#perpetually disgruntled about something

[bird-inacage]

A Love Sea Gifset | Tongrak + Cat Energy

[grandline-fics]

Love Potion

DESCRIPTION: Love Potion- You were both only pretending to date. The feelings aren't real...right?

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Smoker

WORDS: 1,663

A/N: Thank you @missrandomdreamer for requesting this one for the Valentine's Event. Hope you like what I came up with for this one, Smoker deserves the love so hopefully I did him justice on this. As always thank you everyone for your support. Enjoy ♥️

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI | VALENTINES EVENT MASTERLIST

———————

“Is this really necessary?” Smoker grumbled around the cigars in his mouth as he shut the door to your room closed firmly. “I’m in perfect shape.”

“Every active member on this base has to undergo routine physicals, Vice-Admiral.” You spoke up from your desk as you grabbed his file and a pen. Even when he was wounded he protested the need to be tended to and while you were already expecting him to clear all your checks with no issues, you still had your job to do. Apologetically you looked at him as you rose. “No exceptions.”

Smoker made a disgruntled noise and glared at the examination bed he’d yet to approach. He swiftly turned his glare your way when you snatched the cigars from his mouth with ease and stubbed them out on the ashtray you always made sure to have in the room in the event Smoker would be coming by. You accepted his ire with an effortless smile, used to his perpetual grumpy and serious expression at this point. Lightly you nudged him along towards the bed. With all his strength and training he could have remained rooted in the spot had he wished but at your touch he relented and moved, eager to just get this over with.

As he sat down and zoned out, letting you do whatever checks and assessments necessary he began to think about how being here was actually a nice break. You weren’t going to pester him about changing the training schedule or beg to swap missions with another member of the base, you weren’t going to chase him about reports he forgot-or just didn’t care about- handing in for the higher ups at Marine’s main Headquarters. Best of all, any conversation you shared with him was appropriate and never prying beyond clear boundaries, unlike those under his command who thought any facet and avenue in his life was theirs to know and analyse obsessively over. Suddenly you made a surprised hum and he pulled himself out of his thoughts to see you studying his face carefully. “What were you thinking about?”

“Why?” Smoker couldn’t help but become defensive, ready to argue that whatever you spotted or noticed in your tests was false. 

“It caused a spike in your otherwise steady blood pressure.” You explained, lips curving in slight amusement. Lightly you tapped your medical notes. “Can’t clear you if there’s a possibility of an underlying condition affecting your blood pressure or an area of stress that could hinder your work.”

“It’s nothing.” Smoker explained firmly. “Nothing for you to worry over. I’m not going to complain over something insignificant and stupid.”

“Wouldn’t call this spike insignificant. Come on tell me and I can help. It’s what doctors are for right?”

“I was getting annoyed about the subordinates prying into my personal life. They’re like gossiping teenagers sometimes.”

“Is that all?” You asked with a laugh, stepping away from him and unhooking the blood pressure monitor. “What do you expect? They’re bored in between missions and you’re the best source of entertainment on the base.

“I shouldn’t be entertainment, I’m their boss to be respected.” At that you snorted with an undignified burst of laughter causing him to frown. “What?”

“Oh come on! I’ve heard you swear out the higher ups countless times when they annoy you. You call that respect?” You teased, laughing again when he looked away from you and muttered about how even you were disrespectful to him. “So what did the bad subordinates pry into most recently.”

“Recently and consistently they bring up my love life or in their words ‘a tragic lack of’ one.” He scoffed. “Every mission it’s putting up with their incessant questions and on the way back it’s stupid schemes to set me up with someone.”

“It’s sweet that they care.” You reasoned only to hear him being to mutter again. With a soft sigh you grabbed his notes to update them. He was the picture of health as you both knew would be the end result. “But if it bothers you that much, take the mystery away from them and they’ll move on. Tell them you’re seeing someone.”

“Magic someone out of thin air?” Smoker shook his head. He shouldn’t have even entertained the notion. His life was his own, he didn’t need to lie or divulge information if he didn’t wish to. “They might act like fools but creating a pretend lover is something even they’d notice a mile off.”

“Sooo don’t make up someone. Use someone they know?” You advised, moving to your desk to officially give Smoker’s physical the stamp of approval needed. Seeing you move, Smoker fixed his jacket and pulled out two fresh cigars to light but for once he didn’t make his way to the door with a gruff ‘thanks Doc’ like he normally did, he was too caught up in your words as you continued. “Then after a couple weeks, stage a break up and they’ll leave you and your personal life alone while you deal with it in your own way.” 

“Who am I going to rope into this scheme that I know won’t blab what’s really going on?” Smoker asked while stepping closer to the desk. His interest was piqued and it seemed like a solid enough plan but he knew that gossip spread fast in the G5 base. The last thing he needed was to risk extra insult to his pride if his subordinates knew he was lying. Smoker was surprised when you lifted your head and smiled at him expectantly. “Wait. You’d go along with this?”

“Why not? Helps you out from getting your blood pressure dangerously high again.” You shrugged simply. “Besides, doctor-patient confidentiality means I can’t tell anyone. What do you say?”

A few minutes later one of the G5 Marines rounded the corner, preparing for his routine physical only to slide to a complete stop in shock. The sight of Vice-Admiral Smoker, his leader straightening from what was most certainly a kiss with the base’s top doctor. The Marine froze when Smoker turned sharply to glare at him while you bit your lower lip shyly and looked away from the wide-eyed gaze of the Marine who interrupted such a sweet and tender moment. Smoker dropped his hand from your lower back and walked towards the Marine. “Whatever you think you saw. You didn’t.” 

Smoker continued on his way, the Marine unable to see his smirk as everything was already set in motion. By the end of the afternoon it was all through the base, some iterations of the events witnessed exaggerated or completely different but it all got Smoker what he wanted; for his subordinates to have something to distract them from him. Technically they were still fixated on him, but now that they believed he was seeing you, they were now talking amongst themselves about the matter and leaving him alone. 

Throughout the day he’d overheard the conversations both mixed and speculative. Some tried to work out when the romance had started and even that split theories and opinions. It had to have been recent because there was no way you both had hidden it for so long. It had to have been going on for a long time because it would explain why Smoker never looked at anyone else both off and on base. Some even declared they’d always known something was going on between Smoker and you and either way it was about damn time. 

For the next few weeks you and Smoker continued your subtle theatrics of being a couple and as you’d predicted the base that now there was no mystery to work out with Smoker’s love life, the base asked less questions. However when you appeared, even if it was passing by in the corridor the Marines looked your way in curiosity. Sometimes you did steal him away to say something useless or unimportant, just so you both appeared to be sharing a quick moment together when really it was just to keep your audience’s interest sated. One evening you found yourself in Smoker’s office, a new development that had occurred from your joint deception. While he finished reports at his desk, you reviewed your own medical reports from the comfort of the sofa he rarely seemed to use. While you both worked you engaged in idle but content conversation. 

“A friend of mine from one of the G7 base was in touch today.” You spoke up with an amused smile, not taking your eyes from your notes as you worked. “We’re one of the topics of conversation there too.” Smoker chuckled slightly at your report of how far the gossip had spread. 

“The interest in our relationship hasn’t died down at all.” He said with a small shake of his head.

“They’re so invested. They’ll be heartbroken when we end things.” You mused, too busy reading to notice Smoker's hand still in the writing of his own reports. He only now realised that that was the next stage in the plan; breaking up to gain full privacy again. Smoker hesitated to even admit it but he truly did enjoy your company. You were easy to be around, brought him a certain calm that he enjoyed. He tensed slightly when you asked him. “Have you considered when it’ll happen?”

“Uh…no. Not yet.” He admitted, that much he could confess. “They gossip but they're behaving for the most part, might just wait until they start to get bored. If that’s okay?”

“Of course, just let me know whenever you’re ready.” Smoker glanced at you in time to see you finally glance his way and offer him a relaxed but warm smile. The same smile he found himself looking for a little more each day. Whenever he was ready? Something gnawed at him in the uncomfortable realisation that perhaps the only thing he wanted to end with you was the pretending. 

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya ,  @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu , @appalost , @dindjarins1ut , @irumawife , @laidenbreecatchall , @redwolfxx , @jevoislesbrasdemer , @schanwow , @pao198391 , @glitchtricks94 , @nina-ya , @48daisies , @sagyunaro , @artemis162534 , @rosemary-lungs , @thecraftywriter , @rorozorolover , @yagirlsmuchelle , @engenemoazen , @sukunasstomachtongue , @nico-ith

[woso-dreamzzz]

Escape III

Bruna Vilamala x Eriksson!Reader

Summary: You visit Barcelona

"Looking good," Frido whistled as she slumped next to you in the stands," Looking to trade Germany for Spain?" She wiggled her brows.

"Everyone's abandoning ship," You shrugged," Jill's gone to City, Obi's running off to Bayern. Who knows?"

"Wait, seriously?" Frido looked at you in shock. "I was only joking but you're actually thinking about it?"

You shrugged again. "I'm only looking, getting a lay of the land and stuff. But it's warm here."

"And it's got Bruna."

You grinned. "And it's got Bruna."

"You're so in love with her, you make me sick. You're just like Magda."

"Take it back!" You pretended to gag. "I never want to hear those words again!"

Frido flashed you a grin. "Why don't you go to Bayern like Obi? Nice little sister reunion."

"There's better chance of me going back to Sweden."

"You're going back to Sweden?"

You looked over at the barrier and stood, shaking your head. "No, baby." You cupped Bruna's face. "I was just telling Frido that I'd rather play in Sweden again then join the same club as Magda."

Bruna laughed. "You could use Pernille as a buffer?"

"Magda would get me while I was sleeping. No, it would be much safer is I just came to Barca with you."

You leaned over the barrier to peck her lips. When you pulled away, she was blushing and reached up to keep your hands on her cheeks.

"Really?"

"We're already in talks. I thought about following Jill but I don't think I want to stay that far from you, baby. I told you, I want to be mushy with you like Magda and Pernille are...just...as far from them as possible."

"I'd like that," Bruna said," Are you still coming to the afterparty?"

"Yes. Go, baby, you've only got so long to rest before the second half. Score a goal for me, okay?"

