sure she believes that all is under control and we do not know she’s a fucking traitor.” Bucky’s hands cover yours, squeezing them tightly as you nod, blinking the tears away.

“We should feed her with false information. Maybe let her know some unimportant facts about our business. Nothing she can use against Steve, and us. We should inform Tony too. He’s mostly busy with his technique crap, still, his business ain’t that legal.” Bucky wraps his arms around you, rubbing your back as Steve did before.

“I’ll do anything to bring her down. She faked to be my friend, betrayed me after I was close to show her my weak side. I will not let her get away with that.” Bucky laughs into your neck, kissing it softly.

“Okay. We need to find something to make her believe you are a reliable source for information about our business. If she believes her source died she might strike. Steve and I need time to talk to Tony.”

“Do you want to do it in Chicago style?” Smirking Bucky nods.

“I’ll talk to Tony and make sure he will fake some nice information about our new favorite federal agent. After we are done with her she’ll need to find a new job. Maybe she can dance for us…” Laughing you walk back toward your desk, sitting onto your chair you dial Gamora’s number.

“Hey, Gam. How about we have a lady’s night tomorrow night? Steve and Bucky have better things to do so I’ll be free.” You lie while Steve dials Tony’s number to make sure the genius among the mobsters will be able to create a construct of lies to bring Gamora down…

----

“So…Tony faked transactions to her bank account. Faked pictures of her with Brock’s best buddies. We will bring her down in no time. Tomorrow you’ll give her the false information and her boss will not be amused if the mission fails.”

Smirking Bucky massages your shoulders, groaning as you moan when he presses his thumbs into your muscles.

“Did you ever dream of being someone else?” Closing your eyes, you feel Bucky’s lips travel along your shoulder, nipping at your skin as his hands raise your butt to press into you. “God, James…”

“I only dream of you and feeling you around me…” Sliding slowly in and out of you Bucky moans into your neck. “If you want to run away with me…”

“I think it’s too late…fuck…harder…for running away, Bucky.” Your hands fist the cushions as Bucky starts to slam into you. “Before we could’ve…”

“We still can just drop everything and run.” His hands cover yours, gripping them tightly as he angles his cock to hit your sweet spot. “That’s it, Baby. Come for me…”

“Bucky…” Your voice hoarse, desperate you cry out his name, hating you can’t stay away from James. “I want to bring her down and run my father’s business…”

“You sure…?” Nodding you fall onto the pillow just taking his hard thrusts to feel him fill you moments later.

“I am sure, Bucky. Not as someone forced me, not out of responsibility. I want to do it as this is the life I choose…”

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Consolation Bride Tags

@booktease21, @mc225g, @i-alyssa, @retrxbarnes, @cloudyskylines, @plums-and-peaches, @thisartemisnevermisses, @ohmygoditsanthonyedwardstark, @donteatmycookiesplease, @aruvdreeh, @scarlett-berserker, @secretsihideinside, @arwenstan, @titty-teetee, @lovelilies, @raindancer2004

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goliath-de-senfina-sango · 5 years ago

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Danny Phantom Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Danny Fenton & Wesley Weston Characters: Danny Fenton, Wesley Weston, Jazz Fenton, Maddie Fenton Additional Tags: Walker is mentioned repeatedly, Phantom Family AU, Revelations, being a lil shit is genetic apparently, Danny swears in stars and constellations and space stuff, Wes swears with cuss words Summary: Prompt from Tumblr: I wish you would write a fic about Danny being a little shit to Vlad by revealing him to Wes. Wes comes over and nearly gets Danny’s half life ended, which leads to further family revelations that leave Danny’s head spinning.

Danny Fenton was having a weird and not particularly pleasant week. His Dad had finally encountered the Box Ghost, who took one look at him and glitched out like a Bethesda character before apparently regaining his memories. Apparently, the Box Ghost was Jason Fenton, older brother of Jack Fenton. The Box Ghost was Danny’s Uncle. That was weird as fuck to discover, especially when he implied that Box Lunch would be a person he’d have to deal with soonish. He was going to have a cousin. His already living cousin, Wes, had decided later that week to ruin Danny’s life by asking him right in front of Jazz and Mom if he still had that giant green dog thing he’d crashed a game with. Danny dragged him up to the third floor of Fentonworks, shoved him into his room, and learned very quickly that Wes had figured out that he was Phantom the moment he focused on him. “Orion, man, you can’t just imply I’m a ghost in front of Mom or Dad!” “Why not?” Wes stared at him like he’d grown a second head - he hadn’t, he knew the sensation - and Danny took a moment to redirect the energy surging to his eyes over his skin and outward. It blanketed the room in a wave and left what Tucker had described as the feeling of touching an old tv and feeling static on your fingers all over the place. Wes rubbed his arm and raised a brow at him. “Wes, tell me what Jack Fenton is going to think if you tell him ‘hey that ghost kid you shoot at all the time is your kid’? Actually, no, how the fuck did you even figure it out?” “You look like you put on your suit and then someone turned on the color inversion filter on their camera. Blue skin, white hair, black and white suit.” Wes paused and poked Danny’s cheek, looking him in the eye. “Your eyes should be orange instead of green though if that were the whole case. How’d this happen? Last time I talked to you, you n Tucker were talking about building a motorcycle that could fly.” “The hoverbike has sorta been put on hold, I’ll admit,” Danny grumbled, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. He pulled his hands away from his face and Wes was still there, tall and stupid and overly observant. “If I tell you what happened, do you promise not to out me to my parents?” “I-should I treat this like you’re in the closet?” Wes snorted at the idea. “Closeted dead guy. Alright, I can get that. But uh, if you’re dead, why are you still…” he wiggled his hand and then gestured at Danny’s room. “In a house with ghost hunters?” “Well, to start with, I’m not actually dead. Not entirely, anyway.” Danny sat down on his bed and Wes followed, and after taking a moment to triple check that Vlad’s bugs weren’t in his room with another wave of energy, Danny told Wes the story of the Accident. It was a short story, but he was slow about it. He’d never really discussed it with anyone, Sam and Tucker just sort of knew better than to bring it up and Jazz probably thought he’d tell her himself in his own time. By the time he finished, Wes looked almost as uncomfortable with the situation as Danny felt. “You know, not to sound like a cheesy 90’s cartoon character but this is why you shouldn’t give in to peer pressure.” Danny snorted and laughed at that, and Wes grinned even when Danny elbowed him. “Ok, so I’m putting together that you did a bunch of dumb shit and found yourself decided to be a superhero. What the fuck was up with the dog, or the mayor getting kidnapped? Your eyes were fuckin red when you stole a bunch of shit that one time too.” “Ok in order of what all happened: Axiom labs euthanized their guard dogs and one of them came looking for his squeaky toy but forgot where it was and no matter how many times I shoved Cujo back into the portal-” “ Cujo ?” Wes snorted and ruffled Danny’s hair. “Have you been reading the stuff Sam gives you or did your emo phase just never really end? You have the emo bangs.” “I do not!” Danny huffed, running a hand through his curly hair that, well, Wes couldn’t really ruin a mess, could he? “You’re the one with actual bangs, sasquatch hunter.” “Acknowledging that Big Foot is real doesn’t mean I’m gonna go and shoot it.” Wes crossed his arms and rested them on Danny’s head. “By the way, any idea when that growth spurt is due?” “Bold words for someone with his shins within targeting range.” “I can and will put you in a headlock Astroboy.” “I can slam dunk you through a hoop like your precious balls.” Wes said nothing to this and simply leaned more onto Danny’s head. “If I snap my neck because of you I’m suing. Anyway no matter how often I yeeted Cujo back into the Ghost Zone-” “I beg of you to call it something cooler. Call it the afterlife even, just. Please.” “He just kept digging his way out. So, I looked at his tag, saw that he came from Axiom, and we ended up in there, while getting shot at by the Red Huntress-” “Valerie, right?” “H-” “She appeared as the Huntress literally the same time the dog shit was happening, and I am getting increasingly worried that no one has noticed that she sounds the same in her Red Huntress suit as she does in the Nasty Burger mascot suit.” Wes dropped his arms to Danny’s shoulder, but still rested his chin in his hair, humming loudly. Danny slid into that spot between and snorted when Wes fell onto the bed. “I can’t tell you how pissed she was that I outed her to her dad about being the Huntress so that she wouldn’t get herself killed fighting Pariah Dark. Pretty sure if you tell her or anyone else about that, she’ll shoot you.” “I mean, it’d probably get her swarmed by so much hostility she stops shooting at you, so that’d be a plus. I’d just come back and bug you anyway.” “You’re a jerk, but I guess you’re alright.” Danny flopped back. “The mayor thing was a ghost, this douche bag prison warden named Walker in the GZ who decided that since I broke out of his prison I owe him over a thousand years and he’d make my home a prison instead.” Wes stared at him, clasped his hands flat against each other, and took a deep breath. “There are so many things wrong in that sentence. Why were you in ghost prison?” “I did ghost crimes.” Wes looked and sounded like he was in some deal of pain, and Danny couldn’t help but grin. “Dad’s anniversary present for Mom fell through the portal while I was cleaning up by shooting things into their proper place,” he covered Wes’ mouth as he opened it, “and so I flew in after it, but it was a ‘real world item’ as though the Ghost Zone is fake somehow, and that was ‘Against The Rules’ according to Walker.” Danny rolled his eyes. “I got the present out and back to Dad but I had to like, get to him at your mom’s place.” “Did you fly all the way from Minnesota to Arkansas for a present?” “Arcturus, no, not with my powers.” Danny laughed, laying back on his bed. “That’d take me like, 8 hours at top speed. No, I used the Speeder.” “Have you modified it to get into space?” “Not yet.” “Do you have permission to mod it for space travel?” “Do I have permission to be dead?” “Touche.” “Anyway, Walker is stronger than me, even when possessing a human, so when all eyes and cameras were on me he possessed the mayor and dragged me back inside to make it look like I was dragging him in. Whole invasion was his idea.” “Danny?” “And then with the robberies when my eyes were red, did you know about Circus Gothica? Cause me and some other ghosts were under the control of the ring master of the circus, Freakshow, who had this freakin crystal ball thing that could control ghosts attached to his staff. It shattered after a very long fall, thank Astrea.” “That’s really fucked up. You’ve had a fucked up life.” “Yeah.” Danny shrugged. “I guess I have.” “Know what’s more fucked up about this?” Wes had a too big grin on his face and Danny narrowed his eyes. “Do you remember my mom’s last name?” “Wal..ker… no. ” The two of them were thundering down the stairs in seconds, Danny half shouting in the livingroom. “ Mom was your dad, by chance, a law enforcement officer, or jail warden or something?” Mom looked up at him from the staff she was tinkering with on the table - note to self, sterilize the table before dinner - and blinked at him a couple of times before smiling and nodding. “Why yes, he did. Warden James Lamont Walker ran the Spittoon prison when he was alive. He was a good man, if a bit strict. To my and Alicia’s fury and grief he was murdered during a prison break.” Mom stared off in the distance, the air around her curling with a dark cold that Danny was sure only he could see. Then she softened up a bit and smiled softly at them. “Why?” “No reason, auntie, I was just curious about something and Danny thought we should ask you.” Wes played with the hem of his shirt while maintaining eye contact and Danny wondered if he had a tell for awkwardness like that. Then he realized he was rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you have any pictures of him?” “Oh, yes! They’re in the shed! My boxes are actually labelled.” “Uh oh, careful, Dad might hear of organization and come to tear it up,” Danny said with a laugh, half dragging Wes out the back door. When they were out of his mom’s considerable ear shot, Danny said softly, but with feeling, “Fuck.” “Got locked up by grandpa, huh? That’s like, the worst way to get grounded ever .” Wes snickered and watched Danny run-walk up to the shed, hand glowing so softly you could only see it by staring directly at it as he turned the knob. “There are odds, slim ones, that this is a whole different Walker. It might even be his first name.” “Who the hell names their kid Walker?” “Walter, Wayne and Wesley Weston.” “Alright then.” For a few minutes the two of them searched through the mess known as the Fenton Family Shed for a box with a label neither had thought to ask for. Eventually, they found one labeled Scrapbooks and carefully eased it out of the mess of it all. “Y’knonw, Danny,” Wes said as they opened the box and started flipping through scrapbooks with just enough care not to damage them. “I’m feelin kinda good about investigating a ghost with you. Is this how it is with you n your boyfriend and best friend?” Danny almost tore a page out, turning to stare at Wes. He must’ve felt the temperature drop for a second because he looked up with a raised brow. “What?” “Boyfriend?” “Tucker. Tucker Foley.” Danny’s jaw dropped and Wes’ confusion morphed into a shit eating grin. “You know, Tucker spends most of his time with you Foley? The one you build shit with all the time? The nerd that you get sick in sync with? I’ve seen you lose a pencil and then he puts one behind your ear while you look for the one you lost. You made him a custom gaming computer disguised as a console.” Danny’s face burned red as a tomato at this point and he shoved Wes. “Shut up I’m not dating Tucker!” “I have to ask Jazz about this now, you’re killing me.” Wes snorted and flipped a page. He blinked down at the scrapbook and pointed at a picture. “James Walker. This look anything like him?” Danny took the book and looked at the picture. Looked at the several pictures of the man with his daughters, wearing a black pinstriped suit in a handful of them. And he let out a long, loud groan. “I hate this week, I hate it so much.” Wes started cackling and Danny scowled. “That reminds me.” He kicked Wes in the shins and grinned. “Much better. Also, Wes, I gotta tell you. I’m not one of a kind, as far as my living status goes.” “Oh what, there’s another Schrodinger’s little shit flying around out there?” Wes rubbed his ankle and hissed. “Well, you didn’t hear it from me, but that fruitloop we call a mayor may have been elected because he possessed literally everyone that was voting.” Wes went silent and stared at him, and Danny nodded. “Think you can pester him instead of me? He wants to kill Dad and thinks that he can get Mom if he does that.” “Danny. My Dad works for Masters.” “This puts you in the perfect position to mess with him, I say. Just act like you’re there to see your dad.” “You oblivious asshole. I fuckin love you, cous.” “Same here, skyscraper.”

