#my processing is so shit. so so so fucking shit

[aajjks]

morning sex (m)

synopsis. To your surprise, you wake up in bed with your nightmare of a horny roommate and learn the advantages of morning sex.

pairing: horny roommate jungkook x fem!reader

genre: crack, 18+, cringe, smut, explicit, and dark comedy.

warnings. 18+, ëxplicit sèxùàl dïàlögùë, mïrör çhëck, sèxùàl téñsïøns, bïg dïçk ënërgÿ, çhëëky flïrts, sàssÿ çòmëbàcks, jungkook’s funnÿ bïg dïçk jôkës, hümørøüs ánd sèxy.

note. lmao I couldn’t resist he he’s such a fun character. I love writing him and honestly I kind of need him so bad even though he’s cringe as fuck.

You wake up to the most obnoxious thing ever.

Jungkook is spooning you.

Not in a nice, sweet way where he’s just trying to be comfortable.

No. He’s literally drooling on your shoulder, his chest pressing against your back like he’s staked his claim, and his hand is—oh no.

His hand is dangerously close to your chest.

Your eyes snap open. Oh hell no.

You try to wiggle out of his grasp, but it’s like trying to break free from a bear trap.

He’s clutching you like you’re the last life preserver on a sinking ship.

“Jungkook, get off!” you whisper-shout, but all he does is groan and snuggle into you deeper.

“What’s the rush?” His voice is muffled, his head practically buried in your hair. “It’s comfy here.”

“Yn babe look, my bed was really uncomfortable tonight so I had to sneak in your bed even if you mind I don’t really care and I think we should definitely have insanely hot morning sex.”

you want to slap the shit out of him.

You can’t even begin to process how absurd this is. How did this even happen? How did you go from roommates to this weird… spooning situation?

AND NOW MORNING SEX?

"Look, babe, morning sex? It's simple. You wake up, I get you off, and we both start the day feeling fucking amazing. No need to overthink it. It's like an instant mood booster, I swear."

You try again to push him off, but all you manage to do is accidentally press your ass into his—

oh no.

“So.. in conclusion we should definitely fuck baby, see I’m hard as fuck.”

You raise an eyebrow, biting back a smile. “Oh, so you’re really selling me on this morning… routine?” you tease, leaning in a little.

“Let me guess, does it come with a small surprise, or should I be worried it won’t rise to the occasion?”

You watch his face shift, that smug look he always carries flickering for just a second. It’s too much fun.

“Maybe if you prove it to me, I’ll consider it,” you finish with a wink, making sure he knows exactly what you mean.

“Babe, is this really how we’re doing this today?” Jungkook mumbles lazily, lifting his head just enough to stare at you with that mischievous grin of his.

You feel his chest rumbling with the deep chuckle that follows.

“Stop calling me babe!” you snap, now fully trying to pull away.

But the moment you try to move, he tightens his hold around your waist, practically trapping you in his vice-like grip. And he’s not even pretending to sleep anymore.

He’s wide awake, eyes gleaming with that cocky look that makes you want to strangle him—while simultaneously kiss him senseless.

You’re struggling to get out, but then, just as you’re about to give up, you feel something against your back.

Something hard.

Something you definitely didn’t expect to feel.

You freeze.

“Uh… Jungkook?” You swallow hard, trying to pretend you didn’t just notice what was happening.

His lips curve up into that infuriating smirk. “Oh, so you feel it now?”

Your face burns. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you—;”

“I mean, it’s not my fault you’re so cute and cuddly in the mornings.” He lets out a dramatic sigh. “I can’t help it, babe. I’m only human.”

You bite back a sarcastic retort. “You’re a man-child,” you mutter, trying to ignore the fact that the man is physically pressing himself against you, and it’s not just a “casual” spoon anymore.

He chuckles again, his fingers digging into your sides as if trying to tickle you into submission. “C’mon, you know you love it.”

Your frustration boils over. You twist around, and you have no idea how it happens, but somehow, you end up straddling him.

You stare down at him, breathing heavily from the combination of shock and—well, you’re not sure what you’re feeling anymore.

Jungkook’s face is completely smug, his hands resting lazily behind his head, like he’s a king and you’re his amused servant.

“You—” you bite your lip. “This isn’t funny, you know.”

“Then why are you on top of me, hm?” His voice is dangerously low now, a playful glint in his eyes. “Guess you wanted to be close.”

“Don’t act like you don’t want this too,” he teases, eyes tracing over your body as if he’s memorizing every detail. His fingers slide down to your waist again, making you flinch.

“Jungkook, seriously—;” You don’t even get the chance to finish your sentence before he interrupts.

“Okay, fine, we’ll call it a draw. But—;” He smirks, his hands slipping down to your hips now, “…—I do have a lot of things I’d like to say, but I’ll wait for you to ask.”

You glare at him, ready to push him off you, but the moment you shift just enough, he’s at it again.

His lips are on yours, and you swear you feel the earthquake beneath you as he pulls you closer, his kiss deepening immediately.

He’s not even trying to be subtle anymore.

Jungkook’s hands are everywhere, and his lips are moving against yours with an intensity you didn’t expect this early in the morning.

“Guess we’re just doing this now, huh?” You whisper against his lips, struggling to keep some semblance of control.

“Oh, we definitely are,” he growls, suddenly flipping you onto your back and trapping you underneath him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re not getting away this time.”

You both know it’s only a matter of time before this chaotic situation completely spirals out of control.

The only question is how much longer you can keep pretending you don’t enjoy every second of it.

[strangersteddierthings]

"You just can't handle the fact that these people aren't falling all over themselves to get your attention for once in your life!" Eddie growls, arms thrown in the air in exasperation.

"I don't care about getting their attention, Eddie!" Steve says once again because it feels like they've been arguing in circles forever when it's really only been about half an hour. Steve wishes he could say that he didn't understand how they got here but he does.

Eddie and his new friends. Friends that don't like Steve and go out of their way to make sure he knows that. Friends that throw snide remarks that Eddie chuckles along with. Friends that make Steve feel unwanted in his own home.

It's infuriating and frustrating and hurtful that Eddie just lets them talk about Steve like that, lets them talk to Steve like that.

"Right, so you've said," Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, like Steve's the one being immature.

"Well, since you think I'm fucking lying or something, what do you think this is about?" Steve's says, hands on his hips as he stares down Eddie at the other end of the tiny galley kitchen of their apartment.

Eddie works his jaw, the way Steve's seen him do when he's holding back a comment he thinks is particularly scathing. It's been a while since Steve's been on the receiving end of this.

"Just say it, Eddie! We're never going to end this argument unless you do," Steve goads. If Eddie will just say the thing, they can talk it out. They can work through this. Steve can fix it, but only if Eddie tells him the truth.

"Maybe it's just fucking karma, Steve!" Eddie yells. "Maybe you just can't handle that I have friends who think you're not cool and they aren't going to pretend you are!"

Steve's jaw drops, the infuriating-frustrating-hurt feeling intensifying into what feels like a lead ball in Steve's gut. Karma. Karma? "Karma? Like because I was a self-centered asshole in school that I, what, deserve to be treated like trash by your so-called 'friends'!?" Steve goes as far as to make air quotes around the word friends.

"Yeah, maybe," Eddie says, quick and even like he... like he really believes that.

Like he really believes that this treatment is what Steve deserves.

"This situation is not the same," Steve shouts back.

"Seems the same to me. The group majority against the minority. It's not like you ever stood up for anyone when Hagan was trying to give everyone swirlies, or when Perkins would knock shit out of people's hands and fake laugh an apology. You just can't handle it now that you're the minority."

"That's not the fucking same! I didn't know you in high school!"

"Well, they don't know you, either!"

All the fight drains from Steve at those words. It's like Eddie has flipped the switch in his brain to see what is happening. To see it from Eddie's point of view. Or, if Steve is being kind, the point of view of Eddie's friends who don't know Steve because they refused to get to know him.

"So, what, they're allowed to treat me the way you think I treated you?" Steve asks, voice quiet and matter of fact.

"Yes," Eddie says and then his face pinches as he actually processes what Steve said. "Wait. No. That's not- It's not exactly like that. It's just, like- the guys were saying it was status quo or something."

The guys. Eddie's 'friends'.

It's strange how 'the guys' went from meaning Jeff, Gareth, and Grant to this new group of friends and Jeff, Gareth, and Grant have become The Band. A separate, new category, othering even them from Eddie's new friends.

"I- Are you even hearing yourself right now?" Steve says in disbelief. He can see Eddie getting worked up again, so he barrels on. "I'm not just some jock you don't know. I'm your boyfriend. Your fucking boyfriend, Eddie! If you were my boyfriend in high school, I wouldn't have ever let my friends speak to you the way you let them talk to me!

"And I can't even defend myself because then everything they're saying is fucking true! That I'm a bullshit dumb jock just waiting for a chance to get violent. And I'm not! I'm not a jock anymore. And I'm not dumb! And I'm not bullshit!" Steve's vision gets blurry, and he knows he's crying but he doesn't really register it. The hurt he's feeling is leaving his body and he's just feeling numb now. "Jesus Christ, Eddie, I would never let someone talk to you the way you let your friends talk to me, and about me! Because beyond it just being the goddamn decent thing to do is not let people speak about others like that, but I love you and I can't imagine ever allowing someone to treat you the way your friends treat me. Why do you like them more than you love me!?"

Eddie's face is doing something complicated, like it always does when Steve cries. Like Eddie wants to sooth him but isn't sure how.

And that's all it takes. Something in Steve crumbles but not in the way he wants it to. Steve was hoping that if they talked this out that they could be okay. They could figure out a way forward.

Because here is Eddie's face, showing how much he loves and cares for Steve and wants to help him, but all Steve realizes is that Eddie might love him, but not enough to tell his friends to treat Steve with some basic respect and kindness.

He can't be here anymore. He can't be in this kitchen and see his hurt reflected on Eddie's face. He can't be in this apartment that used to feel so cozy and comforting and now just feels like a prison. He doesn't know if he can even be in this relationship if Eddie doesn't love him the same way as he used it.

How did they get to this point? How did they get to a point where Eddie is just okay with people treating Steve this way? How did Steve let it go this long without addressing it sooner?

When did Eddie decide that the approval of his new friends was more important than his feelings for Steve?

"Steve, I-"

Steve doesn't stick around to hear whatever it is Eddie's going to say. He turns on heel, speed walking to the door where he pauses just long enough to grab his jacket from the coat rack before fleeing the apartment.