Bruna did.

Half an hour into the second half, she scored from the edge of the box and celebrated by pointing up to where you were sitting and blew a kiss.

"Gross," Frido said," God, you and Magda are definitely sisters. You're always so lovey-dovey with your girlfriends."

"Stop comparing me to Magda!"

Frido must have been getting tips from your sister on how to annoy because she didn't let up until Ingrid dragged her off to the bar at the afterparty.

You nursed your own drink as Bruna sat in your lap, resting her head on your shoulder. You weren't that familiar with her teammates bar Jana so you were happy to let the conversation wash over you.

"I heard you're in talks with Barca?" Keira asked.

You shrugged. "Yeah, looking for something a bit different. Wolfsburg isn't going to be the same next year so I'm going to get out now."

"I heard that City was interested."

"They were. Jill's trying to vouch for them but Barcelona's got good weather and Bruna. It's a no-brainer really."

You felt Bruna grin against your shoulder, leaving soft featherlight kisses to the exposed skin.

"Well, if she keeps scoring like she did earlier then you need to transfer now because, wow, that was class."

You grinned. "I'll keep that in mind. We'll see what your club says."

"You're staying," Bruna whispered with certainty as the conversation moved on," I know you are."

"You're so certain, baby," You tutted," What makes you so sure?"

Bruna fixed you with a pointed look but only really managed to look like a disgruntled kitten. You'd seen angrier looks from Pernille, whose good books you perpetually lived in.

"One of the trainers broke the news that you'd already signed. He thought that I knew."

"Damnit," You said with an eye roll," There goes my surprise. Do I still get points for it?" You winked at her and Bruna laughed, pulling you into a soft kiss even though you were surrounded by her teammates.

"I guess so. When do you start?"

"After the summer," You replied," I'm going to finish off my last season at Wolfsburg and then fly over for preseason with you."

"You could start sending your stuff over now."

You laughed. "Slow your roll there, babe. I still need stuff at my place in Germany. Besides, Magda and Pernille are coming over next week. I didn't want them to be suspicious."

"Are you going to tell your sister?" Bruna asked as she relaxed more on your lap, stealing kisses whenever she could.

"She didn't let me know about her move to Bayern. I found out through Twitter."

"You could be the bigger person."

"Eww, no, gross! I want to stoop to her level! Hell, I want to get lower than her level! In fact, I want to play limbo with her level!"

Bruna giggled. "I think I understand why you and Magda fight as much as you do."

[euphemiaamillais]

district 12!reader and jealous peacekeeper!coryo. him taking her roughly up against the wall of the hob after he catches someone looking at her

cw: 18+//slutshaming//misogyny//rough sex

His girl. That's what you are, he reminds himself, seething when he catches you smiling at a thin, dirt-caked man who bought you a drink. Probably some filthy miner. He watches as you take the drink willingly—some sort of moonshine it seems to be, the staple of District 12—and wash it down with little grace or decorum. Anger churns in his stomach, his fists clenching. How dare you. And when you knew he was looking—you were doing this to spite him.

He watched you for a while longer, how you swing a little on your feet, your eyelashes fluttering. The man makes you laugh. Coriolanus is filled with disgust. Whore. You know exactly how to tease him, and how jealous he was. The man leaned forward to whisper something in your ear, and you giggled. You cast a glance over to Coriolanus, who's lips had twisted into a cruel snarl. You turned away, back to the man, but made an excuse. He could see you mouthing a pathetic sorry, and then slinking away across the room. He'd have to teach you not to disobey him.

When you arrive, his brow is furrowed and his top lip upturned with fury. You give a shy smile, but knew immediately something was amiss.

'Coryo,' You sidle up to him, one hand gripping at his firm bicep. He looks so handsome in his coveralls, dogtags hanging through the slightly unbuttoned shirt, which exposed his well-toned and tan chest. He looked even hotter in his peacekeeper uniform, something you'd made sure he was aware of during your more intimate moments.

'Don't,' He spits, fury blazing in his icy blue eyes. You slink into yourself, taken aback at his outright anger in the Hob.

'Whatever did I do?' You inquire, hands fidgeting nervously. You had to admit, although his anger instilled a little fear in you, it also made the area between your thighs burn and tingle with heat.

'Oh, I think you know,' He rebutted dismissively. You gave a quizzical look, to which he responded with his perpetual glare.

You shook your head, gnawing on your bottom lip nervously. You could feel the cheap moonshine swilling around in your belly—the one the man had brought for you. Had Coryo seen that?

'I really don't know what you're talking about,' You offer sheepishly, and his hand reaches out to grip your arm. He strains his grip around you, harsh—he's never handled jealousy well—and you think of the bruise that would make later. It stung as he continued to clench you.

'Mhm, I don't think so,' He shook his head, tongue clicking as he scolded you. 'Acting like a fucking whore... letting that scumbag buy you a drink. Do I not please you, hm?'

You shook your head, eyes apologetic.

'Coryo,' You began, but he cocked a brow, displeased that you were still calling him by his nickname. How could you be allowed that freedom when you had disobeyed him?

'I don't want to hear it,' He began to pull you away from the crowd, the sound of the band strumming away on their guitars fading into background noise as he brought you two to a quiet alcove.

Coriolanus pushes you up against the wall roughly, hands moving to your skirts, rucking them up to your thighs. HIs icy blue eyes are glistening with a ravenous desire. He presses himself flush against you, hands grasping the smooth skin of your thighs. You can feel him hardening against you.

'What did I tell you about misbehaving?' He taunts, grinding up against your exposed thighs, his clothed bulge ripe against your core. You attempt to clench your thighs together, but he shoves them apart extremely disgruntled at your endeavours to reject him.

'Whores don't get to say no,' He hisses, fiddling with the buttons on his coveralls. It's a little indecent as he has to tie the sleeves around his waist, but he soon frees his cock; hard and throbbing, the tip red and dripping.

'Mhm,' You manage to get out, going a little limp against him, surrendering your body to his whims. You have to admit that sometimes you go out of your way to enrage him... there's something so attractive about his possessive nature. The way he has to have you, and his complete disregard for propriety.

He runs his hand up and down his cock a few times, and then, with a little too much enthusiasm, he hikes your panties down roughly. He then presses his cock straight into your cunt, slick and dripping with want. You let out a high pitched gasp, resting your head back against the hard stone brick of the wall.

Coriolanus pulls your legs up around him, his thick cock now stretching out your walls. You grunt as he begins to thrust, seeing all that pent up desire in his noble face. How his desperation turns him into a savage, and not the star pupil of the Academy in the Capitol.

'You like that, huh?' He asks as he bucks into you roughly, your head knocking slightly against the wall.

A cock-drunk moan escapes your lips, which are plump with blood. He squeezes your thighs between his hands, attempting to get a better hold on you.

'Stupid little whore,' He sputters, pounding your tight, wet cunt. How dare you betray him. You shudder against him, your pussy throbbing with each movement he makes; for although he grows rougher, you can't help but want him all the more.

He removes one hand off your thigh, and reaches up to grab a fistful of your hair, tugging on it. You cry out, feeling a slight tingling in your scalp.

'Don't you ever do that again!' He yells, pulling harder at the roots of your hair.

You nod, unable to form words. He scowls, tugging at your hair once again. A stinging pain shoots through your head.

'Answer me!' He growls, continuing to thrust harshly into you. You whimper, lips trembling, trying to find some semblance of words.

'Yes,' You muster, gasping as you feel him, so deep inside of you, stretching you out, his balls slapping against your entrance.

'Yes what?' Coriolanus demands, and you swallow thickly, a little afraid. Your heart pounds, blood rushing to your head.

'Yes sir,' You sputter. He lets out a contended sigh.

'Mhm, that's right,' He coos. 'Good girl.' His sweet words are a stark contrast to the way he is pounding you up against the wall, movements illuminating the repressed anger that coursed through his veins.

How it turns him on, having you up against this wall, watching the way your face contorts in pleasure as he fucks you like the stupid slut you are. He can feel himself getting closer; the way your pussy clenches around his cock and the desperate sounds you make. He has to remind you that you're his, and only his.

He only has to pump you a few more times, his cock aching for release. The slick leaking from your cunt coats his cock, and he nestles his head in your shoulder, giving a few final thrusts before letting out a deep groan. You feel him finishing inside of you, hot, sticky cum coating the inside of your walls.

Gasping, he slides out of you, and you feel his spilled seed slowly trickling down your thighs. He pulls your panties up, grinning as he thinks about how you're going to have to walk back out there with his cum gradually dripping out.

'You look so pretty,' He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You smile, used to his sweetness that seems to come back after he gets what he wants.

'Thank you, Coryo,' You say, knowing how he delights in your obedience to him.

He bobs his head, watching as you smooth your skirts down, still a little dishevelled, hair astray. He thought you looked beautiful like this, though; eyes blown out with desire, lips ripe, an overall look of cock-drunkenness. You wrap your arms around him, looking up with a grin.

'You're my girl, huh?' He asks, a small smile crossing his lips and you nod your head in response.

'I'm yours.'

[boombox-fuckboy]

Hey!!! You commented on my post about limetown haha which is why I’m here. You offered to give podcast recs! What are your favorites?? I’m looking for some new ones

I completely forgot I had this ask, excuse the delay. Here's a selection of 30 podcasts I enjoyed from a broad range of genres: hopefully at least one appeals.

Let me know if you're after something more specific.

Arden: (Investigative, Comedy) On the 25th of December, 2007, heiress and young actress Julie Capsom crashed her car into a tree and fled into a nearby forest clearing, leaving a trail that seemingly vanished into thin air, and a dismembered torso in the trunk. A decade later, Bea, the first reporter on the scene, and Brenda, a detective on the case, are hosting a true crime podcast about it, and neither is remotely impressed with what the other has to say. Arden is also a retelling of various Shakespeare plays.

Desperado: (Supernatural, Adventure, Horror Elements) In a modern world of gods and magic, three young people, all under the patronage of death dieties, embark on the same adventure for different reasons: for safety, for revenge, and to kill The Old Man in the Sky. Fantastic banter and killer action sequences.