#Danny Phantom #Danny Fenton #Wes Weston #Jazz Fenton #Maddie Fenton #Walker #james walker #Box Ghost #fanfiction #fanphiction #phanfiction #phanphiction #phanfic #fanfic #fanphic #phanphic #prompt fill #Rexy Writes #Phantom Family AU

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vee-angel · 5 years ago

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First Day of School (Part of the Sodom Virus Chronicles)

Synopsis and content warning: This series is set in a world where The Sodom Virus has infected everyone in the world. While it’s asymptomatic in males, females eventually get sick and die unless they’re regularly able to ingest sperm (for reasons not fully understood, the genetic virus seems to bond with male DNA, but only in it’s incomplete form). It can be swallowed, but is most efficiently absorbed through the membranes of the anus and (to a lesser extent) the vagina. If you want the full Introduction to the Sodom Virus universe, you can click the #sodomvirus tag at the bottom to find the post I wrote a while ago where I gave the details.

This first story details a girl named Ricki who has spent her life up until now in a religious sanctuary where she was protected from the depravity of the outside world. Now she’s going to have to go to school in the real world to catch up on her education.

Fair warning, stories set in this world will be sort of a grab-bag of extreme and taboo fetishes. Female inferiority is the central theme, but filth, violence, and abuse of all kinds will be scattered throughout the stories pretty casually.

Also, this will be my first ever illustrated story! Which is a trend I hope to continue.

* * * * *

First Subject: Female Humiliation and Degradation

“What do you mean, I’m “Property of the high-school??”

Ricki’s life had been in a rapid free-fall for the last three days. She had spent her life in a religious sanctuary where she’d been insulated from the misogynistic objectification the rest of the country participated in. She grew up hearing stories about how females were treated in the outside world. Rape, torture, humiliation, degradation. They were treated like objects with no regard for their humanity and expected to smile and thank their abusers.

As a child, Ricki had assumed that such tales were exaggerations meant to reinforce the safety of the sanctuary, but now that she’d seen a bit of the world, she wasn’t so sure.

“There’s another cunt who lives here at the school who I’ve assigned as your mentor to help you catch up on your education. You’ll meet her in your first class.”

The man across the desk from her seemed annoyed at her presence so Ricki decided against pushing further for fear of accidentally inciting some kind of punishment. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” She replied before gathering her things and using the school-map she was given to navigate to her first classroom. As she walked, she wondered about what questions she should ask the “cunt” who was assigned to help her assimilate to this strange new world. Ricki wasn’t exactly sure what the word “cunt” meant, but she’d heard it a lot since the government raided her home a few days before, it seemed like it was a word these people used to refer to women and girls, but that was about all she could glean.

Ricki worried about her mother, the men from the government said that she had been declared a feminist and was being sent to a repository along with all the other adult women from the sanctuary. The men had been arrested and were charged with crimes as well, but she got the distinct sense that the penalty for the women was much harsher. They had told her that due to her age and circumstances, they were going to give her a chance to escape the same fate as her mother, but that she had better learn to abandon her feminist ideology “really fucking quick.”

She never thought of herself as a feminist. She grew up believing that her purpose was to be a good daughter, wife, and mother. To smile, and be pretty, and kind, and always pleasing to others. Ricki wasn’t sure how that could make her a feminist.

Well, she didn’t think it was right to be cruel to women, but that was because she didn’t think it was right to be cruel in general. Could that be it? Just because she thought women should be treated like people?

She wanted to be good, so she hoped that the other girl assigned to help her would be a good mentor. Maybe she would end up being like a big sister to her! She could only hope.

Finally, she reached the room indicated as her first class on the map. The lettering on the door read “Female Humiliation and Degradation.” Was that the name of the class?? Nerves made her pause briefly before entering, but she figured that good girls should be eager to do as they’re told, so she went in.

The first thing she noticed is that the room seemed very…. open. The far wall was almost entirely glass, overlooking a rather pleasant looking courtyard that Ricki guessed was used for leisure time between classes. There was an alternating pattern between tall, solid glass panels, and large windows that seemed able to slide up about four feet from ground level. Otherwise, the classroom seemed relatively ordinary, A few rows of neatly organized desks, and girls mulling about and chatting with one another as they wait for class to begin. The fashion sense of many of the girls was quite striking in its variety and daring. She noticed a girl she thought was wearing skin-colored leggings before realizing that she’d actually come to school completely bottomless! Ricki blushed as she wondered how common it was for girls to go around so…. on display, and turned her attention back to the lovely view through the glass wall. She briefly wondered why the windows opened from the floor, but her thoughts were interrupted by a smiling girl waving from the back of the classroom.

“Hey, you’re the new girl, right?” she called from across the room.

She turned to look at the source of the call. Whoa. The girl smiling and waving to her from the back of the room was breathtaking. So much that Ricki’s breath was literally taken. She just stared for a moment before remembering to breathe. She walked toward her and found her even more beautiful from up close.

She was tall, with long waves of cascading black hair framing exotic middle-eastern features. Sapphire eyes emphasized by dark eyeliner upon lightly tanned skin the color of beach sand. She wore a form-fitting off-the-shoulder crop top that barely covered what appeared to be very large and very perky breasts. Her bottom half was covered with what appeared to be tight blue-jeans that had a strange sort of lacing across the front.

“Hi!” Ricki greeted her new friend and extended her hand for a handshake.

The raven-haired beauty stared down at her hand, seemingly confused for a moment before understanding dawned on her. “Oh!” she said as she grabbed Ricki’s wrist and pressed her hand against her left breast, “You don’t need to wait for permission, you stupid cunt, you can just grab my tits whenever you want! That goes for all girls, by the way. Unless a man tells you not to.”

“Oh! Umm, thank you.” Ricki replied. She wasn’t really into girls sexually, but she didn’t want to make things harder for herself by being rude, so she made an effort to give the firm, perky orb a nice squeeze before removing her hand. “They’re very nice!”

“They’re fake, I used to have pathetic, ugly little C-cups like you, so I had to get pumped full of silicone so I could have a cute, little pair of bolt-on bimbotits.”

The way she spoke was jarring, both because of the insults she casually hurled at Ricki, and because of the dehumanizing way she spoke of herself.

“I’m Ricki, by the way.” she introduced herself, resisting the urge to extend her hand again.

“What a stupid name for a cunt.” she said giggling slightly, “I’m Sharaje” she said before leaning forward and pressing her pillowy scarlet lips against Ricki’s.