-

Inspired by @novacorpsrecruit's fic, It’s lonely at the top. Which has a happy ending, so you should read it.

[elllisaaa]

FEELING GOOD - ENHA HYUNG LINE

KINKTOBER DAY 22 - APHRODISIACS + GROUP SEX

SUMMARY : to celebrate the release of the new album of your friends, you decided to make them some cocktails. exept that they don't taste like they usually do, and when the fifth of you start to feel hot and bothered, you definitely understand that someone put something in your drinks.

-> pairing : heeseung x jay x jake x sunghoon x fem!reader

-> words count : 1k

-> genre : smut

-> warnings : use of aphrodisiacs (obviously), group sex (5 people), some mxm shit (don't like it, don't read it), alcohol consumption, mention of drugs, making out, foreplay, ridding, dirty talk, fingering, dry humping, hair pulling, handjob

+ the way i'm depicting heeseung, jay, jake and sunghoon does not represent them, it's only a work of fiction

-> 18+ content bellow, minors DNI

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated ! sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> masterlist | enha masterlist | kinktober 2024

Your special talent - if you could call it like that - was that you were extremely good at making drinks. You could probably have been a bartender if you hadn’t chosen to be a photographer. So you always ended up making drinks for your friends when there was something to celebrate or when you were at parties. And tonight wasn’t an exception as you had prepared a whole set of different cocktails to congratulate your friends for the release of their new album. It had become a tradition to spend the night together drinking, and sometimes smoking, so you were all pretty used to the quantity of alcohol you put in those drinks. Nothing could go wrong, right ?

Right ?

Except that only three cocktails in, you all felt like you were reaching the state you were in at the end of the night. And you knew it was bad when Sunghoon - who was always the most level-headed and the one with the highest alcohol tolerance - started to laugh about nothing and everything. And as time went on, you started to feel dizzy and most of all hot. Really hot. 

“- God, it’s so fucking hot in here…”

The fours guys laying on the couch with you grunted in approval, and Jay even stood up to go open one of the windows, hoping that the cold air of the night would cool you down. But it did nothing to help. The more cocktails you downed, the hotter you felt. And slowly, you realized that it wasn’t that the room was hot, it was that you were. Hot as in wet as hell. Hot as in Heeseung’s lips did not look that bad to kiss and make out right now. 

It all happened in blink of an eye, none of you really thinking too much about it or being conscious enough to process it, but the next thing you knew was that you were sitting on Jay’s lap, his tongue down your throat and Sunghoon’s chest pressed against your back, roaming his hands all over your body. As you detached yourself from him, you took in the scene taking place just by your side on that same couch : Jake literally licking into Heeseung’s mouth. 

“- Fuck…”

The three of you stayed there, as if hypnotized by the scenario unfolding in front of your eyes. You knew this was something that wouldn’t have happened if any of you were in your right state of mind, that there must have been something wrong with the mixing of your drinks, that you might’ve made them a little bit too strong, but you were already far too gone to care. The way Jake was whining in Heeseung’s mouth, and the way Heeseung was tugging on Jake’s hair was too arousing to stop looking. As they finally parted their lips, they looked out of it - pupils blown out with desire, heavily panting, and rock hard in their pants from what you could see. 

You were brought back to reality by the way Sunghoon landed his hands around your waist, letting one of his hands dip into your shorts and rub your clit over your panties. The friction sent a shockwave through your body, making you gasp and take a hold of Jay’s hair (who was currently devouring your neck). You felt very sensitive, more than usual, and the thrill coursing through your veins seemed different too - more intense, as if all your sensations had been multiplied. But it felt so good, and you weren’t conscious enough to want to inquire what was happening, simply letting Sunghoon push two of his fingers inside of you, moaning loudly right in Jay’s ears. The way you were barely moving on top of him to meet his friend’s hand offered him a little amount of friction that still felt incredibly good, his hands grabbing your ass roughly to make you rock your hips faster, forcing Sunghoon’s fingers deeper into you. And the way Jay made you move allowed Sunghoon’s bulge to rub against your ass too, his own grunts mixing with yours and Jay’s sounds. 

This whole concerto was what brought Jake and Heesung out of their frenzy, drool spilling from the corners of Jake’s mouth as they both took in the sinful view of what was happening on the other side of the couch. Sinful but so fucking hot that Jake couldn’t help but whine and buck up his hips in the air, desperate to feel more. He didn’t need more than to hear your high-pitched whimpers, to steal you away from his friends, pushing Heeseung away so you could sit on his lap instead. And with how embarrassingly wet you were, it was easy for him to slide right in, making the two of you moan in harmony at how good it felt to finally have something real. 

“- Fuck… You feel so good…”

You only whined in response, your whole mind absolutely blinded by the heat that had taken over your body. You didn’t waste time to start bouncing on top of Jake, his hands holding your ass and supporting your movements as the both of you uncontrollably moaned. You felt so hot, so responsive, it was like you could cum right this second, without too much effort. And Jake didn’t look like he would be able to last much longer either, if his high-pitched moans and his eyes rolling to the back of his head every time you dropped back down on his cock were any hints. 

And as Jake buried his face in between your breasts, you turned your head to the side to take a look at the three others guys, staring at the both of you with greedy, lustful looks on their faces. But what was even more appealing was the way they were all jerking each other off, without even realizing it. They looked so gone, and so fucking attractive like that. Heeseung cracked an eye open, panting loudly because of the fast rhythm of Sunghoon’s fists around his cock and he looked right at you. 

“- You’re next Hee…”

A smirk spread on his lips at your words, and as you came around Jake with a loud moan, you didn’t regret one bit putting aphrodisiacs in the drinks.

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my works.

enha taglist (fill in this to be added) :

@lala-----------lala @bbgnyx @rikiives @puppy-minnie @binniesbabygirl @lichyuu @foxinnie8 @hyunstxns @seomisaho @adirajackson @han-to-my-minho @dylanobr1ens @straytiny127

kinktober taglist (dm or comment to be added) :

@d-dilemma @bath1lda @leeknowinggg @anxiousskylar @mikaelless

[kaisentine]

yippity yappity abt actress!reader and sae

“you sucked at that.” you wince at how bad this pro-soccer player plays his part. to be fair—it was quite obvious he hated this, hated filming, hated his team, hated you . . . what kind of connections did this man have to be in a movie such as this one? “yeah? well no fucking shit, i’m not an actor.” he snarls.

how has this man not been cancelled yet? he’s probably the most insufferable male you’ve met—worked with! “. . . i’m going to pretend you didn’t say that. but for the love of whatever, don’t let go so early.” you murmur, referring to the last take when he let you fall on your back because he let go.

he rolls his eyes before the director tells the both of you to get ready.

“we can’t do this anymore,” crystalline tears start building up in your lash-line just begging to flood down your cheeks. he squeezes your hands in his and holds them up to his chest, the look of sympathy just barely passing sadness is evident on his face as he stares at you. “why not?” it’s asked as a whisper one could mistake for their own hallucinations playing with their head. “ . . . no—i can’t do this anymore.” the built up water starts flowing down your cheeks, a quick warmth turns to a cool sensation against your skin.

his sympathetic look contorts into disappointment at your rewording. “i can do this. fuck . . . just trust me.” you want to believe him, you want to be convinced by his sick reassurance but you’ve been fooled once before, you can’t do this a second time. “i don’t know if i can trust you again. let me go, please.” you plead while trying to thrash his clasp on your hands away. “yes you can.” he further insists with not budging one bit, your mouth feels dry from the words you cannot speak but wet with the guilt that drowns through your body.

“how?” you’ve given up on trying to push him away because now you need the answer. the form of the answer you were looking for was not that of verbal speech but of an action. pushing his arms back so both his and your hands are now pinned to your chest, a slow lean towards you was all it took for him to lay his lips on yours.

“CUT” the director yells through his over the top mega-phone and sae immediately lets go of your hands and rebounds back to his previous stance—you want to flush your mouth out with whatever you can get your hands on just anything. “good work!” he smiles, marking the end of the filming process. you smile along with him but the red-head ( bru what’s his hair color ) remains indifferent.

“it wasn’t that hard, was it?” you ask with arms crossed while everyone else is busy with something. “i just want to get out of here.” he copies your movements but puts his hand on his hip instead. you swallow the urge to crash out on him to the point there’s probably a lump in your throat. “i wasn’t the one who brought you here, calm down—the least you could do after probably making my ass bruise.” you feel your eye twitch just by looking at him,

“wrong, you were.”

what is he talking about . . . is he now telling you that you’re the reason for his misery? “huh? what do you mean?” you tilt your head in confusion. “my team wanted me here because you were going to be here too.” he blatantly explains like you knew this already—you didn’t. your head moves back in surprise.

“why would they do that?” you give him a look that just screams ‘wtf are you on about?’. “famous actor and famous soccer player, great publicity.” he sighs before shaking his head in annoyance.

oh, you get it now. but his team better be right because if this movie doesn’t blow up, you’re going to pay someone to remove your mouth.

their predictions were right, the movie was long awaited and did blow up—more than you thought. theorists, news sites and fans were having a field day, however. making up crazy articles, fan edits, and speculations that you and itoshi sae were dating.

have they never seen a kiss in a movie? have they never heard of the concept of acting? God, you still want to remove your mouth—anything to stop you subconsciously bringing your fingers up to your lips while thinking of the dumb kiss he gave you. it’s an actual nightmare to be thinking of a man who didn’t really want to kiss you.

his team was right but was it worth it? was it worth it to have you shifting uncomfortably in your seat while waiting for the interviewer with sae beside you? was it worth the awkward bickering off camera? “i slept through the premiere.” he says lazily as if you weren’t beside him during the showing. “how are we going to do this interview, then?” you sigh, bringing a hand to your face to pinch your nose bridge.

“adlib,” he says, “i think i’ll be okay..” he finishes. “you better because i’m not carrying this interview.” you retort—knowing damn well you might be forced to because you’ve watched his interviews after games and they . . . suck.

there’s a sound from in front of you, it’s the interviewer getting set up in her chair. she clears her throat, “we’ll be starting soon.” she smiles, smoothening the wrinkles on her white pants. it’s game time when there’s professional cameras almost being shoved in your face.

the conversations and questions were quite tame . . .

“i’ve never seen you act before, itoshi. how were you so good the first time?” you feel your eye twitch.

“i don’t know, i just did what they told me to do.” he’s being way too honest. then again, he was never one to put on a filter, even in front of the cameras. you swear you see her eye twitch as well before she goes back to her light smile while turning to you.