The Far Meridian: (Magical Realism) An agoraphobic young woman wakes one day to discover her lighthouse home has travelled to somewhere entirely unfamilar. As this continues to happen day after day, she uses the opportunity to search for her missing brother. A really unique and charming piece of fiction.

Gastronaut: (Sci-Fi) Interstellar travel audio blog of a former food critic as he travels to an active warzone to get firsthand experience with unfamilar cuisine. ft. Disgruntled martian nobility, sinister businessmen, explosive mushrooms, forbidden snacks, rogue revolutionary artists, and the consequences of your actions.

Girl in Space: (Sci-Fi) The Girl In Space lives alone on a space station, doing science, making cheese, rewatching Jurassic Park, and tending to the plants, animals, and artificial sun entrusted to her. It's a little lonely, but not a bad life. Would be a shame if someone came along to ruin it.

The Goblet Wire: (Microfiction, Weird Fiction) A surreal microfiction with horror elements, taking the form of phone calls to an audio-based game in which the voice of the mysterious Dictator leads each player through fantastic and horrific world and story.

Hello From The Hallowoods: (Horror, Supernatural) A dramatic entity beyond your comprehension visits your nightmares to tell stories of the people (in varying degrees of human and alive) that inhabit the strange, deadly, and beautiful Hallowoods, as they find meaning and sometimes eachother.

Hi Nay: (Supernatural Horror) A year after moving to Toronto, sound designer Mari finds herself drawn into helping people around the city with various horrific supernatural encounters due to her babaylan (shaman) family background. It quickly becomes apparent that there's something much more sinister and complicated happening in the background.

Inco: (Microfiction, Sci-Fi) A perpetually exausted interstellar information trader and her peppy AI find a mysterious (read: bratty) boy floating in space and are inadventently pulled into a world political intrigue.

Inn Between: (Fantasy) Ever curious about what the D&D characters get up to at the tavern between sessions? A generally lighter-hearted (with some exceptions) with richly-written and always-growing characters. A really interesting format, too: a lot of the adventure appears in the "next time" and "last time" segments which makes it all flow really nicely. Not a tabletop podcast.

Janus Descending: (Sci-Fi, Horror, Tragedy) A xenoarcheologist and a xenopaleontologist are sent to a study a dead city on a distant world. Nobody likes what they find there. A unique format, with one set of logs presented first to last, and the other last to first. I'd recommend listening to the supercut for this one.

The Kingmaker Histories: (Steampunk, Weird Fiction, Adventure, Fantasy Elements) In the Valorian Socialist Republic 1911, on her 25th birthday, tailor's apprentice Colette experienced the worst headache of her life. As a result, she fleed from town with a human artificer and a fae chef - both now smugglers - pursued by an utterly furious flesh-crafter. I'm not sure I'm selling how good this podcast is but it's very good.

Life With Althaar: (Sci-Fi, Comedy) A human repairman moves to a space station on the edge of human territory that is perpetually on the edge of self-destruction, and ends up with a less-than-ideal last-minute roomate. Althaar is polite, friendly, deeply interested in human culture, and eager to be friends. Unfortunately he belongs to a species that sends humans into a visceral panic at a glance.

Lost Terminal: (Sci-Fi, Hopepunk) Seth is a very lonely AI living on a satellite. His crew were left stranded aboard with no hope of return, and it's been longer than he can count since then. The Earth below him has changed dramatically, and with only a few other AI down there to talk to, he's very lonely. But! He has a plan to make some new friends.

Love and Luck: (Romance, Slice-of-Life and Urban Fantasy Elements) Voice messages cataloguing two young men falling in love and opening a queer dry bar together.

Midnight Radio: (Light Supernatural, Romance) Sybil McIntyre, host of the ever-popular 1950's nightly radio hour, begins exchanging letters with an old fan who has reluctantly returned to visit Sybil's beloved town.

Midst: (Weird Fiction, Western, Sci-Fi and Fantasy Elements) The old-western planetoid islet of Midst floats, rotating steadily, in a sea of reality-warping darkness. Down in the town of Stationary Hill, things are in movement, and vistors from the light above are about to bring unanticipated change. ft a monocycle-riding monster-hunter, radio-famous airship paladins, deadly mica, the universe's peppiest cultist, good dogs, and a really strange businessman.

The Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality: (Weird Fiction, Supernatural, Urban Fantasy and Horror Elements) A friendly AI tour guide leads you on a tour of the Mistholme Museum, explaining the strange and often alternatural story behind each item.

Monstrous Agonies: (Supernatural, Relationship Advice) An interpersonal advice show for supernatural entities and other people living liminally in the modern world.

Night Shift: (Urban Fantasy, Investigative) Set in a modern world with the addition of magic, which manifests in small inherited skills/traits, can warp people in horrific ways, or can be manipulated with the right science (and intense work) to induce superpowers. Sebastian Fenn is a barista at Night Shift Coffee, but since things are slow he's decided to start a podcast to talk about various mysteries, crimes and conspiracies around the city, and of course finds himself deeper in them than he'd intended.

The Pasithea Powder: (Sci-Fi, Thriller Elements? I think?) The last major interplanetary war was full of atrocities, but none more infamous then the creation of Pasithea Powder, a memory altering drug which was used to horrible effect and landed it's entire team of creators in prison. So when decorated war hero Captain Sophie Green sees one of them wandering free, worlds away from his prison, she gets in touch with a very old, estranged friend: one Dr. Jane Gonzalez, who's behind bars for the very same reason.

SCP: Find Us Alive: (Weird Fiction, Supernatural, Horror and Slice-of-Life elements) You don't need to know anything about SCP to enjoy this. A research team gets trapped in an underground research facility when the complex collapses and the building is dragged into a pocket dimension. The tear it was designed to study begins creating tiny copies of itself, generating strange entities the team needs to deal with. And as if that wasn't enough, the entire situation physically resets itself every 30 days. And yet, this is genuinely also an office comedy.

Second Star to the Left: (Sci-Fi) Audio logs of a scout sent to explore and establish early infastructure new world, and the communications with the minder in charge of keeping her alive.

Seen and Not Heard: (Slice-of-Life, Drama) Seen and Not Heard follows Bet, who's still adjusting to life a year after a bout of severe illness, and the resulting hearing loss it caused. It's about the ways we make connection, and food, and art, and different kinds of grief.

The Silt Verses: (Horror) In a modern world where gods are abundant, frequently both commercialised and restricted, two devotees of an outlawed river god go on a pilgrimage.

SINKHOLE: (Sci-Fi, Weird Fiction) Forum posts from a data restoration community in a near future where the human brain is its own computer and one city hosts a massive void.

Starfall: (Fantasy) Seeking to escape her mysterious past and find some purpose, a young swordswoman joins a travelling actor's troupe. This new life is unfamilar and sometimes stressful, but she's taken under the wing of stagehand Fel, who's determined to help her feel welcome as she experiences the figurative and literal magic of the theatre for the first time.

The Tower: (Weird Fiction) A low-key, meditative podcasy about a young woman who decides to climb a seemingly endless tower. Gorgeous sound design.

The Vesta Clinic: (Sci-Fi) New GP Dr. Fae Underwood, with the expert transcription skills of resident AI Sec, writes up patient reports on human and alien patients of The Vesta Clinic, a medical clinic on the edge of human space. Really comfy and creative.

Victoriocity: (Steampunk, Mystery) Set in the steam-powered Victorian city of Even Greater London, an aspiring journalist and a tired detective find themselves working together to solve a strange murder. I say Victorian but as queen Victoria is now an extensive grandiocity of cyborg components following seven only-kind-of-successful assassinations, you may need to adjust expectations a little.

[loveinhawkins]

kept thinking about Eddie & Steve deliberately making jokes to ensure that Dustin and co don’t get into the boat on Lover’s Lake.

“Nicely done,” Steve says when they’re far enough away from the bank—when they’ve left a disgruntled Dustin behind rather than a worried one.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” Eddie says—glances back to where the kids are, although they’ve already got swallowed up by the darkness. “‘Course, man.” He gives a weak smile as he drags the oar through the water. “Those little shrimps would probably try and, like, cannonball right in, and honestly? I, uh, really don’t think my heart could handle that.”

“Yeah, they… really throw themselves into things.”

Steve decides that he’s never gonna bring up Operation Child Endangerment if Eddie’s in the vicinity—the dude already looks at them all like they’ve got a few screws loose, he doesn’t wanna make it worse.

Although, on second thought, him and Dustin probably let that particular cat out the bag with their persistent optimism way back in the boathouse: “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Eddie’s wide-eyed look painted a thousand words.

Oh, he thinks you’re crazy, sing-songed the perpetual high schooler hiding in Steve’s brain. Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson thinks you’re crazy. Time to seriously re-evaluate your life choices.

“Did you think Eddie was a bit, uh, weird back there?” Dustin asked him later. “Like, he’ll be okay, right?”

Dustin was prone to using ‘weird’ as a catch-all term, where it could mean anything from someone being genuinely weird to them experiencing severe emotional distress.

Steve clapped him on the shoulder reassuringly. “Henderson, I’m pretty sure he thinks we’re weird.”

He almost wants to make a joke about that now, get Eddie to laugh, maybe. To tell the truth, Steve had almost cracked and laughed himself once he’d gotten into the boat, when he turned and saw Dustin’s comically outraged expression.

It was only as Nancy and Eddie began to row that he registered the laugh would’ve secretly been one of relief—heartened by the sight of the kids left on the shore.

He stays quiet; Eddie’s shoulders are slowly tensing more and more the further across the lake they go.

It’s not noticeable at first—Robin’s providing a running commentary on the movements of Dustin’s compass, while Nancy determinedly pulls her oar in and out of the water—but Steve soon realises that Eddie’s kind of stopped rowing, instead just making ripples as his grip goes slack.

It’s damn hard to see, but Steve just barely makes out Eddie’s eyes glittering in the dark, staring down at the lake.

“Hey,” Steve says quietly. “You don’t have to—we’re not too far out, we can take you back, man.” He tries for levity. “This thing holds three people tops, remember?”

Eddie’s smile is more of a grimace. “Nah, man. Had enough of being chickenshit.”