She tried not to seem unnerved by the emotional whiplash of Sharaje insulting her name and then kissing her on the mouth. In a weird way, the mean things she was saying didn’t seem hostile. She’d been smiling the whole time, it was more like she just casually disrespects all women out of habit.

This put Ricki in a predicament, would it be seen as “feminist” if she failed to disrespect Sharaje in return, or was she obligated to submit to her as a superior? When in doubt, she defaulted to being nice. “That’s a very pretty name.”

“Thanks, it means butthole. That’s my best feature.” Sharaje turned around to reveal that the jeans she was wearing were actually a very fashionable garment Ricki would later learn were called “Spreaders.” The middle section of the back was cut out, with the remaining fabric held up with what seemed to be some kind of adhesive attaching them to her butt cheeks. The laces she’d noticed on the front now made sense, as they allowed Sharaje to tighten the front of the garment in order to spread her ass apart, ensuring that her anus was perpetually on display. And while Ricki hadn’t made it a habit of admiring other girl’s assholes, she had to admit, Sharaje’s was remarkably pretty. Flawlessly clean-looking, lightly-tanned skin led to a tiny muscular pucker.

“It looks like a virgin’s huh? Can you believe I get buttfucked like ten times a day?”

She couldn’t believe it. Ten times a day?? She’d heard that women in the outside world were treated like sex objects, but surely Sharaje was exaggerating.

“So… umm, they said you were assigned to be my mentor or something? They didn’t really explain much.”

Sharaje turned to face her again, “Yeah, they told me you were in some kind of fucked-up chastity cult and-” She stopped mid-sentence to deliver a sharp slap across Ricki’s face. “Hey! Stare at my tits when I’m talking to you!”

Ricki was stunned, but obeyed, turning her eyes to stare intently at the perky nipples straining against the tight, plum colored fabric as she continued.

“So anyway, they thought I’d be good at de-programming all the stuff your ugly, feminist cunt-mom and her cult friends taught you because I’m captain of the bullying squad here.”

“Bullying squad? What’s-”

Ricki was interrupted by a twenty-something statuesque blonde woman who entered and stood at the front of the class. “Okay, sluts,” she announced with a serious expression, “Class is starting, so get your sexy teenage asses in your seats.” The girls scattered around the room casually made their way to desks. Sharaje indicated at a seat directly in front of her where Ricki was to sit.

The teacher’s face turned to a look of shameful resignation as she introduced herself, “I’m Miss Fartface, please feel welcome to fart in my face because I love the smell and taste of dirty teen girl assholes.” Her voice was mechanical, as though forced to read from a script. The students laughed at her.

Ricki felt Sharaje’s breath on her ear as she whispered, “She’s actually straight, and a major germaphobe. Her owner makes her act like she’s obsessed with face-fucking our shitters to humiliate her.”

The teacher went on, now speaking more naturally, “I understand we have a new student joining us today.” she said looking at Ricki; or more accurately, at her tits, “Would the new cunt please come to the front of the class and introduce herself?”

Ricki’s heart was beating in her throat, but she made her way to the front of the room on shaky legs. All the other girls appeared to be staring at her body judgmentally; she’d never felt more on display.

“M- my name is R-Ricki,” she began unsteadily. She could already see a lot of the other girls in class openly showing disgust at her name. “My stupid feminist mom cunt gave me that name… umm, I grew up in a… a fucked-up chastity cult… and that was bad? But now I’m going to try to learn how to not be a dumb feminist, and to be a good girl, like all of you?”

She looked out at the rows of desks hoping to see a glimmer or approval, she was trying to hard to assimilate to their world, but it seemed so unfamiliar to her.

A sudden voice from the back of the room broke the silence, “Hey, show us your pussy!” It was Sharaje. She wasn’t sure what she should do. Was it just an obscene jeer that she could ignore? Several seconds of silence passed. Ricki looked around to see expectant faces. She tried to go on as though nothing had happened. “I look forward to making a lot of new friend-”

“Ricki, you’ve been given a command.” The teacher stated flatly. She couldn’t believe this was real. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have been so bad. It was a room full of girls, after all. But Ricki was getting the distinct impression that the other girls were waiting to mock and criticize her most private areas. What was worse was that it appeared that one of the other classes had let out recently, and the courtyard just past the floor-to-ceiling windows was filling up with students of both genders who could easily see into the classroom.

“Are you fucking retarded? If I have to ask again, I’m going to strip you naked myself and have every girl in class fist you. At the same time.” Sharaje had a certain authority to her words that made her believe the threat wasn’t hollow.

Ricki lifted the hem of her dress high enough that she could pin it to her chest with her chin, then hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and pulled them to the floor to reveal a rather unkempt patch of fur between her legs.

She heard a few of the girls pointedly making noises of disgust at the sight of her ungroomed bush, but before anyone could articulate an insult, an Asian girl cosplaying some slutty anime character spoke up.

“Hey, what’s that weird diaper thing she was wearing under her dress?” For a brief moment, Ricki’s humiliation was replaced with confusion. Diaper thing?

“They’re called panties,” the teacher began, “They’re not very common anymore, but before the Virus, almost all women wore them under their clothes. Nowadays, they’re mostly worn when men dress up girls in historically accurate costumes.”

“Wait,” a different girl chimed in, “Wouldn’t cunts need to take them off every time they got fucked?”

“Oh!” Yet another girl began, “Girls used to get, like, pussy-diseases back then, huh? I bet those pantie-thingies used to be, like, a code so that everyone would know that a girl was just for face-fucking, right?”

“That’s a good guess, Ditzy, but no.” Miss Fartface explained. “Actually, before the Virus, the average girl went weeks or months without being fucked. By some reports, certain women actually went years.” A few of the students looked shocked or saddened.

Ricki wanted to cover her naked crotch during this exchange, but dared not cover herself without permission.

“But didn’t they get sick and die if they didn’t get fucked everyday???” Ditsy asked.

“She’s talking about before the Virus, stupid!” A nerdy looking girl in a too-small school-girl outfit said condescendingly to Ditsy. “I read that girl’s used to live as long as men, but hardly any of them got to have sex more than a few times a week.”

“Oh my god! Did men used to be, like, super mean in the old days?!?” Ditzy exclaimed.

“That’s enough, cunts.” The teacher said, quieting the chatter. “Actually, men have always been kind enough to fuck us, and at many points in history, they tried to create societies to put women in our proper place where we could be happy as servants and fucktoys; However, these men endured abuse and harassment at the hands of feminists who believed that cunts deserved to be equal to men.”

Sharaje raised her hand.

“Yes, Sharaje?”

“How did they think cunts could be equal? I mean, everything I do is to please men. The way I talk, the way I eat, the way I dress. I abuse other cunts because it gets me attention from men. So if feminists somehow didn’t care about pleasing men, than why do anything? Did they just want to lay in the dirt until they die? What’s the purpose of a cunt even existing if she doesn’t please anyone? It’s not like girls can get pleasure without men.”

The blonde teacher just shrugged, “I’m sorry, but I really don’t know. It’s true that the health and happiness of cunts is conditional upon their ability to serve and please the superior sex; and that’s been explained to feminists many times throughout history, but somehow they were too stupid to even understand that simple fact. It’s why the Sodom Virus was such a godsend. Who knows how long it would have taken society to progress to where we are today without it. And while we’re on the topic of pleasing men, why don’t we all go around the room and mention one way that our new student here could improve her fuckhole?”

With that, the classes attention was back on Ricki, or more accurately, their attention was on her exposed genitals. The teacher went down each row.

“It’s way too hairy. Some men like that, but she needs to at least trim it properly.”

“Her pussy-lips are too big, she needs to get those trimmed, too.”

“Also, do you see how dark they are?! Look really close, her whole pussy is a darker color than the rest of her. It’s so fucking disgusting!”

“It should be puffier. Puffy pussies like mine are super cute. Hers isn’t cute at all.

“She needs to spread her legs more; She doesn’t even know how to show her fuckhole correctly!”

“Well her thighs are so short and fat, even if she did spread, you can barely even see her pussy through all the flab.”

“I don’t think we talked about her cuntlips enough. They’re wrinkly, too. It’s super gross, it looks like she stuffed roast beef in her twat and some of it’s coming out.”

“It looks like it smells bad, too.”

“Oh my god, you’re, like, so totally right! I don’t want to get close enough, but it looks like it’d smell like dead fish!”

“It wouldn’t even be sexy to make a girl eat her out. A man would only make me lick her pussy if he was punishing me!”

The onslaught of humiliating insults wasn’t even half over, and Ricki was already openly bawling. The girls seemed indifferent to her tears as they continued hurling deeply personal jabs about her most intimate area while she was forced to display herself. She could barely see through the tears, but she could still tell that there was a small cluster of boys and girls looking through the window and giggling to one another as they observed the degrading ritual.

Thankfully, it was nearly over. Sharaje was the last one to comment on her parts.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t even call that thing between her legs a pussy. There’s no way it could ever please anyone. If I were her, I’d just get the whole thing cut off and sew up the hole. Better to be a two-hole whore than to make men look at something that fucking ugly.”

Somehow, Sharaje’s comment hurt the worst. Being taught that her primary reason for existing in this world was to get fucked, and then being told that the hole created solely for that purpose was worthless devastated her. It made her feel like a failure as a woman.

Ricki made her way back to the empty seat in front of Sharaje and wept quietly as the teacher spent the next few minutes explaining the intricacies of female humiliation and degradation. Focusing mainly on their necessity to inoculate against the threat of feminism. She used the verbal hazing Ricki had just endured as an example multiple times throughout the lecture.

Eventually the teacher segued into explaining their assignment for the upcoming week. “You are each going to be given two cards, one of them is going to have a fetish that will degrade, dehumanize, and/or objectify you. The other card will have your enjoyment level of the fetish; categorized as reluctant, eager, or desperate. Each of you is to sincerely live and embody your assigned fetish with your assigned enjoyment level for the next week. And for those of you who choose “reluctant,” you still need to make every available attempt to fulfill your new fetish, even though it humiliates or disgusts you!” she finished with a smile. Miss Fartface seemed to have plenty of experience being forced to live out a fetish she hated, so perhaps the smile was due to a certain sense of sadism at getting to have her students do the same.