“your performance was as great as ever! do you have anything to say about the filming?”

“ah, i’m very flattered! thank you! filming a movie with such intense emotions was quite the test for my heart.” you replicate the smile on her face. if only reputation didn’t exist—you would’ve said you had the urge to punch your co-worker in the face.

until they weren’t.

“now for the big question that’s been on everyone’s minds the moment the movie released.”

don’t you fucking say it.

“are you,” she points at you, “and him” she points at the man beside you, “dating?”

she said it. you jump in your seat at the mention of you and him dating?! “we aren’t!” you’re quick to shake your head with a laugh as a cover-up, she lets out a prolonged hum—suggesting something—in return. “do you believe that?” sae asks and you dart your eyes to him, what is he doing? is he trying to stir up more controversies? he’s got to be crazy. you silently tell him to shut up but he isn’t taking the hint to zip his lips.

the interviewer smirks. “i mean, most of us do . . . the kiss at the end was way too real.” that woman really needs that paycheck, huh? okay . . . you get it, she’ll get praised by her manager or whatever for grabbing views for this but what would sae get in return for doing this?

“that means we’re just really good actors, right?” you laugh nervously, still side-eyeing sae ‘please do something,’. “i don’t think a beginner actor would be that convincing.” he shrugs—he’s referring to himself. when you meant for him to do something, you didn’t mean for him to mix things up even more! the interviewer’s smirk falls through her jaw as it drops, this is probably the juiciest thing she’ll get out of her career. “are you saying that the kiss just might be a—”

“NO—”

“sure.”

you both say at the same time—sae’s manager is basically lunging at the cameramen to stop the recording.

maybe you’ve been blind up until this moment but now it all makes sense. the lingering thoughts of his lips on yours were totally planned by him—but what he did to make it work was still a mystery.

but the prize he’d get in return was not a paycheck but it would be you.

man, you knew he sucked that bad at acting but he sucks even more at bagging someone.

sticky note. this idea showed up in my drafts on the 31st of january but i kept changing it stop

[transit-fag]

Hello. I recently visited your presumably fine city, and I have to say, I did not enjoy myself.

I am reminded of a quote from AA (non active): "Principles before personalities."

Seems everywhere I went I was harassed, discriminated against, belittled, kicked out, yes sexually harassed, etc, apparently based on the characteristics of my physical appearance, as I gave no indication of political creed, religious affiliation, life philosophy, personal history, or otherwise. Like come on guys, my fashion sense is not THAT bad.

For example, a barista I interacted with saw fit to yell "no" in my face as I was attempting to order. Like fine, if you feel the need to publicly and preemptively cock block me by loudly stating your negative sexual preference towards my person, and thereby impress friends and bystanders, while letting that fella or lady you truly are smitten with know just how loyal a girl you really can be... I can't stop you. I'm sure they're great. I'm just trying to get some coffee.

Ok ok ok, so now, you (the reader) share a knowing look with the apparently psychic iindividual who tells you what to think and how to act (they obviously know about these things), who then makes a simple gesture accusing me of pedophilia and boom. Game, set, and match. It's over. Why even continue reading?

Not that either you believe what you are saying, but who gives a fuck at this point right? It's just that the look on both your faces reminds me of a smug version of the look my dog gets when he is licking his own butt.

Funny story-up until recently, I worked with an actual convicted child rapist. The genuine article. And let me tell you, he was having a fucking field day with this shit. It's ok, get it all out buddy. That's fine right? He's a part of the movement, and everyone gets something. Well, almost everyone lol;) ;)

Yes sir, it's a real pander fest out there. At an intersection, there is an environmentalist guy and a guy with the unnecessarily large and noisy truck. Given our recent political decision making process, you would think they would be staring daggers, yelling, celebratory coal rolling, etc. No absolutely not. Dudes are falling all over themselves in a mad scramble of trans political endearment. It's so simple!! All we have to do is find the one guy in society who isn't a completely gullible dumbfuck and shit all over him and poof. All problems resolved. Transgressions forgiven. A new age.

I mean, it is somewhat interesting how each of you has an individually unique rationalization for the exact same , identical patterns of hateful and abusive behavior. The tree hugger and the coal roller. Beautiful snowflakes all.

Just kidding, it's actually really easy to just place you in a cliched typology and reverse engineer your justification for participating in fascism lite (tm) based on a presumable self conception. I don't really give a fuck what lies you tell yourself in the mirror. But as your Bob Dylan said, it ain't me babe.

Point being, having superceded the political, as well as all conventional rules of civilized conduct, and or general local culture in your fair city, The Movement (tm) (ha) or whatever the fuck you call it, is the dominant social reality and governing social principle.

AND YOU CANNOT TALK ABOUT IT

Which is fine. You do you. But please cease to labor under the illusion that you still have any translatable values, of any kind, whatsoever. It's not that open harassment or discrimination or whatever, particularly when perpetrated by a group of people in a position of social power, is wrong, per se, right? I mean, it would be interesting to hear any of you attempt to justify yourselves, but unfortunately YOU CANNOT TALK ABOUT IT. It is forbidden. I get it. Its like fight club. That's fair. White guys have made some pretty decent movies.

Let's say you dropped $100k on a liberal arts degree. Here's a chance to exercise some critical thinking in the face of a mass social movement founded on cruelty and open hatred, which is kind of the basic purpose of such a degree. Nope. Let's say it was history. What does this say about your chosen field of study? Hide all evidence right? Or sociology. Beyond your purview. Philosophy. When in Rome? Congratulations.

A lot I could say, but, regarding the preposterous idea that this is jall ust a some organic, spontaneously occurring culture phenomenon (rationalization received from a Christian): 1. Easily forensically disprovable, I'm not even particularly well studied and I know exactly who your master is, where they work, and why, and 2. Shockingly naive, given the power dynamics of the situation, sorry no way are your overlords leaving that kind of money on the table.

I don't really feel like elaborating further other than to say that because you are unable to speak or "go back and forth with me", whatever it is that you are participating in is, on its face, complete bullshit, as you, by both structural and philosophical necessity, lack individual moral and intellectual agency, which is, in fact, and in spite of what you may believe (ask your benevolent dictator), the root of all collective historical human failure. As well as the principle rationale for a liberal arts education. But fuck it right?

So, you spent 100k on education, only to turn around and will yourself into intellectual and moral slavery, and become the object of some corporate marketing psychologist's vanity project? May I wipe my ass with that diploma?

In closing, I don't want to go over the top here and start some kind of song of myself, oh no, but having been treated like human garbage, I feel compelled to state:

In terms of adverse personal experience, I soloed goddamn Annapurna in the snow season, lived to tell the tale, and this is the shit I come back to. You are all useful idiots and your behavior is an insult to the human condition.

Why me? Honestly, because out of everyone in at least the entire western United States apparently, you could literally put a gun to my head and I would not get on whatever bullshit from the literal church of corporate Satan you all are being spoon fed. Which I guess is some sort of crime.

On behalf of myself, humanity, Jesus, the Buddha, the better angels of our nature, all the great ones who came before, rock-'n'-roll, etc, Bellingham, YOUR SCENE SUCKS.

I will enjoy the cold comfort of inner freedom and a righteous cause while watching you abandon any semblance of a coherent value system and continue to lick fascist corporate ass for a bump of cocaine (which I don't think is very punk rock:( )

In solidarity, an actual, working, breathing, locally available, and highly DMable, high 7-ish, cultural dissident.

And, let the bad faith Cassandra treatment begin.

(Unless you are feeling spry big fella. Wanna earn some points???)

UPDATE: You guys, you guys wait!!! I thought of a really good one. The hand gesture thing-that is soooo Hitler

Update to Update: WOW so many responses. I am not able to give each one the time and attention it deserves, so here I will make a brief general reply before sharing something (indeed) very special with everyone.

Briefly perusing these responses, they seemed mostly attempts and bad faith gaslighting (as predicted) along with a sprinkling of salty literary criticism. I, at least, personally, found the gaslighting amusing, because I said you would do it, and you still did it anyway. Lol.

But really, everyone here, myself included, knows that besides "though shalt not speak," like the second rule in the playbook (which apparently descended from Shiva on a ray of light or some shit) is "Just keep doing it," so really this discussion is basically pointless, other than to point out that based on your actions, you are now complicit in an ongoing attempt to manufacture a historical falsehood about our society as it exists today, which, to me, is somewhat mind-blowing and honestly something of a privilege to witness firsthand. Now on to the important stuff.

Driving home today, listening to some predictably tinny, cacaphonous, and emotionally shallow corporate music, it occurred to me: When all this first I was actually pretty afraid. I remember first commenting on this pattern of organized behavior I got so scared I had like a four day flashback, you know the terrors, worries that someone was going come kidnap me and bury me alive somewhere because the shit I talked was so unprecedentedly nasty there was no way it could be allowed to stand, etc.(Which honestly is a pretty scary thought, because just based on the responses I received here it is clear that no one is gonna come looking). But you know, this went on, and the ol shoe never dropped.

I could only speculate that I must have been the subject of some kind of Job-like wager, to see whether I could walk the razors edge between hysteria, due to the gaslighting, on the one hand, and some form of violence, due to the anger at the abusive treatment, on the other. And it went on, and on, and on.

Today I realized that due to recent developments, and in small part because of this post, the terms of the wager have changed (which is good, because turns out, I can do this shit indefinitely, but where's the fun in that?). I am no longer the subject of this wager. No, I am now a party to it.

So, what or who (you may ask), is now then the new subject? What is the nature of this new wager?

The subject, my friends, is you. My fellow citizens. The unwashed (stereotype) masses. The people of Bellingham. The human race.

And what is in question? I guess on my side would be what is known as traditional humanism. Although I am no paragon and did not choose this, this tradition would generally focus on the value of things like honesty, courage, dignity, perseverance, kindness, love etc. which in my opinion are inescapable, and due to my own experiences with hardship, indispensable, and woe be to him who has not felt that light touch some corner of his immortal soul.

The counterargument (I suppose) could (for my purposes) be described as anti-humanist, at least in the traditional sense. I believe that this position holds that the idealization of these traditional virtues breeds discontent and indeed mass violence and war, as humans are inherently somewhat petty, cruel, violent, etc, Overly harmonious, idealized group identities simply displace(?) sublimate (?) (my bad) these tendencies outward, in the form of group based hatred and violence.