“Dude, you’re not…”

Steve trails off, biting back his frustration—it doesn’t look like Eddie’s listening to him anyway; he’s still not taken his eyes off the water. Steve briefly wonders if he’s got that thing Robin says she gets sometimes, something about an imp—it’s why she never gets on Ferris wheels or whatever, convinced that she’s somehow gonna fall.

Eddie gives himself a shake and resumes rowing.

“Sorry. S’just… pitch black down there. He—” Eddie clears his throat. “He wouldn’t have seen—”

His voice cracks, fades into the night. His grip on the oar slips—he snatches it back before it can fall.

“Eddie,” Steve begins, but Eddie speaks right over the top of him.

“I—I hoped he was just drowning instead.” Eddie scoffs, and there’s a bitterness to it, an edge of self-loathing that Steve wishes he couldn’t hear. “And then maybe—” A sigh, another grimace disguised as a smile. “That’s a pretty fucked up thing to think, huh?”

He’s got that tone, Steve thinks, like when he kept repeating that he ran away from Chrissy—like he thought that if he said it enough, someone would snap, condemn him. Like he’s looking for proof that he’s monstrous.

Robin’s still talking, tactfully giving Eddie a semblance of privacy. Underneath her chatter, Steve hears Nancy’s rowing falter for just a moment, and he feels a pang in his chest.

He thinks of Barb and drowning. Wonders again if an ordinary tragedy would’ve been better compared to…

Then he lets it all sink back down.

“That’s not fucked up,” he says firmly. “Trust me, dude, that’s… that’s normal.”

Eddie chuckles shortly—it sounds like he’s doing something similar, pushing everything down, down…

“Normal, huh? No-one’s called me that before.”

“First time for everything.”

There’s a flicker of amusement across Eddie’s face when he replies, “Guess compared to you freaks, I’m pretty normal.”

“Ooh, did that feel good?” Steve says, appealing again to his mental high schooler. “Bit of role reversal?”

Eddie laughs more genuinely. “Sure did. Community theatre’s done wonders.”

A silence falls, and Steve encourages himself to get all relaxed by the boat bobbing up and down. Yeah, nothing’s strictly been confirmed yet, but he already knew what he was getting into when he stepped off the shore, water leaking into his shoes.

It’s gotta be him.

“I know what you’re doing, Harrington,” Eddie murmurs.

Steve gives him a questioning look.

Eddie pulls in some long breaths in exaggerated imitation. “You’re not subtle, Mister Swim Captain.”

“Co-captain,” Steve corrects, hiding his surprise. He can’t really imagine Eddie paying attention to the swim team, least of all a former swim team.

“Oh, forgive me for my inaccuracy.”

Hmm, he’s getting borderline poetic, Steve thinks. Like he was with Mordor and stuff.

So. He’s afraid.

“I’ll be fine,” Steve says lightly.

Eddie lets out a short groan, mutters something that sounds like famous last words. Then, quieter still—Steve can’t quite make it out.

Something about the dark.

Steve could repeat that he’ll be fine, but he knows that’s a shit reassurance. He settles for continuing to breathe in and out, long and slow; Eddie’s beginning to look like he’s unconsciously mimicking the pattern, his shoulders lowering.

“Just come back up, Harrington,” he says, so softly that Steve might’ve imagined it.

“Co-captain’s promise,” he says.

Eddie’s lips twitch. But he’s still fixed on the lake’s depths, like he’s waiting for something—dreading it.

Like something’s lurking in the dark.

[delusionalwriter02]

Hello! If you’re not to busy I was wondering if you could write for dazai, chuuya, fyodor, and sigma with a reader that wears like baggy clothing(kind of like skater style) but one day they’re at a special event and are dressed all elegantly😱

You should dress like that more often

Dazai, Chuuya, Fyodor, Sigma x GN Reader / Fluff / Headcanons

a/n : Thank you so much for your request !! I love the idea so let's goo, hope you like it. I kept the same "environment" but change the dialogues and interactions for them, I'm sorry if the beginning is the same, I didn't really know how to correctly do it.

Dazai :

The grand reception hall buzzed with an air of sophistication as the doors opened to welcome the distinguished guests. Dazai, draped in an all-black attire, strolled into the venue with an air of nonchalance. His sharp eyes quickly scanned the room, ever observant.

Amidst the sea of elegantly dressed peoples, Dazai's attention was captivated by a figure weaving through the crowd. You, typically adorned in loose-fitting clothing and a perpetually disgruntled expression, had undergone a remarkable transformation for the evening.

Dazai couldn't help but stop in his tracks, his eyes widening at the sight. The dark fabric accentuated your shoulders and narrow waist, revealing a side of you that had been carefully concealed beneath layers of baggy clothes.

He blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Well, well, what do we have here?" Dazai mused aloud, a mischievous smirk on his lips.

-"Don't act all surprised. Thought I'd try something different for the occasion."

Dazai's smirk widened. "Different is an understatement. I didn't know you had such a figure hiding under those oversized garments. Did you hire a personal stylist, or is this a secret talent of yours?"

You sighed, attempting to maintain composure. "I thought I'd make an effort, that's all. Is it really that surprising?"

Dazai chuckled, circling you as if inspecting the change. "Oh, it is surprising. I never thought I'd see the day when you embraced the concept of form-fitting clothing. It suits you, though."

A faint blush colored your cheeks, and Dazai couldn't help but enjoy the rare sight of you, his partner momentarily flustered. As you both continued into the reception, Dazai couldn't resist teasing you about this new fashion choice. Even if, secretly, he hopes that this won't be the last time you wear these clothes.

Chuuya :

The hall glittered with chandeliers as Chuuya made his entrance. His eyes scanned the room. Amidst the sea of formalwear, his attention was captivated by a figure he recognized immediately.

You, who typically favored loose, comfortable attire, had taken a bold step into the world of formal clothing for the evening. The midnight-blue fabric clung to your frame, accentuating curves and lines that were usually hidden beneath more relaxed clothing.

Chuuya raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. "Well, who are you and what have you done to my partner ?" he remarked, his voice carrying a tone of mild surprise. "Didn't think I'd see you strutting around like a runway model tonight."

You were caught off guard by Chuuya's observation, you shot him a playful glare. "I can dress up when I want to. Not every day I get to attend such fancy events."

Chuuya chuckled, his smirk growing. "I never said you couldn't. Just didn't expect you to go from baggy to body-hugging in one night."

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Thought I'd give the fashion police something to talk about. You know, keep them on their toes."

Chuuya laughed, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Well, you've certainly achieved that. I didn't know you had a hidden fashionista side. Maybe I've been underestimating you all this time."

You rolled yours eyes, but a smirk tugged at the corners of your lips. "Underestimating? Please, Chuuya, I can be full of surprises when I want to be."

"Clearly," Chuuya replied, still grinning. "You're stealing the spotlight tonight. Who knew you could turn heads ?"

The conversation continued at length but Chuuya had a hard time staying focused. One wonders why.

Fyodor :

The grand reception hall exuded an air of sophistication as Fyodor's gaze methodically surveyed the room, searching for you. Amidst the elegant crowd, his attention was drawn to a figure moving gracefully through the gathering.

You, typically draped in loose-fitting garments, had chosen to deviate from your usual style for the evening. The pretty clothes you wore accentuated your form in a way that intrigued Fyodor, in more way than one.

Fyodor maintained his composed demeanor as he went to talk to you, "A departure from the usual, I see. What inspired this sartorial change?"

You, meeting his gaze with a confident expression, replied, "Figured it was time for a subtle transformation. People tend to underestimate the power of appearances."

Fyodor nods, "A strategic choice, then. You understand the impact of perception."

You grinned, "Well, I thought I'd add a touch of intrigue to the evening. Keep things interesting."

Fyodor's lips curved into a faint smile. "An admirable goal. Complexity often begets fascination."

You laughed, “A little dance?” you said, holding out your hand. “I have a partner who will be jealous if they see me in such nice company.” Fyodor said, accepting your outstretched hand.

“You’re really stupid,” you replied, taking him further away, away from the people.

A fascinating evening, indeed.

Sigma :

Sigma in his dark attire entered the hall. Amidst the swirl of activity, his attention was drawn to somebody standing in one of the corner, alone.

You who usually favoring loose-fitting clothes, had opted for something different, very different.

Sigma approached with a genuine smile playing on his lips. "Someone's bringing a whole new vibe tonight. What's the story behind the stylish upgrade?"

You grinned, a spark of confidence in your eyes. "Just felt like trying something out of the ordinary. You know, adding a dash of flair to this boring and stupid party."

Sigma chuckled. "Flair, indeed. It suits you. And here I thought I was the only one allowed to make dramatic entrances."

You teased back, "Oh, there's room for more than one in the spotlight. Care to join me for a dance in the middle of it all?"

Sigma raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. "Well, I suppose I could be persuaded. Let's make tonight memorable, shall we?"

Sigma held out his hand, you took it. He lead you to the center of the room, ready to make this evening trully memorable.

Hey! I hope you liked it? I'm sorry for having kept a certain line for all the characters but I must admit that I lacked inspiration to bring about the different situations.

See you <3

[p-redux]

Follow up to my last post regarding Sam Heughan allegedly going camping last weekend with a mystery woman...

So, it came to my attention that another blogger connected the dots between Sam Heughan posting on Instagram from the Scottish countryside and a woman posting she was camping in what looks like the same exact spot. The other blogger went on to say something along the lines of not liking Sam's behavior due to who this woman is. And that she wouldn't post the woman's name as a result. This understandably created a lot of chatter and curiosity. People bombarded me with Anons and DMs about it. Certain people on my Team had a suspicion of WHO the woman is. The other blogger loves to claim that she's neutral and simply posts info. But the reality is she is very judgmental of Sam, and more importantly, she surrounds herself with CONFIRMED Sam haters, disgruntled ex-shippers, and Purv aka me haters. That's a FACT and theres no denying it. All anyone has to do is look at the bloggers who leave comments and likes on her posts--all KNOWN Sam haters, disgruntled ex-shippers, and long time haters of moi. The narrative this blogger perpetuates is that Sam is a man whore, and in this instance, a pervert for being with this woman. (She's young. Legal, but young.)