“Sharaje, you went last when we were shaming Ricki for her ugly cunt-hole, why don’t you go first this time and show the other girls how to properly announce their new fetishes to the class.”

“Sure! But since you’re not going to be using your tongue to lecture, you really should be using it to clean all of our assholes, don’t you think? I mean, that is your favorite thing in the world, isn’t it??

The teacher’s smile faded and she stared daggers at the middle-eastern beauty. “Yes, of course.” She said in a reluctant monotone, “I’d love to shove my tongue in each and every one of your dirty teen assholes.”

“And?” Sharaje pushed with a sadistic grin.

The older woman sighed, “And thank you again for making me follow you to the bathroom last week so that you could use my tongue as toilet paper, Sharaje. I can never thank you enough for allowing me to use my ugly old tongue to lick the shit from your perfect, young asshole. I beg you to please let me do it again as soon as possible, and as often as possible.” Miss Fartface was almost sneering in disgust at the memory, but at the same time, there was no way she could refuse to humiliate herself while teaching a class on female humiliation. Sharaje delighted at the torment as she skipped to the front of the class where the blonde woman grimaced as she forced her tongue inside the pristine teen anus.

Sharaje flipped over the cards assigned to her and her face lit up. “Yes! I got the best one!” She looked out at the other girls in class with a toothy smile and even waved to some of the students out past the window to come closer to hear.

“So I know I’ve never mentioned this before, but it’s actually probably my biggest kink. I’ve always had this fantasy of getting fucked by dogs while a lot of people watch. And I mean, like, a LOT of people. The way I picture it, everybody has their camera phones out and they’re getting good shots of dog-cock in my pussy and ass. Maybe videos of me sucking a dog’s dick straight out of my butthole. Definitely get my face in the picture, and post it online with my name and ID number. I want everyone to know forever that I’m a dog-fucker. It should be the first picture that comes up anytime someone searches for me online. I seriously want it to follow me around for the rest of my life. I’m super glad I got an “eager” card for this, because there’s no way I could be reluctant, it’s just… Oh my god, it’s just the hottest fucking thing to think about, I almost came as soon as I turned the card over.”

She finished by roughly yanking the teacher’s face from between her butt-cheeks and returning to her seat. The next girl took her place at the front of the class and explained her fetish while being rimmed by the teacher. Ricki wasn’t exactly sure if all the girls were acting like they loved the fetishes they were supposed to love and hated the ones they were supposed to hate, or if the teacher was just nice enough to make things easy on them. Either way, she learned a variety of things about the strange, horrible, and disgusting acts that some people seem to fetishize.

Finally it was her turn. She timidly made her way up to the front of the class. She gasped slightly when the teacher lifted the hem of her dress, pulled down her panties to began tongue-fucking her ass. Even though she’d seen it happen to about two dozen girls before her, she still wasn’t totally prepared for it.

She turned over her cards one at a time. “Reluctant” was written on the first. Good, she thought, at least she wouldn’t need to pretend to like whatever horrible thing she had to say she was into. She turned the other card over and her heart sank. Tears once again began to well up in her eyes.

Without looking up, she began, “Hi… so my fetish, which I love, is having my pussy destroyed, and made even uglier than it already is. I want… I…” She broke down and heaved heavy tears for several seconds before she could continue. The teacher being forced to tongue-rape her up the ass didn’t relent. “I want my vagina so totally destroyed that it can never bring me pleasure. So that I can be denied orgasms for the rest of my life, and so that my pussy gets so ugly that no one would ever think of fucking it ever again.”

She tried to control her weeping while she rushed back to her desk. The teacher said that this concluded first period and that they could socialize while waiting for their next class. Sharaje wasted no time and was already being sodomized by a boy who’d been waiting outside. Another girl was on her knees letting a man piss in her mouth through the strangely low windows. Ricki seemed to have figured out the purpose for their unusual placement now.

Everything going on around her was so obscene, it was like the men in this world regarded them as little more than masturbation toys. Was she really never going to get to go back to her old life? Was she really going to have to ask people to destroy her vagina so that she could never have another orgasm? Everything was already so horrible and it was only just the end of first period!

#sodomvirus sodomviruschronicles #sodomvirus

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drowningcomicart · 6 years ago

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time to wrestle with the pigs i guess, because this has got to end right the fuck now

content warnings for this post include pedophilia mentions, abuse mentions, suicide/suicide baiting, and csa mentions, and to everyone not involved hi, this has been my life for almost a year, it’s a lot of bullshit so tread with caution i guess. (and no i’m not putting it under a read more because this is important.)

with that out of the way, i want to make it very explicitly clear that i’m not writing this post as an apology, nor am i going to ‘justify’ myself because there’s nothing to fucking justify. but i’m addressing it because we’ve officially hit november, and that means that for nine fucking months, i have heard every disingenuous opinion on this mess there is to hear, whether i wanted it or not. and i am tired, and i am done, but y’all wanna keep beating this horse, so here i am.

for those who are unaware, in february of this year someone in the fantroll circle--or at least the one i’m part of--was being unjustly harassed by some dumbass teenagers with a chip on their shoulders and nothing better to do. and because no one else was saying or doing anything, i made a post calling out the stupidity of bothering someone over an art style and if they were blown, they should just block and move on. i never mentioned the harasser’s usernames, not even in the tags. but i guess the ringleader’s guilty conscience took over, because they came crytyping at me in a dm to take the post down and how it wasn’t faaaaiiirrr. and when i gave no sympathy, saying i had not mentioned them by name and if they felt guilty, maybe they shouldn’t be a vicious asshole to people, magically they weren’t sad and anxious about how people would treat them (ha) anymore; they got mad. mad enough that they started a smear campaign against me under the guise of Protecting The Community and horribly twisting one of my characters into something he’s not so they could call me a pedophile.

he is a csa survivor. he has bad coping mechanisms for that trauma, and yes, it is dark. it is uhealthy and sad and tragic and awful. but it is still part of his story, and i am not going to shy away from telling it. and since that entire blog always had nsfw tagged, and unless tumblr was fucking around should not have been accessible to anyone under 18 in the first place, the abusive little shits who made it their personal goal to drive me out of the community, off of tumblr, and apparently hopefully into killing myself, should not have been able to see that content at all. unless they chose to, and again as mentioned above, it was definitely a choice. a choice born of spite and violence, because it was ONLY to have “dirt” on me when i called them on their shit behavior. because, i cannot stress this enough, it was never ever about pedophilia. it was about a power struggle. a made up stupid power struggle they felt the need to ‘win’ at any and all costs, including making a wildly serious accusation with no substance, altering screenshots to serve their purpose, and taking everything out of context to suit their narrative. and this is how it is for literally every single anti-based argument out there.

now we all know how i feel about the purity crusade happening on this dumpsterfire of a website, but in case you don’t THERE IS NO CASE WHATSOEVER IN WHICH DARKFIC IS THE SAME THING AS REAL LIFE CRIMES. if you disagree with that, please block me. please. literally right now. block me. block me and go away and i only pray you learn to separate fiction from reality and don’t turn into what these demons are. because i don’t care how much you disagree with someone, i don’t care how much you don’t like them, i do not care about any of it. your presence in those spaces is your choice. because despite what antis will have you believe, people writing and drawing this stuff always--and i will say always knowing you’re smart enough to not give me The One Exception as your airtight strawman to render every other argument invalid--tag it, keep it in adult-only spaces, and are responsible enough to know what ‘i understand and wish to continue’ buttons mean.

and so, knowing that fiction does not equal reality, and that the spaces these fictions are written in are inherently designed to make it so only people who say yes i wanna see it can access it, or hell even knowing basic fucking human decency, there is NO reason to suicide bait someone. ever. period. do not tell people to die you actual fucking monsters. people HAVE killed themselves. and if you’re okay with that, if you are really seriously willing to say someone deserved to die over fiction, block me. i don’t want to see anything from you until you find your humanity again. and yet here i am, again 9 months after the fact, and people are STILL messaging me about it. even my would be supporters, the ones who claim they’re only concerned for my reputation or whatever, are being disingenuous and victim blaming. all i have heard is “you should prove your innocence cos you’re making people uncomfortable otherwise”. it belies their stance on these things; that they secretly agree it’s ok to harass content creators so long as they can pretend to themselves it’s justified in some small way. that if someone doesn’t want to give their abusers--and internet harassment IS abuse do not @ me on this one--a platform, it’s the same as admitting they’re correct, no matter how absurd the lie. Yet they do nothing to show support for people being harassed because they’re too concerned with living in their comfortable bubble to make even the smallest effort to oust abusive jackasses from their own community, and then go on to bellyache that the fandom “isn’t what it used to be” and wonder “where everyone went”.

with any luck, they’re like me and they “went” to doctors and got medicated for the depression and anxiety this sort of shit exacerbates, and blocked all involved for their own sanity and because they don’t owe anyone shit. but more likely, from what i’ve seen? they’re dead. and if that makes you sick, if that makes you uncomfortable, it fucking should. people are fucking dead because of fictional characters, from a source that in and of itself deals with very upsetting and adult themes using child protagonists. regardless if they’re survivors of abuse themselves, or just like to explore anxieties and fears in the very VERY safe environment of fiction, where there are no real life consequences, it doesn’t matter. there’s no such thing as people who are “allowed” to write these subjects and people who are not. no one needs to put their life and vulnerabilities on the table for complete strangers to judge and deem worthy or unworthy of basic decency. to say otherwise is despicably transparent in their motives to exploit already vulnerable people for their personal entertainment or self gratification, and yet people fall for it every goddamned time.

i’m not going to make an argument that i’m not a pedophile because i shouldn’t have to. y’all should be able to use your fucking brains well enough to know that someone drawing fictional scenarios is not the same as a real adult abusing real children with very real world consequences. if it is personally upsetting to you, or makes you feel uncomfortable, or even triggers ptsd please for the love of god leave the blog. why would you put yourself through that? why would you, if you are so against it, actively seek it out and harass people who make it? i would never call people outright liars about what does and does not trigger them. but it seems to me the only people who would behave in this way are either not as bothered as they have convinced themselves and everyone else they are, or they have some seriously bad coping mechanisms for their own trauma that are in no way the fault of the authors and artists at the receiving end of their vitriol. but as someone who was horribly abused, emotionally and psychologically, for the majority of my life, i know an abusive power trip when i see one.

if y’all have been supporting these people without thinking about it, i don’t want your apologies and shame, and likely no one else you’ve let get trampled with no help does either. but you have to do better. WE have to do better. even something as small as blocking people you know to be abusive jerks in the community can make a world of difference because they can’t have power if you don’t let them have a platform.

and as for the people in the community who started this mess, cos i know you still look up my posts in the tags--i’m not afraid of you. i’m not fucking going anywhere. i am here to enjoy my characters, enjoy my writing, enjoy making art and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. you are not going to silence me because you got mad that i called you out for being an abusive asshole. and anyone who listens to your bullshit deserves better than to be manipulated and frightened of you. fucking grow up and get some help, because lying about wanting to protect people by causing active harm to others is more morally bankrupt than any darkfic could ever be.