Relevant questions: Realistically, are humans capable of self government? Are ideals good? Is the project of the enlightenment practical or desirable?

I would argue that life is basically not worth living in the anti-humanist society, as well as point out that in the more moderate "European" view, this is why we have things like rock climbing or whatever other stupid shit you guys do. Traditional forms of collective action are still necessary, and you can't solve many problems "herding cats."

To some extent this is a matter of taste, but I guess the real question is whether your corporate overlords can succeed in birthing the anti-humanist society and ,indeed, become bigger than Jesus.

You guys aren't helping my case much, but regardless this is the fundamental reality of what is happening right here, right now, plain as day.

I'll end with a plea for collegiately, as I have presented the arguments collegially, mainly out of fear for my personal safety, although we both know, if one thing is true about people from my tradition, it's that we fucking LOVE to party.

The ball is obviously not in my court, as I am alone here in a literal sea of sycophantic assholes, with nothing to defend myself but my rapacious wit, endearing humor, and roguish good looks.

It is ironic though. Me, an actual pariah, and the girl who has it all, arguing across each other. Like, I cannot fucking BELIEVE I am defending you people.

[annarobszombies]

Dabi x Reader Oneshot

I was gonna put this on ao3 but I decided you all can have it instead.

Dabi tries to break up with you.

Loving someone like him wasn’t easy, he was a man of contradictions. He could be cagey and distant one day, clingy and obsessive another. There were days he’d say barely two words to you, and days he’d talk until his throat couldn’t take any more. But there was at least one thing that he was consistent on: 

Dabi didn’t lie.

If you asked him something he couldn’t-or just didn’t want-to answer, he’d either stay silent, or tell you that it wasn’t your business. Things like that included his work with the League, and his identity or past. Even if you pushed him on it, he’d clamp his jaw shut and turn away from you. You’d asked him once, why he didn’t just tell you something, even if it wasn’t true. You’d reminded him that it wasn’t like you’d know if he was lying, so what was the harm? 

“I don’t like liars,” Is all he’d said, and you’d had no choice but to accept it. You appreciated his truthfulness, knowing well just how easy it was for a man to lie to you just to keep in your good graces. Dabi was not afraid of telling you the truth, even if it hurt or made you angry. 

And that’s what makes tonight so strange. 

There was something in the way he stood, stiff yet overly relaxed, that clued you into something not being quite right. Then he refused to look you in the eye, which was definitely strange for him. He may not always look at you directly while speaking, but he was never the type to go to any great length to avoid your gaze. And tonight, his eyes were everywhere but on you, no matter how hard you tried to meet them. And on top of all that, nothing he was saying even made sense to you. 

He’d lived in your home, eaten your food, given you any and everything he could, told you over and over again for the last year that he loved you. And now he was breaking up with you? 

No, something was wrong here. Very, very wrong. 

“Dabi,” You say his name slowly, carefully. “Can you just…tell me what’s going on?”

“I am telling you,” He says, tone far too strained to be natural. 

“Not…not really.” 

“It’s just not working.”

“What isn’t working?” 

“Us.” 

“What about us?” 

He lets out a hard sigh, your name mumbled from his lips. His eyes flit to yours for the barest second before they find the far wall again. 

“We don’t fit,” He says, and for the first time in this entire conversation, he sounds honest. 

“Says who?” You ask with a careful step forward. You reach out to touch him, hands gently grazing the front of his shirt before resting on his chest, soaking in his warmth through your fingertips. He doesn’t flinch at your touch, doesn’t lean away. If anything, he presses himself closer, his body much more truthful than his words.

“Says everyone.” 

You frown, pushing yourself closer by just another step. Your hands slide up his chest to caress his face, forcing him with gentle hands to look at you. He looks like he’s in pain. 

“Dabi,” You say his name again, catching how he subtly flinches at the sound of it. “My love-” 

He rips away from you, shoving you hard backwards in the process. It’s such a sudden action that you’re unable to catch yourself before tumbling to the ground, hissing in pain when your ankle twists the wrong way. Traitorous tears fill your eyes and threaten to fall from your lashes as you look up at him from your new spot on the ground. The way he looks back at you can only be described as abject horror. 

“No-fuck-I-” He vacillates between reaching for you and backing further away, unsure of what to do with himself now. “Shit.” 

His breathing is coming hard, eyes blown wide. One hand digs into his hair, pulling at his scalp, the other scratching at the staples in his face, almost like he was trying to tear them out. Your breath catches in your throat when you realize that he’s having a panic attack. 

You say his name, but he doesn’t hear you. His eyes are unfocused, his chest heaving. He manages to stumble back one more step before hitting the far wall and going still. You take that as your chance to move, scrambling up and limping over to him slowly, hands outstretched to take hold of him as soon as he’s within distance. When the first drops of blood hit your floor, you move faster, launching yourself forward heedless of how badly your ankle hurts. 

“Hey, hey,” You keep your voice low, grabbing at his wrists and trying to pull them away from his hair and face. He’s shaking, even harder than the days when he stumbles home overheated and overtired. He’s looking at you, but you aren’t sure he’s really seeing you. 

You coax him into sitting on the floor with you, letting him stay with his back pressed into the wall while you knelt in front of him. You’ve managed to pry his hands away from their self-destructive task and now hold them close, pressing them gently against your own chest so that he can feel your heartbeat and steadier breathing. 

“I’m okay,” You murmur softly, trying to keep your face neutral at the sight of his bloodied face. He’d managed to get a few staples out, causing new wounds in the process. “It’s going to be okay.” 

You wrack your brain for what to do now. There was no promise that this pause in self harm wouldn’t start back up at the wrong word or movement. Dabi was stronger than you, if he wanted to pull away from you and dig his fingers into his skin until he bled all over, he very well could, and though you’d resist, he’d definitely win that fight. There had to be something you could do, something that would shake him out of his fog just enough for you to bring him back to reality, without making it worse than it already was. 

“Do you think All Might would win in a fight against a mantis shrimp?” You blurt, surprising you both. Dabi looks at you, blinking slowly.

“I mean,” You continue. “Mantis shrimps can punch super hard, right? Like they can really fuck someone up despite being so little. But since All Might is also, like, the strongest in the world, would that make it a fair fight?” 

The corner of his lips turns upwards, light slowly returning to his eyes, and you just keep going. 

“They have to be in special cases when in captivity, cause otherwise they’ll break out. Did you know that they can punch so fast that they boil the water around them? And they do this totally naturally. They evolved to be able to do that. What kind of predators do these things have?” 

“All Might…” His voice is hoarse. “Apparently.”

You grin at him, snickering a little. He lets out a huff of air, something similar to a laugh but not quite. 

“The shrimp would win,” He says.

“Oh, one hundred percent.” Now you’re both laughing, really, properly laughing. His shoulders hunch, head dropped down, but his torso shakes with his amusement nonetheless. 

You take a breath, calming yourself a bit and observing your partner. His breathing was still a bit labored, and his eyes still had a faraway look to them, but he seemed to be back in the here and now, at least for the moment. Whatever had triggered his episode, whether it had been the argument, him pushing you over, or both, seems to have floated from his mind momentarily. You had no doubt you’d need to be prepared to talk him through it all once he was back to being fully himself. 

For a moment, you think you see who he could have been, if whatever had happened to him hadn’t happened. You could imagine him with brighter eyes, a bigger grin not suppressed by scars and staples. He was already perfect to you, but your heart ached for him. For the him that was lost to his past. 

“I love you,” You say. 

He looks at you for a long moment, his laughter dead in his chest. He pulls one hand away from your chest, and lifts it to caress your face. His thumb runs a soothing line along your cheekbone, twitching a bit when he spots the drying blood he’s accidentally rubbing into your skin. 

“I know,” He mumbles.

You want to crack a joke at him, but it doesn’t come out. Instead, the tears return, this time spilling over your lashes and soaking your face. There was such a finality in his tone, one that made you think that maybe this was all real, that he wasn’t lying, and he really was going to leave and never come back. You can feel your heart shattering with every second he doesn’t say anything else, with every second he just holds you in his hand and watches you cry. 

He couldn’t do this to you, not after all the endless nights and early mornings. Not after all the hours spent with his body connected to yours, branding you from the inside as his. He couldn’t just break you after he’d finally put you back together. 

You push his hand away and wipe at your eyes, trying your hardest to control your breathing and calm down. You had to finish this conversation calmly, you had to make sure he was okay. It felt horribly selfish to sob like this after he’d just been the one in a full blown panic attack. You needed to stop, to stifle your emotions until he left so that his last memory of you wasn’t this. 

“Are you…are you okay, now?” You ask with a shaky voice. This was probably the calmest you were going to be at the moment. 

“Yeah, baby, I’m good,” He says.

The world feels like it’s tilted sideways, nothing going the way you wanted it to. You were supposed to be having dinner, curled on your couch next to the man you adored more than you ever thought you could. He’s supposed to have an arm draped around you, not quite holding you but still keeping you close to him. There is supposed to be a shitty movie playing on the TV that the two of you make fun of together between idle kisses and steamy touches. It wasn’t fair.

“I love you,” You can’t stop yourself. “So much.” . 

“I know, baby,” He repeats his own words, reaching to brush hair from your tear-soaked face. He looks like he wants to say something else, but his jaw clenches, silencing himself before he lets whatever it is spill from his lips. 

So the two of you sit on the floor of your apartment in heavy silence. 

Your ankle throbs under you, reminding you of the tumble you’d taken just a moment ago. That seemed to be what had set him off, the more you think about it. He’d been calm when informing you that he was leaving you, and even when you argued with him about it. But it had been when he pushed you, and you got hurt, that he’d crumpled. 

“I’m sorry for upsetting you,” You manage to mumble. 

“You didn’t,” He says just as softly, and you know from the look on his face that he’s not talking about his panic attack. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Can you just make something up?” You know you sound pathetic, pleading with him like this, but you can’t help it. “Please, I don’t care if it’s something stupid. I just…I need to know that you have a reason for leaving. Something I can be mad about so this doesn’t hurt so much!” 

He sighs your name with a shake of his head. 

“I can’t.”

“Hah…” You shift and stand, trying not to put too much weight on your injured foot. “What was it you were saying to me earlier? That we don’t fit? Is that really what you want to stick with? What you want me to remember?” 

“What do you want me to say?” He asks, standing now as well. 

“Anything!” You yell, throwing your hands in the air. 

“Like what?!” He yells back, taking a step towards you, invading your space. 