I, on the other hand, believe ALL dating is good, as long as it's between CONSENTING ADULTS. Sam is SINGLE. He can date whoever he wants and as many or as little women as he wants. And like I said in my previous post, Sam isn't deceiving anyone. Unless these women just landed on the planet, they all have social media and know how to use Google Search. They can SEE and READ about who he's dated or dating. I don't know about you, but every woman I know, the second they're interested in a guy, the first thing they do is conduct an extensive Internet search on him. Women are more efficient than the F B I when they want to find out info on a man. 🧐 Facts. And, on my blog, I don't use initials, for the most part, I write out full names, so any woman Googling Sam's dating history has LOTS to read about. 😉

I don't think Sam is doing anything wrong: he's dating multiple women, it's all consensual, and they are all of legal age. WHAT IS THE PROBLEM? Nothing, dammit, absolutely nothing.

So, if you want a blog that supports Sam and is glad he has an active love life, this is it. For the love of God, he's so fucking hot, who would turn down that golden delicious Scottishness? Not I, lasses, not I. Amirite? 🤗 If you want to be a prude with your panties in a bunch over consensual dating between a hot actor and the women who clearly can't resist his charms, the Sam hater blogs are waiting with open arms to brainwash you. Go there.

Okay, so onto what the other blogger posted. I was sent these screencaps. Sam posted this a few days ago. 👇

Closer shot of the mountains and sky. 👇

The mystery woman in question posted this. 👇

Here it is lightened up by me. 👇

Seems like the same place. The other blogger said she was sent screenshots of the mystery woman posting from the same place. And the caption in the top right stating she was camping. The other blogger cropped out most of the pic, except the top of the back of the woman's head. 👇

I lightened up the pic. It looks like she has blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. 👇

Someone on my Team obtained some info that led her to the account of a young female Scottish athlete. It seems that the other blogger is outraged with Sam's "behavior" simply because the woman is 19 years old. Yes, that's young, but again, she is a legal adult. And Sam is famous, there's ton of info online about him. I'm sure the woman Googled him before she got in a tent or camper with him. JS. She and Sam mutually follow each other. 👇

It was also pointed out to me that the only set of pics of his that she liked on Instagram is the one he posted when they allegedly went camping together. 👇 What a coinky dink. 🤔😊

She's an accomplished athlete, college student, blonde, Scottish. What's not to like? Again, two single, CONSENTING ADULTS. If that's a problem for anyone, then that's literally YOUR problem. Sam seems verra happy with his life. And any woman who spends little or lots of time with him, I'm sure is happy as well. Again, what is the problem? None that I can see. But, hey, I love sex, and camping, and Scottish lads who look like this. 👇🤷‍♀️

PS. I'm not going to post her name FOR NOW because there is no concrete confirmation it was her. It's all circumstantial evidence at the moment. If I get something more concrete, then I'll post her name. In addition, I've gotten other DMs wondering if the outrage is because the woman isn't this athlete, but is one of the new cast of Blood Of My Blood. But, outrage over two actors on parallel shows dating would be weird since it happens all the time. Who knows...

That's what I have for now. If it's not the athlete in question, it doesn't really matter, the point is Sam is dating around, enjoying life. Sounds good to me. If you figure out who she is, please, don't be an asshole, and go harass her. Thanks.

As for the haters already frothing in my Anon Asks, keep 'em coming. I LOVE to laugh and laugh and laugh at your idiocy. Go ahead, make my day. 😘

[mossyoss]

Do you not recall?

On a whim of inspiration I created a small care package of a doodle and a small story about two sad blorbos owned by @poppy-purpura. Here’s some context for better understanding of what is going on. The story is under the cut

CONTEXT: Сreation of Hundreds' puppet was part of a peace agreement between the spiritualist tribe of the Ancients and the more advanced Dense Metals Alliance. The creation of the design and, in part, the personality, of Hundred of Drops was delegated to Silver, the senior of the local group. He created the puppet design based on his personal preferences, with as much care as he was capable of. But when Hundreds' construction was over, the Alliance was not thrilled that their iterator wanted to befriend an iterator of an outsiders and memories of his involvement in the creation of Hundreds were blocked. But Hundreds remembered everything. And Silver's indifference made him angry, this grudge was carried with him for many, many cycles. In the end, Hundred eventually got Silver stripped of his status as the group's senior and became the senior himself. And in retaliation Hundreds shut down all communications for Silver. Many cycles later, after learning of the serious damage to Silver's superstructure, he decided to visit him in person to look into his sullen face one last time.

---

- Oh, there you are! You know, I've been looking for your puppet in this cesspool of a superstructure for eternity to talk to you, since as your senior, I just couldn't help but-- Silver?

The hunched figure in the corner of the puppet chamber was practically motionless. No sign of a reaction. But he was definitely alive, one could tell by the faint movements of the hands. Ambrosia of Silver seemed to be tracing the contours of the chamber's tiles.

Hundreds stepped closer. He knew that the legs of the structure had been damaged, his overseers showed that the fracture beneath Silver's structure was literally ripping the ground out from beneath him. Something might have been damaged, surely, but...

Concern amidst irritation came to be. Was he not responding out of stubbornness? Hundreds called out to Silver once more, touching him on the shoulder

- Ambrosia of Silver, I'm talking to you

This time he slowly turned around. A haggard face, a tired look. Itertator saw that some of the vestments had been lost, and what remained was frayed to bits.

- Аh? Sorry about that.. I must not have heard. Did you want something?

It had been a long time since Hundreds had talked to Silver like this, face-to-face. He himself cut off Silver's communications a long time ago. Deservedly so! But... Hundreds frowned, bewilderment reflected on his face. He didn't remember Silver speaking so slowly and quietly. Maybe he had regretted his behaviour? Too bad, he had expected to look at his perpetually disgruntled face. He's so charming when he's angry. And he's usually so easily flustered. Oh, well.

Perhaps Hundreds had been silent for too long, because Silver started talking again:

- I don't know your name, but I have to say... - Silver's cloudy gaze warmed, -Your creators did a good job on your puppet. I... I really like those red accents. And that robe looks good on you.

Silver reached out to touch Hundreds' hand, but he jerked it away. - What? - Silver's words disconcerted Hundreds, he forgot what he was going to say, only mumbles came out of him, - But-- But you..

- Yeah, I probably shouldn't have said that, - Silver interpreted Hundreds' reaction in his own way, and he let out a quiet chuckle, - You should probably go, stranger. There's... there's nothing left here. And it’s dangerous too.

- Is this, - Hundreds' voice sounded helpless, - Is this some kind of joke? Not funny, Silver! Hey? - he noticed that the former senior's gaze was wandering again, he didn't seem to be listening anymore, -Hey, Silver!

Hundreds took Silver's face in his palms, tilted his head slightly towards himself. Realisation began to come gradually. A thought he'd been chasing away all the way here. For many, many cycles of the journey.

- I really don't know who you are. I'm sorry,- Silver grew sad, not resisting Hundreds' gesture, - But I'd really like to know what your name is. If you're willing to share

- My, - iterator's voice faltered, - my name is Hundreds of Droplets

- Hundreds, huh... that's a beautiful name. I like it.

[glowinggator]

Kissing: Calvin "Freckle" McMurray

Pairing: Calvin "Freckle" McMurray/Reader Content Warnings: None!

Rocky's HERE // Mordecai's HERE

Kissing Calvin is like stepping into the ocean for the first time. A brief moment of trepidation, followed by nothing but excitement and, oddly enough, tranquility. The perfect balance that leaves you wanting more, and more, and more. 

Calvin is a naturally nervous man -- plagued by perpetual shyness from an early age, he often has to work himself up to do… much of anything, really. Dating you has emboldened him just a fraction, although the outside world is oblivious to this.

This is all to say that it's very rare that he'll initiate a kiss on his own. Not for lack of wanting, mind you -- he just struggles to make that last leap. But you pick up on his signs pretty quickly, nowadays. 

His eyes bounce to you more often, tail swishing nervously. His eyes will dart to your lips, but he brings them back up so quickly that it makes his desires far too obvious. It's such a rapid motion -- sparked by want, fueled by the anxiety of getting caught -- that it draws more attention to it than if he let his eyes linger. It's cute. He's still not sure how you always seem to figure him out, but you're not going to tell him your secrets any time soon. 

His kisses are… warm. Soft. They feel like home. Every kiss with him feels like your first, in the sense that it always seems to carry that same unspoken weight of "I love you." Sure, many of your kisses happen simply to wrap yourselves in the presence -- the experience -- of one another… and yet, they always feel meaningful. 

Maybe it's the way that he always seems to linger when you pull apart, or maybe it's the way he looks at you afterwards, or maybe it's the way he always seems to be caught breathless. Maybe it's just him. 

As he gets more comfortable in your relationship he loves to hold you more -- cupping your face tenderly, or loosely holding onto your arm. His hands don't roam too much once they settle, but he always drags his thumb gently across the skin. 

He often finds himself leaning back in once you pull apart, shaky breath fanning over your lips for a second that feels like a lifetime before the distance is closed once again. He loves you a lot -- let him be selfish, just this once. 

Very sad when he doesn't get his "good morning" kiss. It's such a crucial part of his routine, and his day just feels off without it. It's the one time he'll actually speak up for affection… even if his "speaking up" is just him giving you the most adorable, disgruntled pout. Did you forget something? I think you might have forgotten something. He gets this bashful little smile when you figure it out. 

There's only two times where his kisses aren't soft. 

When there's been a good firefight, and when there's been a bad firefight. 

The adrenaline from the former has him dragging you in for once, hands gripping anywhere they can, as he steals your breath away. It's so distant from the Calvin you've come to know, and it's fucking exhilarating. Your lips meet once, then twice, thrice… he hardly gives you a moment to breathe, not that you're complaining. He has the faintest bits of laughter spilling from his lips when he pulls away, but it's not long before you're pulling him back in. He'll be embarrassed about it later, but for now, he's content to enjoy the moment. 

The latter however… Once he knows you're okay and safe he's pulling you in for one long, borderline bruising, kiss. He has to know you're okay. He has to know you're here. He clings to you, like you'd disappear if he didn't hold you tight enough. He gets a little more lax with his affections after moments like these. You never know when life might intervene, and he can't stand the idea of missing out on even a moment of your affections. And in this line of business… He doesn't want to think about it. 