#purity wank #anti culture #abuse #internet harassment #fantroll #last tag only because it's the relevant community #do not respond or @ me with disingenuous arguments on this either #if you don't think people shouldn't be told to kill themselves #go get your life sorted and fucking block me #cos i don't want to talk to you #and if you do it anyways i will block YOU #because i do not owe your stupid ass my time or energy #rant #personal

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prettywordsyouleft · 6 years ago

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Becoming Human - Chapter 23

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22

_________________________

After the dinner party success, Daniel soon joined Leo more often around the company. At first, it seemed to frustrate Doctor Jung, not wanting the robots to get too close with one another. But even he was able to see the difference in Daniel through their connection. Without any added software, Leo’s influence was enough to help Daniel produce his own thought. In the office, if something didn’t sit well with the robot, he wouldn’t immediately push it away now, even going as far as to speak back to one of the staff members who had treated him like a sentient being with no feelings. It surprised everyone around him, and I think even Daniel was shocked too. From that moment, Daniel suddenly had more of a presence in the office and no longer was seen as the invisible character unless they needed something.

It made me proud to know that Leo had spurred this behaviour on.

And when Younha all but jumped me the very next morning, dragging me into her office, I knew there had to be further changes that had blown her mind. Glancing around the room as if there were spies about, she then huddled closer to me, her eyes wide. “Can we talk privately?”

“I don’t think it could get any more private than this, unni.”

She smiled weakly and then grabbed my hands in hers. “Promise me you won’t hate me and have any disrespect for me if I tell you this. I’m still your boss but you cannot get awkward with me, okay? I just have no one else to tell this to.”

“Okay?” I agreed slowly, frowning a little at her precursor. She nodded rapidly and then took in a deep breath.

“He’s changed.”

“I know, I’ve been seeing him in the office and how he spoke with Minjae-”

“No, I mean, oh god how do I announce this? Last night, he initiated it. He never has! And he was so different.”

Oh, so that was what she meant. I wondered why I wasn’t entirely embarrassed to hear of my boss and her Kboy being intimate, but from how close we had gotten in the past few days, it seemed natural and instead I offered for her to continue. Younha’s face relaxed momentarily, although she soon became quite animated.

“It was like he was out of control! Instead of following the usual dialogue and me starting it, Daniel was babbling on about feeling something new inside of him at how he stood up for himself more than once this week, and how Leo had congratulated him for having his own thoughts and believing in them. And then he said how much he had been thinking about me, and suddenly we were…”

We both shared a knowing expression and I nodded. “Was it that overwhelming?”

“I guess because you’ve never been around a Kboy, you don’t know how repetitive everything can be. I get why Sohyun has so many face-ups on hers just so it doesn’t grow stale. And sure they install patches with added features, but we as the owner are always in control. We dictate how fast, how slow, how long-”

“Okay, I understand!” I cut in and she apologised meekly. “This is great news though, right? I mean, you were complaining he was one dimensional. Now he’s got a little more to him.”

“We’re not letting Leo be erased. Let’s present this change to the team. Honestly, if he can influence one Kboy to consider more than what he’s programmed to do, think of how advanced Leo must really be! And we know he won’t do anything to harm the well-being of our bots, so I think it would be a crime to let Leo’s abilities disappear like this. We need to get our hands on another robot to add to our collection.”

Precisely then we watched Sohyun walk past the office, sharing a smile before dragging the girl into the office and shutting the door firmly.

We didn’t have many days left until Leo’s scheduled demise. Gunhee had been keeping us in the loop of the plans, and with Sohyun’s introduction to the team, we now were three robots strong in proof that what Leo was capable of doing could be done so without the loss of what he had learned. And even though the timing was brief, Doyoung responded well to both Leo and Daniel’s interaction.

Okay so maybe they had gotten a little too excited discussing what pizza toppings they would have if they could ever eat, still, it made them more human-like.

And that was what the science team wanted for Kboys.

As Leo and I laid in bed the night before the meeting with Doctor Jung, I felt a small bout of despair. Would it all work? We had all planned everything so well that I really knew we could present our case to the science department well. But Doctor Jung still called the shots. I didn’t own Leo and he did. Knowing this made me uneasy and sleep evaded me, even with Leo’s fingers running through my hair.

“Stop worrying,” he soothed and I sighed. Kissing my forehead, he shifted closer. “We’ll fight him.”

“He’s not a bad person, Leo.”

“He’s not my favourite person either,” he retorted and I turned to see him smile. “You know I don’t think I’ve been this happy before.”

“Well it’s been pretty hectic with all the stuff you’ve been doing, you must feel pretty fulfilled.”

Leo nodded. “Today Daniel told me he looked up the meaning of best friend in depth and has decided I am his. It made me feel really special. To have a best friend. To be a hyung to both him and Doyoung, to have a role in their existence too. It must have been so lonely for them, especially Doyoung. Imagine sitting at home waiting for your owner to come back and play with you for a few hours and then leave again. I couldn’t do it. I have too many desires, too many goals that I want to achieve.”

“Like?” I asked, nestling into his side so he couldn’t see the tears welling in my eyes. He knew they were there though, and I tried to distract myself by kissing his bare chest lightly.

“Seeing the change in Kboys. Helping them understand they don’t have to live so confined. That they have the ability to evolve into someone, not something. To assist the world of humans. To tell humans when they’re wrong, when they’re unfair. To celebrate their successes. And to see many years at your side, developing with the customisation team a way to mature my appearance as you age. AI has so much potential to complete a person’s world, don’t you think?”

“You’ve completed mine,” I managed to say through my tears, reaching up to cup his cheek in my hand. “Leo, I love you.”

“I love you so much; it’s amazing my brain hasn’t fried.”

“Don’t joke about things like that,” I said with a laugh all the same and nestled back into him.

Maybe tomorrow would go better than I hoped. Especially if he spoke just like he had to me. Doctor Jung would have to see Leo now is better than the data they’ve collected. They didn’t need a new start, just the right person to lead them into success.

In some twist of fate, convincing Doctor Jung was easier than I had expected. I had antagonised for so long over his reaction, and he had given in so easily. Perhaps he had wanted to test us all one more time. I started to wonder if his adamant behaviour about me not telling Leo was because he knew he’d find out, and actually challenged us to prove another side to Leo that he had gotten the inkling of during the experiment.

Leo’s placement at Kboys became permanent in the science department. Over the next two months, the strategic plans were constructed, and further tests with other Kboys were implemented. The science team grew, not with humans but with fellow Kboys, even the “broken” Jung Jinyoung was now an asset to the team with his sensitivity and deeper understanding of the heart. And although some might have feared an uprising of Kboys against the humans, they were soon seen to be beings that could relate well and understand the dynamics in power. Leo never pushed any harder than he had to and listened well when required. A new age of robotics was right around the corner.

And as much as it pained me to watch him leave, seeing his excitement of having his first sense of identification to fly on a plane was worth it. Leo was off to New York for his first convention. From New York, he went to London, Dubai, Tokyo and then finally back into my arms in Seoul. It was hard having such a popular boyfriend. He was doing so well though, learning new things about robots that he could bring to Kboys, but also offering the world amazing insight into what it was like to be essentially superhuman. He helped many Kboys that soon started attending his lectures, ringing to let me know when they told him they had jobs or meet-ups with fellow Kboys. It could have had a negative impact on society, but there was a wide acceptance that their feelings had equal placing in our world.

Everything was just too perfect.

And that’s why I wasn’t prepared for the worst.

_________________________

Next chapter

A/N: Are we all ready for the final angst ride in the rollercoaster of Becoming Human? We all thought Doctor Jung would be the worst thing we faced, right? Sighhh. Just a gentle reminder that this fiction will be concluding next week on chapter 26! I’m not ready to say goodbye yet, so thank goodness we have 3 more chapters to go!

Want to be added to the notified list? Leave a comment or reblog letting me know that you wish to get tagged in the upcoming chapters! Thanks everyone for the continued support!

@cramelot @chanyeolol @annoyingtiger888 @reddragon2 @this-song-thats-only-for-you@tanithrea @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t@babybee05@strwalight@chakkyeonie@chellolaa@tkwoonnie @squeallyeel22

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yaidenpart-blog · 6 years ago

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Writing Dark Themes

Some stigma circulates around writers who tackle dark subjects regularly. Those writers tend to be treated a bit, well, like they're gonna pull out the fangs anytime and suck your blood. Today I'll talk about this stigma, approaching dark subjects in fiction in general, and my thoughts on Writing Dark Themes (And Why You Shouldn't Be Ashamed to Do so).

In preparation for this post, I read a dozen analyses, studies, and an absurd amount of psychology articles so I wouldn't show up empty handed and stupid. Though to be honest, the only thing that deep dive resulted in for me is dry eyes and a giant headache. Therefore, while I may build some arguments on top of the things I've researched, I'll use my own experiences to wing a big part of it.

So let's get started.

1. What Draws Us to Dark Subjects

What draws us towards dark themes? To reach a satisfying conclusion I first have to determine what exactly is included in 'dark themes' in this case. I'll mainly talk about the content matter of fiction, not equated to but also not divorced from the literary term 'theme’ describing the underlying meaning of a work. Basically, I'll fudge both together because to me they have always been inseparable in writing.

Since violence and disturbing motifs (such as abuse, gore, disturbing sexual content etc.) traditionally play a prominent role in the horror and thriller genres I'll center my attention on those. Though I'll also take care to explore dark themes in a broad sense applicable to other genres as well.