“Tell me that I’m annoying! Tell me that I talk too much, or that I’m messy, or stupid! Lie to me! Or be honest and tell me that you don’t love me!” 

You think he’s stopped breathing, you’ve never seen him so still. It feels like standing in a silent forest, horrible and unnatural and frightening. 

“Is that…what you think?” His voice is low, almost deadly. “You seriously think. That I’m doing this because I don’t love you?” 

“Unless you tell me otherwise, then-”

“Are you stupid?” 

The sudden, vicious anger in his words startles you, all words dying on your tongue as you just stare at him in surprise, your own frustration burning through your body. What gave him the right to sound like that when he was the one who started all this? 

You start to say his name, but one of his hands flies up to cover your mouth, just like he’d done when you’d babbled at him on the first night you met. 

“I’m doing this because I love you. Because being with me is dangerous for you, and I can’t fucking sleep at night anymore thinking about what could happen if someone finds out about you. It’s bad enough that heroes have been sniffing around this neighborhood recently, but if another villain gets their hands on you? Because of me?”

With his hand over your mouth, you can’t say anything. Though, even if you were free to, you’re not sure how you’d even respond to him at all. 

“You make me want to give up on everything. And I swear, if you asked, I’d do it. I’d give up on the revenge that I rightfully fucking deserve just to make you happy, because I can’t stand the idea that what I do could make you miserable.” 

His breathing is hard and angry, eyes wide and wild, and yet not for a single moment do you worry that he could hurt you. He’d scared you for a moment, sure, but now that you were really processing his words, you realize you had no reason to feel that way. He wasn’t angry with you. He hasn’t been this whole time. 

You lift your hands to gently take hold of his wrist, tugging on him to signal that you wanted to speak. His eyes narrow at you, but he allows his palm to be pried from your mouth, and moved to press into your cheek. You make him stand like that for a long time, letting yourself just digest everything he’s said. 

There were a hundred and one things you could say in response to him, but none of them really felt right. Telling him you loved him wouldn’t do much, telling him you understood would be a lie. Allowing him to leave was a big no-go, but brushing this all under the rug felt even worse. When you finally settle on what to say, you’re careful to do it slowly.

“You know…I don’t know that much about you,” You say. “I don’t know why your revenge is so important, I don’t know what kind of people you deal with or have made angry that might try to hurt me. And I don’t know why you pushing me over sent you so over the edge.” 

You look up at him, letting go of his wrist in favor of reaching for his face, to caress it the way he stayed caressing yours. 

“But, I still want you here. I want to love and be loved by you, regardless of if it means that I have to be a little extra vigilant. I don’t care if I have to practice what to say if a hero comes to the door, I don’t care if I have to be ready to jump out the window with you because you need to run and you don’t want to leave me behind. You being a villain, and having enemies, all that doesn’t matter to me. What matters is that you come home at night, that you remember things about me when I tell them to you, even in passing, and that you’re alive. You don’t even have to be safe, if you can’t promise that. Just come home with enough pieces that I can put you back together.” 

He huffs, pulling away but not too far, and covers his face. His shoulders shake and it takes you a moment to realize he’s laughing at you. Your face flushes, a touch of embarrassment making you anxious and antsy. 

Then, he mumbles something. 

“Wh-what?” You ask.

“I can’t cry,” His voice is soft, muffled by his hands but now just loud enough to hear. 

“Huh…?” 

“My face is too fucked up.” 

“Your face isn’t…it’s not-” 

“Baby,” He drops his hands, looking at you with tired eyes and a lopsided grin. “I know what I look like.” 

You let his self deprecating comment slide, just this once. 

“Do you want to cry?” You ask, instead. 

“Right now? A little bit.” 

You pull him impossibly close, one arm around his neck, hand petting the back of his head, the other up under his arm to grip his shoulder from behind. He buries his face into your neck, arms wrapping around you as tightly as he could without hurting you, and the two of you just stand like that for a while. 

You hiss involuntarily when he leans on you a little too hard, your ankle protesting the extra weight. The sound has him jerking away, eyes wide and full of worry. His expression was so foreign to you it was almost laughable. But it was honest, that much you knew. 

“I’m okay,” You say. “I think I rolled my ankle when I fell-” 

“Fuck, baby, I-” He cuts himself off, taking a breath before continuing. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

“I know,” You say. 

“Let me look at it.” 

You let him lead you to the couch and sit you down, kneeling at your feet so that he can take the injured one into his hands. He bends and twists it slowly, gauging your reactions, muttering soft apologies every time you wince or let out a pained noise. 

“Should ice it,” He says. “Prop it up, don’t use it for a couple days.”

“Yes sir,” You can’t stop yourself from teasing him a bit, grinning ear to ear when he levels you with a dangerous look. 

“Watch it, baby. I just narrowly avoided losing you. I’m wound up enough.” 

“Oh?” You lean forward a bit. “I think we’re both a little wound up.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mhm.”

“Good.”

He gathers you in his arms and throws you over his shoulder, carrying you squealing and laughing into the bedroom, where he dumps you on the mattress and follows quickly after. He spends the rest of the night kissing you all over, hands refamiliarizing themselves with your body. His teeth leave marks along your shoulder and chest, and the wall ends up with a burn mark from him getting a little too excited. 

This was how things should be.

-

He’s always awake before you, but this was the first time he really laid here like this, looking at you. He watched as the first rays of sunlight stream through the tiny gap in the curtains, illuminating your face in a way he’s sure he’s never seen before. He traces a finger along your features, smiling a bit to himself when your eyebrows furrow, but you don’t wake. 

He, admittedly, feels bad for taking you to bed and being so rough when you were already hurt. He also never explained to you why him hurting you affected him so. To be fair, he hadn’t realized that something like that could bother him. Not after all the people he’d hurt and killed over the past several years. 

But seeing you on the floor, because of him? Hurt by his hands? It had made him feel disgusting, like a monster. It was that moment that he realized that he really was as bad as he’d told himself he was. That everyone told him he was. Everyone but you, that is. 

It cemented in him that his revenge couldn’t be put on hold, because if anyone took you away, it would be his father.

“You have no idea,” He whispers to your sleeping form. “What I’d do for you.” 

You let out a soft, sleepy hum. His first sign that you were really starting to wake up.

“Do you even realize what I would do to this fucking country if I lost you?” He keeps his voice low. “There wouldn’t be anything left. I’d burn it. Do you understand? I’d burn the whole fucking world to ashes, and no one would be able to stop me.”

“Promise?” One eye cracks open, and he’s honestly not sure you actually heart the whole of what he’s said, nor does he think you understood in your mostly-asleep state. 

“Cross my heart, baby.” 

You sigh, giving him another happy, sleepy little hum, and snuggle closer to him. 

“I love you,” He murmurs, kissing the top of your head. 

“Mm…I know.”

[khaire-traveler]

The silliest and most terrifying thing happened to me while I was doing my final ritual for Anthesteria (the one where you ask The Dead to leave and give thanks to Hermes Psychopompos). It was as follows:

It was snowing outside. When you step out there, you can hear nothing but the sound of the wind blowing. It was an ominous sound, but there was some unnerving peace to it.

I stepped outside and walked to my ritual spot just a few feet from my house. As I gave my first offering, I realized I forgot the second offering inside. I stopped for a moment, trying to decide if it was worth it to run inside and grab it, and although some part of me said I could continue without it, I decided to get it. I found a good place to pause in my speaking and ran inside without looking behind me (key thing here is to not look behind you, as to not invite any spirits to follow).

I snatched a mug from my cupboard and filled it with fresh water then headed back outside, accidentally spilling some on myself, naturally. Right as I'm about to begin again, I hear a man's voice calling out to me from a short distance away. I didn't recognize the voice and debated whether or not I should look where it was coming from, considering I was in the process of trying to ask the spirits of Anthesteria to leave. I pause in silence for a moment, then hear the voice again, actually able to make out the words this time.

"Look over here."

Freezing in place, I looked just ahead of me and saw no one. I scanned the area where I heard the voice (it was a very open area, so I would've easily seen someone), even looking in my neighbor's yard, but not a soul seemed to be around. In a split second decision, my brain felt that the wisest course of action was to turn around, yelling quite literally "AAAAHHHHHH!!!!", and not look behind me out of respect for the ritual. I slammed my door behind me and calmed down before deciding to have someone watch the door (for my safety), grab some more water, and head back outside.

I was goddamn determined to finish this ritual.

I go out there, do what I need to do, and don't hear the man again. As I throw some pomegranate seeds over my shoulder and command the spirits to leave, a nearby bush started shaking out snow suddenly, but I continued speaking and went inside, closing the door behind me and not looking back.

So yeah, it was probably just my neighbor, and the bush was probably a squirrel or bird hopping around (there are lots of those near here), but that shit scared the fuck out of me, especially since I had listened to a ton of horror stories last night (with Hermes, mind you, so I have my suspicions that I was low-key being pranked). The fact that my actual scream of fear was "AH" is also insanely hilarious to me; I hope the spirits and Hermes got a kick out of that lmfao. XD

[saeist]

"... think you can help me now?"