[giuseppe-yuki]

non-caffine induced ramblings below!!

feel like people are already wondering if future teammates' pets(?) will get along (george and kimi for example - people wonder if the deer and tiger will ignore each other or what...)

Also - geri is an honorary member of the shifter groupchat I don't make the rules

I feel like Danny Ric would've had a quokka gf in an alternate universe

Someone should definitely give Ollie's gf a hug because she's got a sore throat from screaming that her bf is the best bf ever after his Haas points... Also she's the biggest sweet tooth ever like you cannot stop her from eating sweets

Franco's gf (orange cat gf) hisses at people who critic her bf, but she is especially suspicious of James

Oh, and Max's ragdoll gf has adopted Liam (lawson) as her and Max's grid kid. If Charles gets Oscars and Ollie and Leo then Max gets Liam

- 🐺 anon who's a bit sleepy and bored rn

hi 🐺 anon, welcome back :)

my thoughts below:

people may talk, but ultimately, i believe the answer to the first one is definitely. george's gf will start off a little skeptical at first, but quickly becomes fast friends with kimi's gf. she takes over lewis' gf's usual job as the mother of the paddock, and makes sures kimi's gf gets acquainted with massive jump in fame that comes along with the f1 paddock life.

no arguments there! the shapeshifter!gfs all jump at the opportunity to talk to the iconic ginger spice.

haha, when you mention quokka, my mind can't stop replaying that clip when a reporter or something compares yuki to a picture of a quokka at the AUSgp! anyways, according to google, quokkas are known to be friendly, curious, social, and have a perpetual smile. when reading that you CANNOT tell me that that isn't perfectly describing daniel. ughh they'd be the most adorable couple on the grid!!!

while most new wags are more reserved and shy, opting to stand quietly in the garage, ollie’s gf is not afraid to yell herself hoarse during and after the race (nicole sherzinger style). like i can imagine f1tv panning from ocon’s super shy gf standing quietly in este’s paddock area, and then a zoom in shot to ollie’s gf literally leaping up and down and deafening engineers. anyways….the sweet tooth! it def comes with being a bear cub shapeshifter… she has been a victim of kimi’s occasional winnie the pooh jokes one too many times :( referring back to an anon’s thought about bear eyes, ollie’s gf would also use it to her advantage to somehow get herself a billion jars of straight honey??? like ayao will call ollie to the office one day to talk to him about a weird invoice billed to the haas company for a ridiculous amount of honey. ollie walks in with the bear cub clinging to the side of his leg, and it doesn’t take a whole five minutes before ayao has the invoice signed, approved, and sent out on express shipping 😭

franco’s gf is epitome of the screeching, upside-down parabola shaped halloween black cat !!!!! (but in orange) you’ll be lucky if she lets you off with a simple hiss if she hears something even inferencing a critic about franco. if you’re one of the unlucky ones, you better hope you packed a few band-aids!

that’s right! it’s only fit that as a reserve driver in rb’s sister team, liam would be adopted by one of the redbull drivers. you can commonly find max’s gf sitting by liam on the pit wall or in the rb garage when there’s not too much action on track. it’s funny when he makes a quip about max’s accidental wide turn, or raises an eyebrow at a failed overtake when he thinks no one is looking. (she always reports liam’s comments to a disgruntled-looking boyfriend after the race, and giggle as liam adamantly denies doing so. liam can never figure out how max could hear his whispered comments from the garage when max had been racing on the tracks??) it’s not until liam officially becomes a driver for rb when he is let in on the shapeshifting secret. (he got so pissed when he realized that the cat was actually max’s shapeshifting girlfriend) anyways, when race weekends for both drivers start, you can find her campering back and forth from each garage during race day! when she sees liam a looking a little too stressed, she likes to bring him her lighting mcqueen plush from her the redbull garage. during media days, when max is doing an interview, you can find her following liam around the paddock (for protection reasons only, she assures max when he gets a little jelly of all the attention on liam).

[slavghoul]

Hi Slav, this maybe isn't ghost related, but perhaps more personal. Often times when I read through your posts, I find that we share similar thoughts or preferences. For example, I find it very very odd when the papas are referred to as Terzo or Secondo etc in serious conversation because that isn't how it was when I joined, and it's just not how I enjoy the band. But, I don't want to be someone who perpetuates the new vs old debates. I actually really value and respect your take on things because you're able to inject your opinion in a way that doesn't alienate anyone or make anyone feel stupid. I however feel as though I cannot let go of the frustration I feel when I engage with the fandom. I dont participate much at all because I dont jive with the current culture, but when I do indulge I just feel discontent and disgruntled. It's like I can feel myself becoming the jaded old man. I'm not super hung up on it, it's not really something I think about often. I usually just use the walk away method the moment I start to feel irritated. I got other things to do besides get mad at things I cannot change. But it still sucks

Preamble out of the way, how do you stay so calm and chill and remember to be considerate when you feel your enjoyment of things doesnt align with the vocal majority? How did you acheive your current mindset beyond just learning to let go or not engage with things that might lead to feelings like this? I'm using ghost as the base for this question, but I'm really asking for some general wisdom. I apologize if that's a little loaded.

Jokes aside, this is a lovely and thoughtful question, thank you, but I’m not sure if I have any advice, other than „create your own bubble and live in it because the outside world is a terrible place.” I have my own Ghost-bubble that I very rarely step out of. When I do, I sometimes regret it. You must remember that what thoughts I decide to share here are not all of the thoughts I have. I go through those same moments of disillusionment as you do, it’s just not something I necessarily want to burden others with, so you don’t see me talking about it. I always tried to make this place, to the extent I could make it so, positive and welcoming to everyone, so I keep my personal frustrations on the down low. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen, though. Yes, learning to let go and not engaging with matters that leave you feeling like this is possibly the only solution with any viable effects. I try to keep in mind that my enjoyment of the band is my personal experience. What others think and how they behave or interpret things doesn’t define the true essence of what I hold dear. Ask yourself: what was it that made you fall in love with the band? What brings you real joy? Then focus on that. This won’t apply to everyone, but a lot of what brings me joy in relation with the band are things I do on my own, e.g. writing with no intention to share the texts with anyone, collecting, archiving, keeping stats on things that probably only I care about, etc. That’s my happy Ghost bubble, mostly a lone but peaceful place. I think it’s absolutely crucial to craft your own fandom experience, one that suits and satisfies your needs while also keeping you sane. This is meant to be a positive experience after all. But sometimes you gotta make effort to make it so. 

[tresp4ssing]

(  kiowa gordon  .  cis man  .  he/him  )  .     ⸻   lennon cole  ,  a  thirty four  year  old  ,  has  survived  another  day  in  red  creek  where  they  have  lived  for  two years , recently returned  .  the  smokescreen  is  known  for  being  dutiful  and  brusque  and  is  often  associated  with  sun bleached denim jeans , the importance of family heirlooms , engraved sterling silver that is always on his person  .  in  a  small  town  where  they  work  as  a ranch hand at the weldon family ranch  word  travels  fast  .  it’s  hard  to  keep  a  secret  ,  and  it  looks  like  the  boogeyman  knows  that THIS FILE CANNOT BE FOUND .

PART : 001 — THE BASICS

full name : lennon anthony cole. nickname(s) : any shortform version of lennon, except he hates lenny, but hates wasting his time on telling people not to call him that more. age : thirty4 yrs old. hometown : red creek, michigan, usa. gender & pronouns : cis man, he/him. orientation : bisexual, biromantic. western sun sign : aries.

PART : 002 — THE APPEARANCE

faceclaim : kiowa gordon. height : 5'10". hair color : dark brown. eye color : brown. distinct marking(s) : bushy  eyebrows,  framing  intense  eyes  ;  a  tone  of  voice  that  is  either  too  serious  or  not  serious  at  all  ;  a  few  random  tattoos  that  he's  picked  up  during  his  travel  ;  being  eternally  sun  -  kissed  due  to  outside  labor,  just  nature  of  the  job  ;  a  smirk  permanently  etched  onto  his  lips  ;  perpetually  needing  to  lean  on  something  when  just  standing  around,  as  well  as  his  arms  being  propped  up  on  a  surface  while  he's  sitting

PART : 003 — DIG DEEPER

likes : constant  mental  stimulation,  going  on  blind  dates  -  the  mystery  makes  it  fun,  watching  the  sunset,  music  (  specifically  ska,  metal,  and  blues  ),  attempting  to  learn  how  to  play  the  guitar,  long  drives  with  the  window  down,  all  types  of  soup  dislikes : sleeping  with  more  than  one  pillow,  owning  too  many  items  -  since  he'll  probably  just  give  them  away  eventually,  feeling  stuck  both  physically  and  mentally,  boredom,  spiders,  people  who  don't  mind  their  business,  sunburns,  dry  summers

PART : 004 — QUICK FACTS

a  small  family  home,  one  suited  for  lennon's  unorthodox  situation,  provided  a  comfortable  space  for  lennon  to  grow  up.  he  was  raised  by  his  maternal  grandparents,  both  loving  retirees  who  thought  they  could  escape  to  the  small  red  creek  community,  but  life  seemed  to  have  other  plans  for  them

he  has  no  complaints  about  his  home  life  -  just  him  and  his  grandparents,  usually  ending  his  school  days  glued  to  the  tv  and  watching  game  shows  with  them.  he  had  a  few  friends  around  red  creek,  but  many  of  them  lived  just  barely  further  than  acceptable  bike  riding  distance,  so  he  wasn't  able  to  see  them  often

people  would  describe  him  as  your  run  of  the  mill  good  kid,  all  the  way  up  until  early  high  school

he  entered  the  school's  band,  attempting  to  become  a  percussionist,  but  quickly  found  that  he  likes  listening  more  than  he  did  playing.  a  few  of  his  friends,  a  grade  above  him,  introduced  him  to  the  midwest  emo  and  punk  scenes,  forcing  lennon  off  his  couch  and  into  backyards  and  garages  for  house  parties

as  the  teenage  angst  set  in,  so  did  his  capacity  for  charades,  becoming  more  reckless  just  to  impress  other  kids  around  town.  it  didn't  go  too  far,  nothing  more  than  tagging  walls,  petty  gas  station  theft,  and  sneaking  out  to  smoke  a  doobie  or  two.  acceptance  became  the  game,  and  one  two  many  run  -  ins  with  disgruntled  parents  and  school  administration,  the  blame  always  being  put  on  lennon  for  his  "  non  -  traditional  upbringing,  "  his  grandparents  finally  put  their  foot  down  and  cut  him  off  monetarily

that  gave  him  the  spark  to  finally  get  out  of  this  town,  paired  with  the  seething  anger  that  comes  with  your  world  seemingly  shattering,  its  seams  ripping  apart  in  a  matter  of  hours,  and  started  his  journey  upon  the  open  road

from  age  seventeen,  all  the  way  until  just  two  years  ago,  he  has  moved  around  states,  staying  anywhere  from  a  period  of  eight  months  all  the  way  to  four  years  (  his  longest  commitment  so  far  ),  all  depending  on  the  jobs  and  whatever  ties  he  has  there

IN REDCREEK ...