Various factors play a part in making the dark appealing to us, one being the human desire to peek behind the curtain and rob our fears of their power. By facing them in a safe, controlled environment we can stare right into their yellow eyes and desensitize ourselves. And through that, perhaps, gain the confidence to face these fears in reality as well.

Another one is catharsis. Some folks enjoy disturbing media as a healthy, secure outlet for their forestations. It lets their lizard brains bare their teeth without actually biting anyone, like a puppy play fighting.The public hanging of old, we as a western society used to love so, is now replaced with violent TV and fiction. Just. You know. With the difference of fiction not actually hurting anyone. And hanging making people dead. Yep.

Some people watch horror movies for the adrenaline rush, and write fiction which lets their readers experience the same, as a meta-analysis of the studies about mediated fight (1) confirmed,“Evidence also emerged that sensation seeking is associated with a greater enjoyment of fright and violence, which was consistent with other research [...]”

And of course, there's nothing wrong with any of that. But for me, personally, it has always been for the sake of exploration, of seeking to connect with humanity, to bridge the good things we are and the outright gruesome into a cohesive whole. While still keeping a layer of distance between reality to keep it safe.

So a fear of becoming homeless turns into monster stalking you and blocking the entry of your workplace every morning. Kind of a cheesy example, but you get the gist.

Writing provides us with a channel to explore those fears, to cut them down into pieces and hold against the light.

To understand them.

But that's just me.

Now we've cleared up why we're drawn to it, the question remains: Why should you integrate dark themes into your writing?

2. Benefits to Your Writing

Not to tap into a cliche, but, light doesn't exist without dark. You can't define the one without the glaring contrast of the other as a counterpart.

When you try to write a story that is completely pure, you'll end up with a flat mimicry of reality. Not to say you can't write a positive feel-good story, but it's like with GCI buildings in movies. Without a bit of scratch, they're not convincing. They don't feel real.

Imagine you add a hint of darkness to your story. May that be in the characterization, a breath held too long as your MC has to calm themselves down, a glance too harsh to be gentle from an old person across the street, moments of awkwardness when someone accidentally breaks a topic all present silently agreed to never talk about. Or in basic world building, monotone news voices droning on about crimes, tagged houses, and playgrounds where no child sets a foot on anymore.

Details like these may seem inconsequential, but they can roughen a story up just enough to make it into something raw.

To bring it to life.

Human experience doesn't only consist of roses and love triangles. A writer who keeps that in mind and works it in their stories in a respectful, emphatic way, possess a certain edge. In my opinion.

The key to writing dark themes, especially when you want them to be the focus of your story, is to approach them like peeling onions. Shhh, hear me out, I'll explain.

Let's tell a story about hmm … a vampire. This is just an example, okay?

So we got a superficial plot of a teenager waking up with bloodlust gnawing at his gumps. Fairly simple. This is the surface layer.

To go deeper we have to peel off another one, we need to look at how he deals with the conflict we created (the vampirism).This is the reaction layer. At first, he freaks out and then resigns himself to starving because he'd rather scratch up his own arms than hurt someone else. His quick acceptance tells us he's both a nice kid and used to being screwed over by life.

When we go to the next layer, we realize why he's used to it. This one I like to call the core, it's what ties the dark theme together with characterization.

The relationship with his parents is strained, they demand nothing but outstanding performances outside inside and out of school while simultaneously neglecting him emotionally and physically. He has to deal with them sucking the life out of him on top of his newly acquired vampirism doing the same. Of course, depending on how you're inclined, you could spin this thread into a dramatic end scene of him cracking under the pressure and sucking their blood out in return, or he spares them after he learned he has a right to companionship and food and munches on squirrels or something. Whichever scenario you prefer.

So you see, the emotional core we've unveiled is is him feeling undeserving of basic human needs. And it affects how he deals with both the vampirism and abuse, one being a simple metaphor for the other.

Every theme has several layers, and once at the core, it's time to rebuild your story and make every element match accordingly. If you want. What matters is you can dig to a real, raw humanity through your dark subject and that's to me, the truly impactful aspect of dark fiction.

But unfortunately, not everyone gets it. You probably made the experience of relatives and friends judging your writing at some point, maybe even when you were just writing 'normal’ stuff. Golly, you think, when they're like this now, how badly would they react once you put all that saucy vampirism in? The thought doesn't bear contemplating.

Why exactly though, are dark themes such a taboo for some people that they get 'concerned' about your mental wellbeing when you preoccupy yourself with them?

3. Why Others Judge but You (still) Shouldn't be Ashamed

People, in general, love simple concepts. Like father, like son. You are what you wear.

The media you consume defines you.

Pushing people into tiny neat boxes is tempting because it's so damned easy. It doesn't require much thought, and as we all know, thinking hurts. So it's no surprise most writers of dark content, especially horror writers, face a certain... judgment. When you consume dark content you're branded as a bit weird, when you create it you might as well be the devil.

That's a bit of an exaggeration, but you get my drift.

Though what to do when someone cocks an eyebrow at your work, besides walking away or telling them to screw off? Well- that's what you got me for. I dived deep into research so you can refute anything people will throw at you with solid facts (should for whatever reason basic common sense not be enough) and maybe quieten some of your own worries.

Most studies and articles I found were more about violent video games (since that seems to be a Hotly Debated Topic™), but I figure it serves a similar service as violent books and movies.

Already 2011 studies which supported the outcome of aggression being a causation of violent media have been rejected by the US Supreme Court in the Brown v EMA (2), stating, “These studies have been rejected by every court to consider them, and with good reason: They do not prove that violent video games cause minors to act aggressively (which would at least be a beginning). Instead, “[n]early all of the research is based on correlation, not evidence of causation, and most of the studies suffer from significant, admitted flaws in methodology.”

And studies 2016 and more recently have only further affirmed that decision, finding no relation between violent video games and increasing aggression (3) and not supporting any prior studies.

These prior studies had been, well, manipulated is such an ugly word. Let’s go with: primed to fit the desired outcome.

Some actually legit studies analyzed media history from 2005 to 2012 and showed an obvious decline of general social violence in connection to the introduction of more violent media︀ (4), implying violent media serves as a sort of catharsis for the modern western world, stating,”We find no evidence of an increase in crime associated with video games and perhaps a decrease.”

Puh, now we got these dry as desert facts out of the way -

Honesty, writing about dark or disturbing things is not a thing to be ashamed of, watching violent media doesn't turn you violent (assuming you're a person capable of differentiating between fiction and reality) and writing about it certainly doesn't mean you're sick.

We as humans aren’t perfect and pure, so common sense dictates the things we create are neither. Writing about the whole scope of human experiences can only benefit you.

So go on and fly my little bird, further your horizons and write some dark fiction.

That's all I have for you today, I'd love to hear your thoughts and maybe get a discussion going!

See ya in two weeks,

Yaiden Part.

Sources:

2.McCarthy R, Coley S, Wagner M, et al. Does playing video games with violent content temporarily increase aggressive inclinations? A pre-registered experimental study. J Exp Soc Psychol.

3.Brown v EMA, 564 US 08-1448 (2011).

4.Cunningham S, Engelstatter B, Ward M. Violent video games and violent crime. Southern Economic Journal

#writing #writing advice #writing tip #writing tips #dark fiction #theme #horror #thriller #writers on tumblr

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sage-nebula · 7 years ago

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Hey, I don't remember the details, but I had a dream about Lysandre coming back after the Flare crisis for a short arc (it felt like it was still Pokéani) and he came to Alan to blame him for a lot of things or something like that. That bastard! Oh and I've watched all the XYZ episodes you listed! It was pretty cool. I loved the Alan/Lizardon moments, the ones with Sycamore (I admit I would've loved to see more!) and with Ash too~ In any case you made me love Alan and seeing him live was great!

Oooh, I’m happy to hear that you both watched those episodes, and that you enjoyed them!! You got through them pretty quickly, haha. ^^

Yeah, I definitely would have liked more moments with Alan and Sycamore as well, especially a hug (which we were denied and I’m just—I’m so salty about it), or Sycamore actually confronting Lysandre about everything Lysandre had done to Alan (which I felt like was set-up in TSME 4, but I mean, I guess not). But there were a lot of nice moments, though, such as Sycamore watching Alan during the League, and expressing both concern over and pride for him, or Alan being the one to call out to Sycamore when he and Ash were running for the Megalith, and Sycamore was captured. ♥ Ash called out to everyone else, but when it was Sycamore who was captured, Alan was the one who stopped and called back. I thought that was a very nice touch. ♥

Speaking of, though, YES, I’m so glad you liked Alan’s relationship with Ash!! Honestly, this is a relationship I don’t do nearly enough with, which is a capital crime considering it’s so good. Ash is the one human being that Alan actually opens up to—the one human being that he actually feels comfortable confiding in, without having it pried out of him. And it makes sense; Ash is not someone that Alan feels he has to protect, someone that he has to be strong for, in order to keep them safe. Ash stands on Alan’s level; he’s someone that Alan can battle all-out against, someone that he can battle alongside, someone that he can rely on in this way. And because of that, because Ash isn’t someone that Alan has to protect, Alan feels comfortable showing some of his weakness to Ash. He can confide his troubles in him, can be vulnerable and perhaps not the strongest in front of him.

And it’s not just that! Because that’s all well and good, but that’s serious, it can be rather heavy (such as their conversation in XYZ044, which sounded an awful lot like Ash was talking Alan down from suicide). But it’s not just about the heavy and serious stuff. Ash and Alan genuinely enjoy each other’s company, they genuinely like spending time together, and we honestly really, really do see this from Alan’s side!

Alan is introverted. He likes spending time with just himself and Lizardon, he tends to stand on the edge of crowds, he’s not one to go out of his way to interact with others, generally. We see this in TSME, in fact, with Manon. Although they travel together for a time throughout those specials, they don’t travel together because Alan wanted to. Rather, they travel together because Manon kept hounding him, chasing him down and insisting on being his travel companion whether he wanted to be travel companions or not. By contrast, Alan kept ditching her, repeatedly told her not to follow him, and eventually was just worn down by her constant badgering and, as a result, gave up telling her to stop following him. They didn’t “travel together” so much as Alan just did what he needed to do while she tagged along (for a time, but eventually that had to come to an end because it was too dangerous). He never sought out her company, and we never actually saw them hanging out or having fun together throughout all of TSME.