"how many times do i have to tell you? no"

you grumbled, trying to walk away from nagumo who has been following you all morning. today was valentines day and in jcc, it was just an ordinary day with the exception of handing out chocolate to your crushes— something you'll never do nor receive

nagumo huffs, picking up his pace to catch up with you. when he gets in your way, he holds his hands up in defense when you raise your arm, ready to hit him

"wait! before you hit me.. hear me out first!" he pleads

you give him a look that basically screams 'it better be fuckin' worth it'

nagumo reads your face for a reaction and when the coast was clear, he takes a deep breath before he starts explaining why he needed you to help him

"you're the only one i know who can successfully scare the girls away.. so why not ask you to fake date me just for today!" nagumo chirps, a stupid smile on his face as he babbles on about his current dilemma about receiving 152 chocolates from different girls from different departments

you can feel a vein pop on your forehead as you actually stood there and thought that nagumo may have a serious problem that he needed your help specifically

"who even told you i'd help you? rion? i doubt she did" you muttered, shaking your head in disbelief. there was actually no way in hell that rion told nagumo that you'd help him out of all people for some petty problem of his

"she did actually" nagumo laughs, fishing his phone out of his pocket to show you his messages with rion

[10:21 AM] akao: yeah y/n can totally help you with that [10:23 AM] nagumo: you think so? :00 [10:27 AM] akao: totally. she just told me rn.

you are so going to kill rion

on the corner of nagumo's eye, he spots another wave of girls looking around, probably looking for him

tired from being asked out multiple times today, nagumo may or may not have mentioned to all the girls who have come up to him today that he was seeing someone

some took it lightly and dropped the subject but some were still persistent. even accusing nagumo of lying because they've been watching him all day and they haven't seen him remotely close with his "significant other"

that's where you come in

the same girl who was persistent on asking nagumo out, pops out of no where and walks up to you and nagumo

"is this your girlfriend you were talking about?" the girl raises an eyebrow, looking between you and nagumo. nagumo, who kept his cool despite the girl's abrupt appearance and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you plush against him

"yep" nagumo says, popping the 'p', "this is my girlfriend i told you about"

your eye twitches at the introduction. you haven't even given him your approval of such act. one second he was asking for permission, the next he was already claiming you as his own

what the fuck, nagumo?

the girl notices your demeanour, totally not buying nagumo's bullshit lie one bit

"oh really now? then kiss her if she really is your girlfriend because it's looking like she doesn't like you touching her" the girl says smug, crossing her arms as she basically challenges the nagumo yoichi

without a second thought, nagumo cups your face and smashes your lips together

your eyes widened as you try to process everything, all at once

nagumo gives it like 5 seconds of kissing you deeply that it honestly got you weak in the knees at the absurdity of it. when he pulls away, the girl had already left. leaving you and him alone in the jcc hallway

"oh wow that was easy–"

you cut nagumo off by shoving him against the lockers, your hands on his neck. nagumo whistles lowly and holds his hands out in surrender

"woah. sorry 'bout that. had to take care of that little pesky thing" he reasons, lips curling to a eat shitting green seeing your face was all red

"nagumo, i'm going to fucking kill you" you grit your teeth

nagumo suddenly pulls something out of his back pocket. it was a chocolate bar. he holds it out in front of you like it's some kind of peace offering

"chocolate?"

"NAGUMO!"

"happy valentines day, fake girlfriend"

[1:40 PM] akao: told you she'd help you lol

[1:43 PM] rion <3: tell nagumo one chocolate bar isn't enough for the two of us! [1:44 PM] you: i'm going to kill you. [1:45 PM] rion <3: awwe. happy vday too, bb.

[sharklovingaquarist]

I dont read what trans identified people respond to me tbh (hard to keep up with even people I like on here) but one responded to my post about gender conditioning being an early process with the hashtag "#terfbullshit" after I talked about how I was molested by a grown man in my Christian private school when I was younger than 5 years old... bruh, idk what you're gonna say to me that proves that's not sex based oppression or conditioning girls. I was constantly bullied by the adults at my school for wearing "boys' clothes" because my parents let me. I was shamed for my weight by the man who hurt me. I was literally bullied by a grown ass woman (daughter of that man) where she would let the little boys hit me because I was crying. I was in PRESCHOOL. You're fucking stupid if you think gender roles suddenly pop into existence as soon as you start puberty. If my parents hadn't told me it's ok for women to act like humans with complex cognitive ability, I would've disconnected from my womanhood. It's mostly "trans women" who get angry at this tho, lmfao you wouldn't know. The roles you grew up with were the pinnacle of humanity, I was raised to perform. Males love to shit themselves over not being able to perform, but how does it feel when your whole identity surrounds the service of others?

Whatever, thank you to the real ones here for being so awesome. The only place I feel safe haha

Edit: imma dox that private school too. Family Christian Academy in Orlando, FL. The principal is a racist piece of shit too. Told my mom I shouldn't be friends with a black boy who was in my kindergarten class. Her parents ran a preschool, and her father would hit us. I can't even recall the SA well. My mind blocks it. One of his rancid daughters physically abused me many times and banned me from wearing dresses because I lifted it as a 4 year old girl. Hope everyone that ran that shit show has a terrible life, trust I know the women are. Must suck being so repressed.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

As someone who wants to join the fandom more but it’s too scared to do so, I’m wondering how did you cultivated this community…? It’s so sweet to watch the way you talk to others and helping their works and such. How did you meet like…??? people ??? Like I always see you tagging the artists (ngl I found your blog because of Gomz) and I’d really want to learn, I’ve tried joining previous fandoms and it was always too competitive in some sense, like everyone was busy pushing their works for likes and retweets (maybe it’s more of a twitter thing)

Oh yeah. That's a Twitter thing. Twitter is a cesspit and I only go there for porn. The whole thing is set up to make people feel shite because people that feel shite scroll for longer/look at more adverts. Lock your account, bud. You'll feel a lot better.

But everywhere else? Gratitude and humility. Also, understanding what I wanted from fandom; a small community that hypes each other and encourages new people. Those are my bros (non-gendered). My Cakeshop Bros I found five years ago in fandom; they have slept in my spare bedroom, I've gone drinking, played boardgames, and we laid on the floor in London in a space art installation near Soho being weirdos drunk off our heads. Not just fandom friends now, friends for life.

When I first started posting for CoD, I was dead nervous as I'd been stung in a previous fandom. People took a chance on me as a new person; they reblogged my work with the sweetest tags. They hyped me. They took the time out of their day for a stranger, and they didn't have to. They coulda just read it and moved on. So, I said thank you in their inbox, or in their DMs. We started talking more, I was a bit weird and they vibed back. They are also good people. Genuinely. You mentioned Gomz; literally, so kind, so sweet. Deserves the world.

When I can, I make sure I hype them back; I wish I could do more but my job is absolute pig in terms of time. It's mock season (now over, woohoo) so I have a backlog of fics to catch up on - Nekro, Mikey, T, Oliv, Nikkie, Hexx, Gomz (who I deffo know have written), but there are probably more! I'll set a few hours aside over half term with a beer and crack on.

Also, I guarantee everyone is as nervous as you are. Everyone gets imposter syndrome. And also, everyone gets jealous. Jealousy is a natural human emotion that you need to process into something productive. "I'm jealous" = "this person is really fucking good, has worked hard, I'm gonna encourage them and learn from them because they clearly know their shit". Reframing rather than ignoring or letting it fester. They're just people after all and probably shitting themselves as much as I was.

I also guarantee you I am not everyone's cup of tea. And that's ok. Letting go of the burning desire to be liked by all, sometimes at the expense of my own bloody happiness and seeing it as a personal failing if I wasn't, was probably one of the most powerful things I did for myself over the last five years. The only thing I care about in regards to others is if I acted with integrity and kindness (not necessarily niceness). That's all I can control.

Sorry, mate. That came off as a bit of a rant! But uh, don't be scared. Keep reaching out. Be feral.

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

"They need to have a safe adult to process this stuff with." YES!! A MILLION TIMES YES!!!

So story time!! When I was a kid, my middle school was weird. It was 4th grade through 8th grade. That meant you had kids ages like 8 to 14 in there. And that is a HUGE broad range of ages and developments! Immensely huge!!

But as a result, you had literal children exposed to swearing, sex jokes, puberty, reproductive talks, mentions and even sights of drugs.

That was a TON to handle!! For a child to see that and hear that all?! It was too much to handle alone. And the sad part is a lot of the kids did end up handling it alone. And they became fucked over trying to make sense of it all. Some, in late high school, sorted that out, but many didn't.

I was lucky to have a mother who talked with me about it all. She sat me down if I had questions or concerns, she spoke to me and my brother about these very adult topics, and from a young age, I'm talking like at age 10, she trusted me enough to understand what the word cock could be, aka either a chicken or a dick.

She helped me to process this all. Make it less scary and intimidating.

My mother even helped me learn what consent was when I was 9, and how to say no if someone did something I didn't want.

And when I was a little kid, she took me on shopping trips and sometimes she stopped in the liquor store, and I'd go in, and I didn't care or mind. She didn't mind. She was exposing me so I understood it, and she knew I wouldn't be tempted later on when I could legally drink. Hell, as a teen if I wanted a beer, or a glass of champagne, she didn't deny me, but I also never did want that because I just wasn't interested.

Even now, as an adult, I don't really like alcohol. The taste is weird, and all I would drink is mead and maybe a beer.

But it's because my mother exposed me safely with her guidance at a young age that I understood and knew my limits and grew up to not be tempted by adult things that so many are sheltered from to "protect" them.

Those kids aren't protected. They're endangered. Because they do not know the limits and dangers of themselves or what they are imbibing as adults the way they would know if they grew up with someone to guide and help them know these things.

Now when I did reach high school, our freshman year was sex ed in health class. And the thing is, our state legally requires to offer parents/guardians the option offered to opt their child out.

These people were notified by email, and they could opt their children out. They had to sign a document to allow the kids to learn, and if the kid showed up without that document for the day?

That kid got opted out.

So many parents did this. Most for religious excuses, but I say "excuses" because that's what it is. Everyone should be made to learn sex ed and properly, not with just abstinence only, or religious-based sex ed.

And so many of those same parents who opted their children out, I knew them. Because it's a tiny town where you know everyone first, middle, last name, probably even deepest darkest secret.

And those parents were the exact ones who tried so damn hard to shelter their children, teens, even, from adult subjects and environments. Didn't let them even so much as look at alcohol. Wouldn't let them even hear a single swear or the word "sex" lest that parent shame you half to fucking death for exposing their child to inappropriate subjects. Prevented their kids from playing videogames at all or from listening to so many musical genres and artists, reading most books or watching most shows and movies. They did everything to shelter those kids. And I mean EVERYTHING.

But many of those same kids grew into adults and, underexposed or entirely unexposed to adult things and subjects, they went off the rails once on their own. OD'ed or had kids at 18 by accident, got arrested for stupid shit and having illegal weapons, got caught in domestic violence situations, you name it. Some went on to advocate the same way their parents taught them and try to do what they experienced, doing away with sex ed and fighting tooth and nail to "cleanse" the internet and media for children to be "safe" from the "horrors" of adulthood.

But do you know what happens when a person who's been through tough things hides those behind a wall and refuses to engage with and process those tough things? What happens when said person protects themselves from trauma without confronting it?

That can outright cause a psychological break.

It did for me. I put my trauma behind a wall, hid it, never confronted it, and wound up fucked in the head for years and I'm still trying to recover as an adult. Granted it was unrelated trauma to the subject, but point is:

These parents trying to protect their kids are walling them up. They are shoving them behind that wall hard, and when it comes crashing down once that kid is an adult, they're left to their own devices as they try figuring out how to navigate this world put up to them as so horrifying and terrifying and evil.

But they're adults. So many of their parents expect them to just figure it out on their own. No help.