DEATH  TW,  GRIEF  TW  —  his  return  came  after  he  received  news  of  his  grandmother's  passing,  then  his  grandfather  who  followed  in  succession,  all  within  the  span  of  a  year.  as  their  next  of  kin,  he  received  all  of  their  memories,  their  house,  and  other  possessions,  all  of  which  he  either  sold  or  donated  in  hopes  of  ridding  himself  of  their  constant  reminder.  he  is  still  grieving,  though  hates  admitting  it,  hoping  that  just  not  talking  about  it  will  force  the  memories  to  go  away

some  part  of  him  feels  stuck  in  red  creek,  tethered  to  this  guilt  of  people  who  can  no  longer  shame  him  for  it,  but  he's  doing  plenty  of  that  himself.  a  lot  of  his  guilt  rests  in  how  he  felt  like  he  gave  up  on  them,  running  away  from  conflict  and  missing  out  on  a  large  part  of  their  lives  and  not  allowing  them  to  see  his,  either.  red  creek  is  an  obligation  to  lennon

working  as  a  ranch  hand  is  the  perfect  distraction  to  day  to  day  life  —  he  makes  his  own  hours,  just  as  long  as  all  the  work  gets  done  and  the  place  is  tended  to

PART : 005 — POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS

npcs

lennon  considers  himself  lucky.  he  was  too  young  to  really  feel  the  gravity  of  the  ‘99  murders  -  a  lot  of  the  news  he  remembers  surrounding  it  felt  more  like  a  tall  tale  or  a  case  of  the  boogeyman  than  anything,  but  that  doesn’t  mean  it  hasn't  popped  up  in  his  mind  throughout  the  years.  it's  more  akin  to  something  like  a  true  crime  case,  a  cautionary  tale  that  one  could  never  be  too  safe,  even  in  a  town  that  seemed  so  innocent

he  only  really  had  a  connection  to  alaina  price.  the  two  walked  the  halls  of  red  creek  high  around  the  same  time,  though  she  was  either  one  or  two  grades  above  him.  it  was  sobering  in  the  way  that  no  one  was  spared.  part  of  him  believed  that  the  killer  had  a  type  -  teens  or  twenty  somethings,  but  she  being  older  in  comparison  sets  a  scary  precedent  that  everyone  may  be  on  whatever  sick  list  the  killer  has

wanted connections

here.

[garf-lover96]

Vesuvia Weekly; Watching Them Sleep (Rowan and Julian, feat. Portia!)

originally i had two concepts for this prompt and then just kept scrapping them interchangeably before i finally settled on this one. i wrote it in first person to try out something new!! the word count is like 1k as usual

———

"...And you're telling me this happens all the time?"

Portia stares down at Julian's unmoving body, his cheek pressed against the kitchen table and eyes closed. Her eyes are wide with shock but I can tell it's taking every ounce of self control she has for her to not burst out laughing.

Julian was convincing me that he could manage to stay awake for a few more hours since we already invited Portia over for some early evening tea. But the moment I left the kitchen to let her in through the shop's door, we both heard a harsh thud followed by a low croak. Apparently it was Malak that played a part in making Julian smash his forehead into the table.

I shoo the raven off his head with a deep sigh and he lands on the nearby counter with an annoyed caw.

"Not all the time... We just fell out of our sleeping routine a bit recently." I say quietly and cross my arms, "We used to go to sleep together—getting into bed strictly at the same time—to keep our schedule consistent, but all it took was one all nighter pulled and..." I wave my hand in Julian's general direction with a mildly guilty expression. It was my recent fever that made him not sleep well in the first place after all.

"Even all that caffeine didn't help him in the long run, huh?" Portia scoffs and rolls her eyes, "...He looks awful." she mumbles, tilting her head to get a better look at him.

We both keep staring at Julian. Nobody would expect someone as perpetually exhausted as him to be an aesthetically pleasing sleeper... And he sure looks terrible. His hair is disgruntled, his eyebags worse than ever, he has a faint red mark on his forehead and he's starting to drool onto the table a bit. That's actually kind of cute... At least his face doesn't seem tense, as it so often does due to his night terrors.

So, suddenly, I get a very strong urge to defend Julian's honor in front of his own sister...

"Actually, he doesn't look all that awful. He's been worse. This is, despite the fact that he's passed out on the table, a big improvement from where we've come from-"

"I can still say he looks ugly." Portia cuts me off with a snort, desperately trying not to start giggling about the situation like a maniac.

"Well- I doubt that Nadia looks all royal and stunning even while she's asleep..." I bite back and nudge her arm with a smile.

"Hey, don't you dare drag Nadia into this! I'll have you know, she looks especially gorgeous when she's asleep!" she tries to sound offended, but isn't able to hide the huge grin on her face.

"...I refuse to believe that."

Just when I think our bickering session is only beginning, Bluebell, that's been sitting cuddled up to my neck this whole time, snags a strand of my hair and brings my attention back to Julian.

"...Right, I should at least get him to bed." I sigh out and scratch the magpie's neck gently.

"Need help with that?" Portia asks, but she's already walking around the table to hoist Julian up from his seat.

"He's light enough... If you just help me get him into my arms, I should be fine."

We move the chair away from the table and Portia manages to catch him before he completely topples over.

"Damn it, he's completely knocked out." she grunts out as he grabs his shoulders.

We maneuver his limp, asleep body for a good few minutes before I finally manage to get a secure hold on him. His arms get thrown over my shoulders which causes Bluebell to fly over and perch on Portia's head instead. And I have to hold his thighs really high up so that his feet don't drag on the floor...

"Pfhah, now he's drooling on your neck..." Portia snickers and slides the chair back under the table.

"Right, just... Just open the door to the bedroom, please..."

I can feel Julian tighten his hold on me for a moment and beginning to nuzzle into my neck before his chin painfully stabs my shoulder. It makes me shudder but I just start walking faster to get him in the bed as soon as possible... At least he's easier to carry when he's holding on like this.

Portia holds the bedroom door open for me and I finally manage to walk over with him to the bed. Supporting his back, I try to lay him down as gently as I can, but I accidentally stumble and make him hit the mattress. Then I almost fall over on top of him which actually makes him stir a little.

"Ahh, who goes there...?", he rubs his eyes and squints at me, his accent sounding a little thicker with those being his first conscious words.

But oh no, I know that tone...

"Has the time finally come? A charming knight has arrived to wake me from my slumber..." he says in a theatrical voice and raises one of his hands to touch my cheek.

I freeze, feeling Portia's eyes boring right into my back. "Uh, Julian-"

"What, aren't you going to kiss me and seal our..." he trails off when I shake my head at him. Then he just stares at me with a very confused and disappointed expression.

I straighten up and step away from him. He goes completely red in the face the second he notices Portia is in the room as well.

"I should've known you guys roleplay of all things. Why haven't I seen you on the stage together yet?" she says with a smirk, looking between the both of us. Julian's still so disoriented after the nap that he can't even get a word out... He probably forgot we were having Portia over too.

"We should get that tea, uh... Brewing... Come on." I quickly pull a blanket over Julian and take his sister's arm to lead her out of the bedroom.

"...Are you going to answer my question?" Portia asks after I close the door behind us.

"I uh, I have stage fright, actually." I answer quickly and take Bluebell off of her head.

"You should get over it, and soon. I can only watch Ilya alone on a stage, monologuing away so many times... Maybe a romance would be a nice change of pace in the repertoire." she elbows me in the ribs with a small giggle, "I am serious though. I could even help you practice and all!"

"...I'll give it a thought."

I really do not want to give it a thought. But I know Portia won't let this go, maybe ever. I might as well start getting a costume ready...

[senka-mesecine]

Could you maybe write a one shot for when Barnes circles back to the world, and his significant other drags him out on a date? Not in a mean way, just to force him to get out, maybe like a fair or a bar etc… thank u!

So Scared of You (They're Scared of Me Too).

Robert Barnes x Reader

-

Don't be needin' nothin' but you.

He said that once, and like with all truly important things carrying emotional weight and gravitas of meaning, Bob had the tendency to say them one time only and expect you to remember them because he didn't intend on repeating himself.

The mistake was wholly on you as a result, you supposed, for not taking him as literally as you should, sitting in the corner of the dimly lit bar, all in your own space, just the two of you, voices are low and hushed, eyes occasionally carefully fluttering beneath lashes like people intended to take a peek and look but weren't certain if they dared or if they even should; it was the scar they were staring at, you knew that. He knew that too. In spite of that, you figured you two couldn't just be cooped up in the hills in the cabin forever. You had to come out sometime, even if it was once in a blue moon to the degree the stories spinning around you were as wild as they come. Barnes living up in the hills. Barnes' keepin' her hostage. And you loved him. That much was not gossip. Loved him so much you never wanted him to think you felt shame being seen with him. He was your Bob when he left and he was your Bob now that he came back. You wouldn't change a thing about him except maybe have him understand that he was a part of the world; not perpetually at war with it. He needed to need more than you. Wasn't healthy for him to be nothing but your watchdog. At least a drink on the weekends. A date. The occasional round of poker with the boys, you think, hopeful once the barman approaches entirely on his own accord, fidgety and nervous, but oh so willing to accommodate just judging off of his smile. -"Hey, that's alright, Bob."- He points his nose at the half-emptied bourbon bottle on the table, going for a first name basis to maintain an air of friendliness and hospitality.