But with Ash, it’s different. While it’s true that his interest in Ash is at first sparked by seeing Bond Phenomenon in action during one of Ash’s battles against Shouta, we see the second time they meet that he is genuinely interested in talking to and spending time with Ash. After all, when he comes across Ash again at another Pokémon Center, he’s the one that approaches Ash first, smiling as he remarks upon the fact that Ash is always battling whenever Alan happens across him. Ash is the one to then suggest a battle between them, and while Alan agrees because he’d like to battle Greninja again, I feel it’s still important to point out that he didn’t approach Ash seeking a battle, he approached Ash simply because he wanted to talk to Ash. And even then, Greninja needs time to heal before they can battle, so they have some time to kill before the Lizardon vs. Greninja battle can take place. When this is pointed out, Alan starts trying to come up with something they can do in the meanwhile. Again, he’s introverted, he’s not one for socializing much, he doesn’t have ideas at the ready. But because he genuinely enjoys Ash’s company, he casts about for a non-battle activity to do (until Ash suggests battling using other pokémon) because he actually wants to spend time with Ash. Ash’s company is nice, he’s a fun guy to be around. Alan wants to hang out with him.

And that’s so significant, all of it is significant. Ash is so good for Alan’s mental and emotional health. Lizardon is definitely Alan’s absolute best friend (platonic soulmate!!), no doubt about that, but when it comes to human beings? Ash is Alan’s human best friend. He is not only Alan’s human confidant, but he’s also the human that Alan most enjoys spending time around, the human whose company Alan seeks out. And that’s so good, it’s so important. It’s such a significant bond that is so overlooked in this fandom. I really need to do my part to fix that.

(And make no mistake, it’s not one-sided. I’ve talked about it all before so I won’t type up a whole essay again, but because Ash was seen as such an unbeatable hero in Kalos, he had a lot of pressure placed on him to always be the best, to always win, because it was treated as world-ending if he happened to lose. But with Alan, it was different. Alan was someone who was so fantastically strong from the start that it didn’t matter if Ash lost against him, because people understood. Ash could battle his hardest, lose, and have it be okay, and because of that, battling Alan was fun, it didn’t carry the strings or pressure that battling others did. So aside from clicking with Alan almost immediately (and aside from the way they met with Alan and Lizardon being Big Damn Heroes, framed by the sunrise), Alan was as much a welcome presence in Ash’s life at that time as Ash was in Alan’s. The relationship was mutual and just so, so good.)

So yes, I’m really glad that you enjoyed Alan’s relationship with Ash as well, because it really is just so good! They have so many fantastic, significant moments. I’m really glad you enjoyed that. ♥

All of that aside, as far as your dream goes—well, fortunately, Lysandre is quite dead in canon, thanks to Squishy obliterating him (on Bonnie’s command, too—I still can’t believe Bonnie called for Lysandre’s head and got it, it’s amazing), but maaaan, would you believe that I’ve had similar thoughts before? Scenarios where Lysandre perhaps did survive, and he ends up encountering Alan again … I’ve imagined a few different ways it could go, but … hmm, perhaps I should write a little something? What do you think?

Anyway, I’m really happy to hear all of this, and I’m so happy you enjoyed Alan’s story. The more love he gets, the better. ♥ Thanks for sharing!!

#somegiantmess

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svartikotturinn · 8 years ago

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(Reproducing my comment here in its entirety.)

I’ve looked through lots of Nazi Tumblogs for trolling material in my day: you can easily find them if you know what to look for: they don’t tag their posts ‘Nazi’ or ‘Nazism’ or whatever, it’s always stuff like ‘NatSoc’, ‘National Socialism’, ‘1488’, or (if they’re too cowardly to openly say what they subscribe to) ‘traditional/reactionary European’. I think my observations are good story material.

First of all, I’ve found quite a few interesting trends there.

First off, they lie like crazy. They claim that Dr. Albert Schweitzer wrote about how he became disillusioned with Africans and said they had the mentality of evil toddlers in African Notebook, that Richard Dawkins wrote about how progressivism not allowing free speech about how humans are naturally classified into races is ‘alarming’ in The Extended Phenotype, and that Taylor Swift has expressed white supremacist ideas, among others: the first two are easily proven false with a simple search on Google Books, the third is obviously false considering she’s good friends with Nicki Minaj. I’ve actually found a post on a Nazi blog that included a quote by Hitler saying, ‘The victor will never be asked if he told the truth.’

Aside from lying like crazy about easily disproven bullshit, they also tend to grossly misread things, either intentionally or because they’re that fucking stupid. One example I’ve seen is an article about a trans woman openly admitting to ‘indoctrinating’ children or whatever, which was posted with a ‘gotcha!’ comment that completely ignored that the article basically said something like ‘I teach kids to be respectful of those who are different, and if you call that indoctrination so be it’. Another article said that legitimizing pædophiles was ‘the next crusade of the left’, completely misunderstanding that the point was about looking at it as an affliction to be remedied rather than a crime in and of itself (as opposed to child molestation). And this is before relying on broken statistics and whatnot, like the time I argued with a Nazi who insisted that California if not the US in general had a non-white majority. Happens all the damn time.

Third thing I noticed was that a lot of their rhetoric had to do with women’s beauty and chastity. ‘NatSoc’ blogs are notoriously rife with pictures of pretty young white women in various states of dress (in traditional European garb) and undress (often with, like, a laurel on their heads or something) in fields and natural scenes and suchlike. (One time I found a blog filled ONLY with pictures like those and jokingly suggested to the admit that he should look into this one chick named Scarlett Johannson; he said, ‘Is this the part where I tell you Ashkenazi Jews are Aryans and you run off with your tail between your legs?’ Apparently, he really took the ‘Neo’ part of ‘Neo-Nazi’ to heart!) The notorious 14 Words (specifically ‘because the beauty of the White Aryan woman must not perish from the earth’) are also pretty commonly quoted, as well as horror stories of white women who were abused by Arabs and black men. You never hear about the reverse: extolling the beauty of white men and warning them against going with black women. The truth is, much like the Israeli organization Lehava (who keep talking about women as ‘daughters of kings’, warning against Arabs who seduce Jewish women into their villages and abusing them there), anti-white rhetoric about how white people ‘take [black people’s/Asians’] women’, and the Mongolian Tsagaan Khas (who talk about foreigners making lots of money and taking their women), they see women as some kind of resource they feel entitled to and are terrified of having taken away from them. (Cracked once had an article about a former Neo-Nazi named Frank Meeink who started associating with black inmates, because the Nazis kept talking about his girlfriend being unfaithful; the black inmates congratulated him when she was pregnant. I think that sums it up amazingly.)

Finally, I found out they were a lot more diverse than people give them credit for. Aside from the VERY ‘Neo’-Nazi mentioned above, they vary in terms of economic beliefs (unlike the KKK, who see Socialism as a foreign evil, they are more split on the issue), religious beliefs (i.e. badly interpreted Christianity, badly interpreted paganism, and badly interpreted purely secular ‘science’), and other issues. I’ve even come across a ‘feminist’ blog (NSFW) claiming patriarchy is a Jewish conspiracy, and I’m not entirely sure whether it’s for real or not, and another one saying Nazis and Muslims are natural allies that Jews have set against each other.

I’ve had the most interaction with two particular Nazis on Tumblr.

The first of the two was a Serbian woman. She was an admin on a general anti-SJ blog, which also featured a hardcore Christian who claimed Jews were ‘devil spawns’ or something based on (misquoted) New Testament quotes, an avid fanboy of Assad’s regime (his presence and their defence of Palestinians was justified because apparently ‘Arabs are Aryans’), and other idiots. I clashed with her a few times and talked about how her sense of superiority based on not being ‘a cumdumpster’ had nothing to do with actual respect and everything to do with succumbing to male standards. Then I accused the admins of that blog of subscribing to the ideology just as an excuse for violence; she said that she’d adopted it because of her experience with NATO’s aggression towards Serbia, their mishandling of the Trepča Mines (which she attributed to greed), and deep contempt towards George Soros for his involvement in all of it. I sympathized with her, and we began debating with far more civilized tones.

She talked about how SJ ideology has gone out of control (e.g. the dismay caused by a road named ‘Bangays Way’ named after a historian named Bangay), and how much of it was forced on her, and how she felt like she was being attacked simply because she espoused endogamy to preserve her culture. I agreed with her about the crazier bunch in the SJ crowd, talked about how she used really gross generalizations (apparently she thought Jews could agree on ANYTHING), pointed out some misinterpretations (e.g. that people protesting the road were less ‘THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE’ and more ‘this looks iffy, come on guys’), and pointed out the problems with defining what a culture is. After a short while she said she was sick and occupied so she couldn’t answer, and then she just deleted her blog. I wish she hadn’t, it was getting interesting.

The second one was the guy who posted that Hitler quote, who was also the same one claiming California had a non-white majority. I argued pretty fervently, with citations and everything, and he was apparently genuinely impressed. He sent me a personal message saying that was the first time he was not dismissed by an SJW for his ideology and was actually debated in earnest (albeit with lots of insults) and wanted to have a serious reasoned debate. I agreed, we chatted some, and he explained that he was an EMT who would treat non-white people just fine but still preferred a world where nations were divided into races and had fair fights in armed conflict over territory and wealth.

He wanted the divide to be based on race because, he claimed, races have serious genetic differences based on their evolution in different environments that made them incompatible in terms of living side by side. I asked him for citations (and also my close friend, who is working on his PhD in biochemistry), and he kept stalling on and on (at first it was because he was out celebrating his birthday, then basically just because), and then we stopped talking. (Meanwhile my friend found citations saying that it was overwhelmingly bullshit, and in fact he found an article showing Yoruba people lack a mutation found in white and Asian people that caused aggressive behaviour.)

Eventually I tagged him in a post asking him if he agreed with the harassment Jews in Whitefish, MT over rumours that they were harassing his mother. Eventually we ended up in an argument where he said it was only natural for people to lie and have double standards when it comes to theirs and an opposing view, and that he wanted me to drop dead. I strongly rejected that notion and pointed out how I’ve criticized leftist over and over for their lies; he conceded I was morally superior but he didn’t think that mattered.