And that, in my eyes, is the equivalent of a psychological break. Being suddenly exposed to the "trauma" of the world and left to handle it alone does no one any good, and everyone I've known that had to endure such an ordeal is either screwed over even worse than I am, or they're dead. Outright dead by terrible circumstances.

Yet those of us who were lucky enough to have adults that, from a young age, helped us understand these adult things?

We were better able to understand how to avoid the dangers of them, regulate ourselves, and keep safe from terrible circumstances which, quite sadly, killed a good few people I used to know.

Understanding the limits, the dangers, the subjects of adult situations and things, does not prevent the individual from being safe from them entirely. But it does help them understand what they're getting into and how to get out if caught.

You cannot stop your children from doing bad things, but you can prepare them to know the full range of what they're getting into so that, if they do said things, at least they can be safe about it.

Maybe instead of asking what if a kid sees/hears this adult thing, we ask why is that kid in an adult space and get them to leave, instead of forcing all the adults to change and cater to the child who wandered into THEIR SPACE.

[fierceawakening]

FML

Me: Hi, nice to meet you! Young shelter resident, 30s maybe, uses a walker: Hi, I really really really really really need housing, I'm pretty medically effed up and I'm scared. Me: ...That's very understandable. Unfortunately, it's a slow and tough process to get housing and I can't promise it'll be fast. Me: The more documentation you can give me of what's going on with you and how long, the more likely it is I can speed things up, but by that I mean go from "near stationary" to "glacial." Her: Shit. Me: Yes. Me, not aloud, attempting telepathy: And Trump is president now. I can't actually SAY this but please hear me I AM THINKING IT AT YOU SUPER LOUD. Me: Let me put in for your birth certificate. Her: Um I might be able to get something from my sister saying I was homeless before. Me: I hope that will count. We might need something more official, but let me try. Me: Can you give me anything from your doctor about your medical needs? If they're sufficiently severe I can TRY to use that as leverage too. Her: I don't have a PCP, I just go to the hospital when my sugar gets bad. Also the neuropathy makes me a fall risk. Me: Can someone with some letters after their name write that down? Her: I can give you stuff from the hospital? (She does. It documents she has diabetes well enough but doesn't really say "dude she keeps ending up here wtf" or sum up what she needs.) Birth Certificate Guys: Me: *contacts the hospital* Hosp SW: We can send you docs from her stay but we're unwilling to sum anything up for you. She needs a PCP for that. Me: Okay, cool. (Thinks: fuck, not cool.) Housing Guys: Good news. We're cool with the letter from her sister even though it's not from a doctor or therapist or Official Person. Birth Certificate Guys: Her: So now that you have that from my sister you're giving me a voucher right? Me: That's not how that works. Now we can start putting in for some places, but a voucher of your own is gonna take a LONG ass time. Her: I'm super disappointed! Me: I understand. Her: You should have WARNED ME. Me: I totally did. Her: Dude... do you at least have my birth certificate? Me: Let me check. Her: *sigh* Fine. Birth Certificate Guys: Me: *sends for it again to make sure* Me: *goes to type up that I did this* Me: *notices a note from another CM who she saw before I got in* Note: Client indicates she wants to switch case managers. Client says that current case manager is not doing anything.

[foggieststars]

what's the sitch with girl!george and alex in the virgin osc verse rn (idk if that's what we're calling it haha)- like is george just suffering through alex having a gf, is she involved with someone else..... i loved her in the girl!charles fic and must know more !!!

hi baby... people think girl oscar needs to be protected. girl george needs SO MUCH LOVE AND CARE !!!! im glad u like her too :) i'm planning a third instalment of the series with girl george and alex figuring their shit out - here's a little snippet <3

-

George is nearly asleep when her phone starts to ring. She gropes for it blindly, knocking her book off her bedside table in the process. 

Alex and her mum are the only ones allowed to bypass her do not disturb settings, and her money’s on the former. But still, even he knows not to ring her past ten, unless it’s a genuine emergency. 

“Alex?” she says, pressing the phone against her ear and slumping back down into bed. “You okay? ‘S late.” 

“I know, Georgie,” Alex says, his voice soft. “I’m sorry. Can I - are you back yet?” 

“Yeah,” George yawns, rolling over into the middle of her bed. “Got back a few hours ago.” After a gruelling few weeks spent in Brackley, pretending to be interested in whatever Toto’s child bride has to say, she’s exhausted down to her very bones. 

“Can I come over?” Alex asks. George tenses. Alex knows she doesn’t like having plans sprung on her. “Lily and I broke up,” he says, and something explodes in George’s chest. 

"Oh," George says stupidly. "Yeah - fuck, Alex, I'm sorry. Of course you can come over."

"That's good," Alex says. "Because I'm already in the lobby. I'll be up in two."

With that, Alex hangs up.

Oh, fucking hell. George jumps out of bed, previous exhaustion forgotten, examines the state of her room with a critical eye. Her belongings are scattered everywhere, a jumble of chargers on her bookshelf, laundry basket overflowing with dirty clothes.

She's usually extremely diligent about unpacking promptly once she gets home, but she'd just been so tired. Listening to everybody fawn over Kimi for two weeks had taken so much out of her, keeping a polite smile on her face at all times and never letting a hint of the disdain she feels show.

She shoves as much stuff as she can fit under her bed. She'll deal with it in the morning.

Then she catches a glimpse of her own reflection in the mirror, and nearly screams. Her hair's a tangled mess, there are actual craters under her eyes, and she hadn't bothered to remove her mascara before slumping into bed so she looks like a raccoon.

It's just Alex, George tells herself as she yanks a brush through her hair. What are you getting all in a tizzy for?

But George knows why, with every thump of her traitorous heart. The heart that beats only for one person, and has since she was fourteen, and Alex had begged off kissing her in a game of spin the bottle at a race.

She's like my sister, he'd protested, and George had felt it like a blow to the gut, and since that moment she's been lost.

There's a knock at her door and George's heart leaps in her chest, thump thump thump.

George scowls at herself in the mirror. Just because Alex and Lily have broken up doesn't mean anything. George hadn't mattered the last time Alex was single - not like that, anyways - and she won't matter now. Don't be so naive, she reminds herself, and goes to answer the door with a heavy heart.

[charmwasjess]

for our good friend dooku, 16, 21&22, and 6 if you have more to say about it. 🙏🙇‍♂️

OH YOU JUST COME INTO MY ASK BOX AND MAKE MY DAY?!! :D Beloved anon, these are SUCH fun questions and I absolutely had a blast answering them. Thank you so much! Stop by anytime and I’ll make you a cup of coffee! (I have tea too, but my taste in tea is real gross.)

16. What's your least favorite ship for this character?

Ohh, this is a hard one! 

The thing is, while I have my favorites, I find Dooku soo very shippable with a vast number of characters - not because he has any healthy understanding of his own sexual and emotional needs anymore than he has a healthy relationship with food - but because especially in his Sith era, he’s a black hole of need and loneliness. Sex is like the one way Sith are allowed to access the intimacy that fifty years of Jedi communal life has trained him to want and need. 

The ship for him that I absolutely love-hate in that vein is Sidious/Dooku. I doubt it went much further than a few absolutely debased encounters because let’s be honest, Sidious can do much better and isn’t in the habit of letting his dog eat from his plate, but whoof, what a fun, fucked up ship with nasty power dynamics. “Oh nooo, oh no, awful….where’s the link?” energy.

21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

I love giving Dooku big, often violent, over the top moments where his natural appetite for chaos comes out. 

Dooku gives you these amazing options as a fanfic writer. He’s so high drama. A huge part of his reserve and composure is that there’s an absolute volcano of feeling bubbling under the crust.

The things he says are absurd and beautiful, poetic and horrific, hilarious and awkward. You can push the character further than you expect, and he’ll go with you in surprising places in a piece of writing if you let him show off. This is a character who loves attention and has the natural talent and chaos to back up his own bullshit. If you can get his sound and feel right, there’s almost nothing you can’t do with him - because a core part of Dooku is the unreliable narrator: even he doesn’t always know what he’s about to do. 

I think the hardest part is his “voice” because Christopher Lee had such a distinctive cadence - it’s not just a British accent, it’s early 20th century British, who grew up bilingual and went on to speak like literally 7 different languages fluently, with a supremely deep voice, who wanted to sing opera but only got half-trained before WWII ruined that dream for him. It’s a very unique sound.

I like “my” Dooku voice in my fics and I’m proud of it; I work really hard on it and it’s why I use him as a POV character most often. But I still look at my own fics and have those record needle scratch moments where I know a line of his needs to get reworked. It’s a constant process.

The Christopher Lee accent also could not be MORE different than my own rural American one. There’s a hilarious-awful story in Lee’s autobiography, Lord of Misrule, about him getting stopped by a patrol of Americans in WWII who absolutely do not believe he’s English and they start trying to speak German to him. He goes, “you don’t have to speak German, you know, I’m fairly capable of understanding English, since that’s what I am.” 

22. If you're a fic reader, what's something you like in fics when it comes to this character? Something you don't like?

I love it when fics do a realistic job of letting Dooku be the walking contradiction he is. Two of my favorite Dooku fics right now are Pray My Mind Be Good to Me and Galaxies Far Far Away May Be Closer Than They Appear - both feature Dooku written in this way. He has done or is going to do horrific shit - shit that cannot be changed and has real consequences. In both fics, he’s also portrayed vividly, a "real person," full of genuine emotion, vulnerability, and deep investment in the other characters. Love is a part of his betrayal and betrayal is a part of his love. These two things exist in the character simultaneously in queasy, gorgeous combination. 

As far as what I don’t like, I don’t know, I think Dooku is a tremendously intimidating character to write and I’m impressed by anyone who takes a crack at writing him! I’d encourage anyone to give it a shot. 

I have one really small weird pet peeve, and that’s giving him too much stuffy, uptight rich guy cliche. Dude was a mud-grubbing mission Jedi for 50 years, himself raised by a swamp troll, who went on to train two of the most chaotic Jedi. He’s eaten more bugs than Anakin, and I'll die on that hill.

6. What's something you have in common with this character?

I went pretty broad on my other answer, so I’ll tell you two lil' things!

I’m tall (ironically I’m about Sifo-Dyas’s canon height, a character whose legit tallness is often overlooked cause he’s standing next to Dooku–) and I pull a ton of my own experiences into how I write the way he moves or his little gestures, especially how small he can fold up when he’s feeling vulnerable. There’s a unique tall person awkwardness that comes from experiencing the adolescent growth spurt right at the time when it’s the most emotionally unbearable to be physically conspicuous. 