In private I expressed my disappointment with him. I told him I’d thought better of him and his interest in having a serious debate; he responded, ‘The Jew cries out in pain as he strikes you.’ The nerve of a guy using ‘Kozak hanigzel’ on a Hebrew speaker from Israel… Man was that disappointing. I blocked him.

At any rate, I blocked him. A day or two later, when I wanted to see if he was swamped with anons for this and getting lots of shit for basically admitting his ideology was indefensible, but his blog was already deleted. I want to believe he realized this himself, that he needed to do some real thinking if a ‘degenerate’ like me proved his moral superior, but I can never know.

These two interactions and some others have led me to wonder if sincere Nazis, who are actually good but horribly misguided people, were mostly women. I wonder.

Ultimately, I feel really sorry for Nazis of the latter kind, and the alt-right crowd in general. From what I’ve seen, they’re really miserable people: they think of love and sex in terms of conquest and keeping what they got (hence the constant talk about ‘cucks’, who are too ineffectual to keep their ‘property’ theirs), not actual human connection. They’re so obsessed with power and maintaining and demonstrating it that they seem to have no concept of genuine compassion: they write it all off as ‘virtue signalling’, i.e. pretending to be virtuous for the sake of some kind of social capital. They’re so bitter they’ve become obsessed with spite, talking so much about ‘liberal tears’ they barely argue their own position. There’s such a deep sense of fear and loneliness and resentment there, and when they don’t scare me, I feel really sad for them.

On the other hand, I’d like to say a few words about anti-Nazis:

The attack on Richard Spencer triggered a whole lot of posts on Tumblr about how punching Nazis is not only justified but morally mandatory (because Nazis could never reform, you see, and were necessarily evil), which I strongly objected to on the grounds that Nazis were a diverse group, with many motivations and backgrounds, and responding to them with violence could be counterproductive in many cases (I cited Lamb & Lynx Gaede, the aforementioned Meeink, and all the KKK members Daryl Davis has dissuaded: all of them converted by peaceful means). I’ve seen people shamelessly call me a ‘Nazi sympathizer’ by some people on that website, and at one point I wanted to take legal action, considering the kind of harassment that accusation could lead to.

The same kind of belligerent attitude is found in the far left as well. Those ‘beat the Fascists where you find them’ anti-Nazis seem to be far more preoccupied with letting out aggression against rivals than actually dismantling their threatening ideology. They’re only marginally better, and also suffer from similar ills (e.g. incessant lying) and some others (e.g. scouting for perceived ideological rivals to unleash aggression on). This is why I’ve pretty much left Tumblr altogether.

#NatSoc #National Socialists #National Socialism #Nazis #Nazism #alt-right #alt-left #Cracked #Tumblr

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scifimagpie · 6 years ago

Text

Louie C.K. and the Sith Lord Dilemma

Happy new year!

(These are the kinds of headlines I only get to write because I don't have an editor to whom I answer. Whee!)

We still have Nazis, so let's talk strategy. I'd also like to talk about something related - the infamous, often contested Centre. To keep advancing leftist ideals (such as healthcare, housing, and basic needs coverage for all; universal access to education and higher education; equal and fair pay for all genders and backgrounds, and accessibility resources for those who require mobility devices or have medical problems, among a few other things!) it can help to figure out who we're trying to talk to - and sometimes, who we can trust.

The time before #MeToo and after it are now crisply delineated by this social event. The freedom to talk about and voice the universality of sexual harassment and assault against people of various genders (yes, men too) has really shaken things up. It's just the beginning of making things right, and society in North America and around the world has some serious adjusting and compensating to do, but it's a good step in the right direction.

#MeToo also torched a lot of sacred cows, exposing people we previously trusted as participating in very bad behavior. Kevin Spacey, George Takei, Stan Lee and Neil DeGrasse Tyson, among others, are a couple who surprised and disappointed me the most. But it seems like some of the people who transgressed are already trying to stage their comebacks - not understanding, it seems, that it shouldn't be up to them to decide when their stint in the time-out corner is over.

As discussed here, it would seem that Louis C.K., who previously admitted to sexually harassing women by masturbating in front of them without consent, has taken a turn for the dark side. Making jokes about transgender people and school shooting survivors, and apparently, insulting black and Asian men, is now part of his comedic repetoire. So much for "learning and listening."

But he continues to be defended by a few people who - apparently, come from the centre - and want to believe that he still has good intentions somehow. To quote that Huffpost article, however -

"C.K.’s new set, according to its leaked version, doesn’t merely punch down; it stomps, pettily, to the bottom. None of it is smart or brave; it is simply cruel."

And how did Louis C.K. - and for that matter, J.K. Rowling - start to internalise and support such negative beliefs?

Star Wars and political strategy

So here's the thing about the two people I've alluded to - they're both wealthy, and they've both been criticised. Now, being criticised is hard at the best of times. But wealth tends to make people more fragile. Is the answer, then, to just not criticise anyone ever? (That probably sounds like a stupid thing to even say, and it kind of is. But the internet likes a good reductio ad absurdum argument, taking things to their most logical extreme, so I'm going to follow that format - as I often do in my posts!)

That would seem to be an over-correction, and to make advancement impossible. But how to we criticise someone without alienating them?

Well, I'm still working on the "doing it right" part, but I can tell you about how not to do it.

In the much-maligned prequels of Star Wars, one of the concerns expressed about Anakin Skywalker is that he's too old to learn the Jedi ways and be successfully indoctrinated in their belief system. In the following movies, as Anakin goes through puberty and discovers that at least one girl exists, this is quickly proven - so it seems - to have been an accurate fear. A lot of people have argued that the way the Jedi turned their back on him as soon as he started to screw up and the way they endorsed such extremist perspectives on emotion had doomed him to fail in the first place. I would say that Anakin actually got a lot of second chances, but the ideology did set him up to fail - and because a single misstep was seen as an inevitable sign of failure, how could he help but find himself tempted by the apparent freedom of the Dark Side?

But as we see examined in The Last Jedi, fearing someone's future and darkness and treating them badly on the basis of that can, in fact, lead to a self-fulfilling prophecy. By assuming the worst of Ben Solo, he becomes Kylo Ren. Now - you could argue about the role of fate in the Star Wars universe, and even in our own, but it's not a discussion I can brook in good faith because if fate was as iron-clad as it is in fiction, all psychics would have 100% accuracy in their predictions - and that, obviously, is not the case.

But are we repeating the mistake of the late-era Jedi Order? Are we scaring off allies when we call them out for bad behavior, or scaring off future allies when they see Leftists chewing someone out?

A digression on the centre, which cannot hold

Oh, the Centrists. The Left hates them, the Right courts them, and they usually don't even identify as such. Most of the time - from what I've seen - Centrists are actually people who would identify as liberals or Liberals, but haven't caught up to every nuance; alternatively, they're soft conservatives. The centre isn't so much a fact as a product of two overlapping political bell-curves, more of an illusion than a real political movement. After all, the centre and centrists usually tend to have either conflicting beliefs or a reluctance to engage with certain groups.

But the centrists that I tend to hear about, as a leftist, are generally the ones who still fall on the liberal side of the equation. Now, here's the thing - I'm not saying that being conservative or liberal are, arbitrarily, either good or bad on an objective scale. BUT - right now, in North America and in a few other places, it sure seems like conservatism has relied too heavily on courting xenophobia in various ways. And that has led to an association of conservatives with racist, sexist, generally horrible beliefs - for instance, the Republicans in the US, and more locally, the UCP. (United Conservative Party, not to be confused with the Progressive-Conservative Party of Canada. They're very good at being polite and rewording their racism and homophobia, because this is Canada, but the underlying platform and beliefs is disappointingly rote.)

But is falling to the racist wayside the fate of all centrists? Should leftists treat anyone who fails to meet certain standards of conduct with suspicion and curtness, because they're inevitably going to betray any progressive ideals in favor of the fear-eater, conservatism?

In terms of the radicalization of young men, a number of people have spilled ink and filled hard drives creating better and more informative videos and articles than myself. And a lot of them also struggle with this problem: who can be reasoned with, and who is a die-hard danger to humanity?

No. Be nice sometimes, but don't hug every Nazi.

All of this is to say that I think the way we deal with people who don't act in good faith and the ones who do act in good faith need to be set in two different streams. It can be hard to tell, and people can switch motivations during a conversation - deciding to troll or being interested enough to start learning, for instance. But I think it would help the Left to confine some of our sharpest criticisms to internal dialogues - you know, saying things with the door closed. We have to meet people on their level.

Unfortunately, sometimes that level is also going to mean putting boots on the ground in terms of showing up to protests and engaging in adequate self-defense against Nazis.

So when it comes to Cousin Jason or Brayden saying that he thinks these dudes wearing yellow vests and talking about how we need to reduce the number of immigrants coming to Canada "might have a point," I would suggest being hard on the ideology and empathetic with Jason or Brayden himself. There's a difference between being empathetic and being a doormat - but we have no choice except to take on these conversations whenever we can, even when we're exhausted. The problem is that people in the centre often agree with us - but are too scared to speak up, or too tired, or even too confused.

We have to make a better future and present by walking the line between having boundaries and making it clear to people that we care about them and their rights. As frustrating as it can be, emotional labour from a person in a position of power, or even an oppressor, is still emotional labour. And we cannot take for granted that people will educate themselves, or yell "educate yourself!" in every conversation. That doesn't mean the most oppressed person should always yield their time and energy to people who may be acting like blockheads - but it does mean that anyone who considers themselves an ally needs to step up or be willing to tag-team something to avoid their own exhaustion.

This stuff is intricate. The problems don't have quick, glib, easy fixes. But they're also not insurmountable, because our opponents aren't monsters or fictional villains. They're people. And most of them actually want what we want - to live in happiness, health, and safety.

***

Michelle Browne is a sci fi/fantasy writer. She lives in Lethbridge, AB with her partners-in-crime and their cat. Her days revolve around freelance editing, knitting, jewelry, and nightmares, as well as social justice issues. She is currently working on the next books in her series, other people's manuscripts, and drinking as much tea as humanly possible. Find her all over the internet: The mailing list * Amazon * Medium * Twitter * Instagram * Facebook * Tumblr * OG Blog

#nazi #louis ck #new year #politics #left #leftist #centrist #movement #metoo #me too #assault #weinstein #harassment

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