I didn’t realize I shared his exercise-away-the-strong-emotion thing until I was chatting with @bolithesenate about some fic or something, and said something offhand like “too upset about Sifo-Dyas, gotta go for a run” and she was like “uh, Jess? are you QUOTING your own Dooku characterization here?” :O Don't call me out like that, bro!! Do not perceive me!

[i-try-and-also-fail]

oh my GODDDD. really don’t mean to engage with these people (I was actually going through a blocklist) but this shit is so disgusting and harmful.

puritans on here talking about the “right” ways to cope with trauma is wild. there is not an incorrect way to process trauma. trauma is messy, and it’s hard, and if you’re trying to heal you can’t fucking sanitize the process. that’s not how it works, fundamentally.

(and these people are the most common denominator to send death threats on here, it’s insane that they’re supposed to be healthy or well-adjusted. god.)

THIS ☝🏽☝🏽☝🏽

[problematic-polls]

Hello. I recently visited your presumably fine city, and I have to say, I did not enjoy myself.

I am reminded of a quote from AA (non active): "Principles before personalities."

Seems everywhere I went I was harassed, discriminated against, belittled, kicked out, yes sexually harassed, etc, apparently based on the characteristics of my physical appearance, as I gave no indication of political creed, religious affiliation, life philosophy, personal history, or otherwise. Like come on guys, my fashion sense is not THAT bad.

For example, a barista I interacted with saw fit to yell "no" in my face as I was attempting to order. Like fine, if you feel the need to publicly and preemptively cock block me by loudly stating your negative sexual preference towards my person, and thereby impress friends and bystanders, while letting that fella or lady you truly are smitten with know just how loyal a girl you really can be... I can't stop you. I'm sure they're great. I'm just trying to get some coffee.

Ok ok ok, so now, you (the reader) share a knowing look with the apparently psychic iindividual who tells you what to think and how to act (they obviously know about these things), who then makes a simple gesture accusing me of pedophilia and boom. Game, set, and match. It's over. Why even continue reading?

Not that either you believe what you are saying, but who gives a fuck at this point right? It's just that the look on both your faces reminds me of a smug version of the look my dog gets when he is licking his own butt.

Funny story-up until recently, I worked with an actual convicted child rapist. The genuine article. And let me tell you, he was having a fucking field day with this shit. It's ok, get it all out buddy. That's fine right? He's a part of the movement, and everyone gets something. Well, almost everyone lol;) ;)

Yes sir, it's a real pander fest out there. At an intersection, there is an environmentalist guy and a guy with the unnecessarily large and noisy truck. Given our recent political decision making process, you would think they would be staring daggers, yelling, celebratory coal rolling, etc. No absolutely not. Dudes are falling all over themselves in a mad scramble of trans political endearment. It's so simple!! All we have to do is find the one guy in society who isn't a completely gullible dumbfuck and shit all over him and poof. All problems resolved. Transgressions forgiven. A new age.

I mean, it is somewhat interesting how each of you has an individually unique rationalization for the exact same , identical patterns of hateful and abusive behavior. The tree hugger and the coal roller. Beautiful snowflakes all.

Just kidding, it's actually really easy to just place you in a cliched typology and reverse engineer your justification for participating in fascism lite (tm) based on a presumable self conception. I don't really give a fuck what lies you tell yourself in the mirror. But as your Bob Dylan said, it ain't me babe.

Point being, having superceded the political, as well as all conventional rules of civilized conduct, and or general local culture in your fair city, The Movement (tm) (ha) or whatever the fuck you call it, is the dominant social reality and governing social principle.

AND YOU CANNOT TALK ABOUT IT

Which is fine. You do you. But please cease to labor under the illusion that you still have any translatable values, of any kind, whatsoever. It's not that open harassment or discrimination or whatever, particularly when perpetrated by a group of people in a position of social power, is wrong, per se, right? I mean, it would be interesting to hear any of you attempt to justify yourselves, but unfortunately YOU CANNOT TALK ABOUT IT. It is forbidden. I get it. Its like fight club. That's fair. White guys have made some pretty decent movies.

Let's say you dropped $100k on a liberal arts degree. Here's a chance to exercise some critical thinking in the face of a mass social movement founded on cruelty and open hatred, which is kind of the basic purpose of such a degree. Nope. Let's say it was history. What does this say about your chosen field of study? Hide all evidence right? Or sociology. Beyond your purview. Philosophy. When in Rome? Congratulations.

A lot I could say, but, regarding the preposterous idea that this is jall ust a some organic, spontaneously occurring culture phenomenon (rationalization received from a Christian): 1. Easily forensically disprovable, I'm not even particularly well studied and I know exactly who your master is, where they work, and why, and 2. Shockingly naive, given the power dynamics of the situation, sorry no way are your overlords leaving that kind of money on the table.

I don't really feel like elaborating further other than to say that because you are unable to speak or "go back and forth with me", whatever it is that you are participating in is, on its face, complete bullshit, as you, by both structural and philosophical necessity, lack individual moral and intellectual agency, which is, in fact, and in spite of what you may believe (ask your benevolent dictator), the root of all collective historical human failure. As well as the principle rationale for a liberal arts education. But fuck it right?

So, you spent 100k on education, only to turn around and will yourself into intellectual and moral slavery, and become the object of some corporate marketing psychologist's vanity project? May I wipe my ass with that diploma?

In closing, I don't want to go over the top here and start some kind of song of myself, oh no, but having been treated like human garbage, I feel compelled to state:

In terms of adverse personal experience, I soloed goddamn Annapurna in the snow season, lived to tell the tale, and this is the shit I come back to. You are all useful idiots and your behavior is an insult to the human condition.

Why me? Honestly, because out of everyone in at least the entire western United States apparently, you could literally put a gun to my head and I would not get on whatever bullshit from the literal church of corporate Satan you all are being spoon fed. Which I guess is some sort of crime.

On behalf of myself, humanity, Jesus, the Buddha, the better angels of our nature, all the great ones who came before, rock-'n'-roll, etc, Bellingham, YOUR SCENE SUCKS.

I will enjoy the cold comfort of inner freedom and a righteous cause while watching you abandon any semblance of a coherent value system and continue to lick fascist corporate ass for a bump of cocaine (which I don't think is very punk rock:( )

In solidarity, an actual, working, breathing, locally available, and highly DMable, high 7-ish, cultural dissident.

And, let the bad faith Cassandra treatment begin.

(Unless you are feeling spry big fella. Wanna earn some points???)

UPDATE: You guys, you guys wait!!! I thought of a really good one. The hand gesture thing-that is soooo Hitler

Update to Update: WOW so many responses. I am not able to give each one the time and attention it deserves, so here I will make a brief general reply before sharing something (indeed) very special with everyone.

Briefly perusing these responses, they seemed mostly attempts and bad faith gaslighting (as predicted) along with a sprinkling of salty literary criticism. I, at least, personally, found the gaslighting amusing, because I said you would do it, and you still did it anyway. Lol.

But really, everyone here, myself included, knows that besides "though shalt not speak," like the second rule in the playbook (which apparently descended from Shiva on a ray of light or some shit) is "Just keep doing it," so really this discussion is basically pointless, other than to point out that based on your actions, you are now complicit in an ongoing attempt to manufacture a historical falsehood about our society as it exists today, which, to me, is somewhat mind-blowing and honestly something of a privilege to witness firsthand. Now on to the important stuff.

Driving home today, listening to some predictably tinny, cacaphonous, and emotionally shallow corporate music, it occurred to me: When all this first I was actually pretty afraid. I remember first commenting on this pattern of organized behavior I got so scared I had like a four day flashback, you know the terrors, worries that someone was going come kidnap me and bury me alive somewhere because the shit I talked was so unprecedentedly nasty there was no way it could be allowed to stand, etc.(Which honestly is a pretty scary thought, because just based on the responses I received here it is clear that no one is gonna come looking). But you know, this went on, and the ol shoe never dropped.

I could only speculate that I must have been the subject of some kind of Job-like wager, to see whether I could walk the razors edge between hysteria, due to the gaslighting, on the one hand, and some form of violence, due to the anger at the abusive treatment, on the other. And it went on, and on, and on.

Today I realized that due to recent developments, and in small part because of this post, the terms of the wager have changed (which is good, because turns out, I can do this shit indefinitely, but where's the fun in that?). I am no longer the subject of this wager. No, I am now a party to it.

So, what or who (you may ask), is now then the new subject? What is the nature of this new wager?

The subject, my friends, is you. My fellow citizens. The unwashed (stereotype) masses. The people of Bellingham. The human race.

And what is in question? I guess on my side would be what is known as traditional humanism. Although I am no paragon and did not choose this, this tradition would generally focus on the value of things like honesty, courage, dignity, perseverance, kindness, love etc. which in my opinion are inescapable, and due to my own experiences with hardship, indispensable, and woe be to him who has not felt that light touch some corner of his immortal soul.

The counterargument (I suppose) could (for my purposes) be described as anti-humanist, at least in the traditional sense. I believe that this position holds that the idealization of these traditional virtues breeds discontent and indeed mass violence and war, as humans are inherently somewhat petty, cruel, violent, etc, Overly harmonious, idealized group identities simply displace(?) sublimate (?) (my bad) these tendencies outward, in the form of group based hatred and violence.

Relevant questions: Realistically, are humans capable of self government? Are ideals good? Is the project of the enlightenment practical or desirable?

I would argue that life is basically not worth living in the anti-humanist society, as well as point out that in the more moderate "European" view, this is why we have things like rock climbing or whatever other stupid shit you guys do. Traditional forms of collective action are still necessary, and you can't solve many problems "herding cats."

To some extent this is a matter of taste, but I guess the real question is whether your corporate overlords can succeed in birthing the anti-humanist society and ,indeed, become bigger than Jesus.

You guys aren't helping my case much, but regardless this is the fundamental reality of what is happening right here, right now, plain as day.

I'll end with a plea for collegiately, as I have presented the arguments collegially, mainly out of fear for my personal safety, although we both know, if one thing is true about people from my tradition, it's that we fucking LOVE to party.

The ball is obviously not in my court, as I am alone here in a literal sea of sycophantic assholes, with nothing to defend myself but my rapacious wit, endearing humor, and roguish good looks.

It is ironic though. Me, an actual pariah, and the girl who has it all, arguing across each other. Like, I cannot fucking BELIEVE I am defending you people.

here's that long fucking ask y'all wanted