You wouldn't say Bob goes to reach for his wallet but his shoulders move by about an inch like he was meaning to, eyeing the man from his dark corner. -"You ain't gotta pay. On the house!"- The owner rubs his hands with his back slightly bent like he was overly eager to please and deliberately making himself small. This was the opposite treatment of a disgruntled veteran being spat on on the street. You knew, they were too scared to take Barnes' money for the cheque. He sat there, legs spread, arm resting on his knee and cigarette in his mouth like he knew. Like he was eating all of it up in silence.

That wouldn't do.

Normalcy; a semblance of it. That was your goal.

-"That's so nice, but you really don't have to ---"-

You protest with a smile only to be cut off before mid-sentence.

-"No, no, I insist, ma'am."-

Is all the man says before practically scurrying off somewhere behind the bar riddled with the backs of the quiet patrons planted on their respective barstools sipping their drinks that occasionally threw a quick glance in your general direction like they were trying to guess the topic of that brief conversation that just happened. Bob looks at you through the haze of smoke veiling his face. Hooded eyes, it was like he was goading someone into something, knowing fully well everyone was too chickenshit to do as much as properly look this way. Like he was taunting you, from the corner of his lips and quietly supporting the barman for rejecting your offer. Serves you right, his eyes say. He ain't listenin' to you. He's listenin' to me and I ain't even say 'nun to him. You could hear his drawl in your mind loud and clear, as if though the words were actually uttered by his own mouth and not merely imagined. Even the boys at the billiard table occasionally turning their attention to the old TV on the wall were playing in complete and utter silence, the only sound heard was the occasional cold click of the balls crashing into each other or the thud as they rolled into their hole. A needle could drop somewhere on the floor and the sound would resound like a bomb right about now. Would be heard from here to Nashville at this point.

Cocky.

He was inaudibly cocky.

-"You're enjoying this, Robert."-

You whisper to him, not unkindly, but more as a remark of the real state of things as he downs the last of his liquor, his eyes never leaving you. Don't be needin' nothin' but you, his words slither back into your head unbidden. Why were you surprised if he wasn't here being a social butterfly? He did tell you, fair and square where his mind was at and openly and all you had to do is listen and all you could do is impart a look back at him, a soft one, one you knew he'd understand; one that meant to say Pay that man at least, please, for me? Once his glass cup is empty and the butt of his cigarette crushed in a nearby metal ashtray that's seen better days, he reaches into his back pocket fishing out a couple of bills and tossing them on the table idly, grazing you with a stare; your cue to leave as you push out the table adorned with seating benches eclipsed by two walls and a corner following him; on the way out, you feel eyes follow you like so many hornets; leisurely walk, the floorboard creaks under Bob who was talking his sweet time like he relished how tense the air and the atmosphere around him was, halting just once to look at a man looking at you causing something in your stomach to coil and lurch. The man's face darts to the side quickly and you're just as swift to entwine your arm with Bob's crossing the threshold and out in the first air on the patio. Thank god. You knew this was all your idea in the first place, but thank god.

-"They're so scared of you they're scared of me too."-

You exhale, whispering, stating the obvious.

-"They parted like the red sea."-

You add once he says nothing.

Your own words sounding almost humorous in your own ears.

Bob really intended to play into this, huh?

The fact that folk around here viewed him like he was The Tennessee Wildman or Bigfoot in person cooped up in a house high up in the woods ever since he came home from Vietnam and that they could barely maintain eye contact with his general direction for more than five seconds out of fear for their own lives; as a result, on the rare occasion they did see you, they flat out averted their gaze around you like you were the Sasquatch's wife and that there would be hell to pay if they did as much as contemplate you. He really wasn't going to dispel anyone's notions of him? He was going to take their opinions, play into them and wholly expand them, wasn't he? Once you're alone in the dark next to the parked pick up truck away from the light reflected through the bar's windows, you feel his hand on your buttock, squeezing your backside and leaning his head down to speak against the center of your scalp, your body trapped between him and the door of the vehicle. His breath is hot on you. The moon was shrouded in a veil of mist above the tree line and you swear to god, a lone dog could bark from somewhere in the neighborhood and judging how quiet everyone was in that bar even now, you could envision them all jumping in their seats from how high strung they seemed when you left them.

-"You're enjoyin' this too, darlin'."-

Is all he says.

Your cheeks flare up.

You hated to admit he was right.

[signedseal]

You are a battery at best: thoughts on the intersection of misogyny and anticolonialsm

How is one meant to respond to violation? 

It seems, on a personal and global scale, there is never an acceptable answer. A right answer, maybe. But never an answer that pleases everyone. Violation in most cases can warrant a response of violence, and many can justify it quite easily. Regardless of their stance on a false binary of thinking with one's heart vs with their head-- emotional appeal or logic, both ends of the spectrum can conjure justification of violence, either as a righteous retribution or as a harsh and permanent correction. Death penalty, public caning and castration for rapists. Revolution against a colonial power. Both sides, shifted slightly in values to nonviolence, can agree that rehabilitation is the answer. Mandatory reeducation, in both cases. The two ends of this spectrum, however, will chase each other's tails until dizzy trying to poke holes in the other's methods, to call into question their intentions on the basis of their reactions. 

The lack of coordination is a long term toothache that has very rapidly eaten through the enamel of any movement of change and reform. The drive to uproot the status quo of colonial practice, misogyny, and white supremacy is still there. It will always be there, but it has been greatly neutered. Through an inevitable shift in US American values towards conservatism, and coupling with the fact that so many revolutions happen at the outskirts of a global power but rarely inside– there in the capillaries of the western movement spreads the sickness of indifference.

Things simply are not that bad in the US and will likely never be until the US is outcompeted in the global ecosystem by another superpower. Until the average US American is subjected to daily the same circumstances that give way to revolution there will not be one. No matter how many disgruntled people have guns, if they have something to fall back on, a life to go back to, they will put theirs on the line for nothing. Thus, we squirm at the idea of organized revolution, pointing at everyone else and wondering why THEY are not the ones picking up the slack. It is fair to point out there can only be so many Dr. Kings and Malcom X’s before the average American realizes that the more you organize, the bigger the target on your back becomes. BLM and Palestine protests saw increases of violence directed towards them that put back a certain level of fear into people, or instilled it in those who hadn’t been scared before. 

While progress is certainly recent (no fault divorce, 1969. Credit card issuance to women, 1974. Criminalization of marital rape, 1993) it seemed that there was at the very least a rally, an outcry. While there still is, it seems that every year activists raise their fists and look over their shoulders, there are less and less people standing beside them. The comfort of oppressors and the sanctity of their feeling like they are doing us a favor by breadcrumbing rights is time and time again proven to be more important than liberation. It seems the consensus is no longer a question of whether or not to kill the rapist, it's now considering whether or not being called out will make him uncomfortable. Civility and silence start sounding so similar. 

And that might be the most common reaction to violation.The path many of us take, pretend we don’t, condemn in theory, and perpetuate in silence. 

When my sister pulled me half alive from the back of my abductor’s car, my first words were “stop yelling”. I had no idea where I was, what was happening, or how much pain I was in. She was yelling at my rapist, and had I been coherent I would have too. In that state, however, all I could think of was how scary the loud noises are, even on my behalf. Somewhere in that state I felt embarrassed that she was making a scene. Even for weeks afterwards, I refused to talk about or acknowledge what happened. I had plenty of reminders, the needles they used for my emergency HIV prevention had mistakenly hit bone and I had little use of my left arm for days. The antibiotics' side effects invited nausea and tearing in the skin of my vulva that burned with a friendly reminder that I was bearing the brunt of a man’s actions every morning. My experience as a singular woman reflected in that moment a bigger picture of misogyny as a whole. Women everywhere carry the daily reminders of our safety being called into question, from outright violence, rape, hatred down to the innocuous use of a male crash test dummy leading to more women dying in car crashes. Violation. Humiliation. But it is already humiliating enough to go through it, to shout it from the rooftops in hopes others will relate and rally behind you sounds nauseating. And it is. It always is.

At no point is self advocacy easy, or comfortable. It is terrifying to be among the noise even when it's your own voice or those screaming to end your suffering. At no point does it get less tempting to cover your ears and shut your eyes. One would think it does get easier when it is the greater issue of misogyny, or the just as potent issue of dismantling white supremacy. For some, I am certain it does. But the oppression never gets easier to experience.

As tired as the narrative of women being a metaphor for anything but women is, it takes baseline pattern recognition to understand the parallels between the struggle of misogyny and global colonialism. While the more hamfisted might say “Woman is the N*gger of the world” (famously eyebrow raising song by John Lennon), others might put a similar sentiment of global female oppression into different words. I offer that the woman as an abstract concept stands as a flesh and blood avatar in many ways, to the colonized world.

Both undergo subjugation stemming from the same or similar powers that be, both a necessity to keep the machine that oppresses them running. Both are heavily fetishized, celebrated only as an object of utilitarianism and pleasure. But loathsome to give more credit than that which would pacify their incessant whining about what is "fair" and "dignified". Dignity is a foreign concept that seems too far above their station, so they will be placated with being spoon fed a version of it full of fluff that lacks enough nutrients for them to grow. Both will be kept in place for their oppression is encased in concrete, they are the buttresses of a civilization that stands tall at their expense.

And in both cases, the default state of existence has been one of violation. 

This is a key overlap that classism, misogyny, colonialism, and xenophobia share: the oppressed are NECESSITIES. 

 For many other groups, their adversaries seek to dissolve them. A homophobic person sees no use in a homosexual person. Transphobic people see no point in transgender people. Warring religions see no use in each other. 

Which is not to say we should shirk all solidarity with the LGBT community as a woman, we overlap strongly in our fights for freedom especially in the west. We have always been close sisters in life and arms, the “not cis straight males” of society joined hand in hand. And God willing it remains that way, however it is crucial to point out that while our oppression may feel similar the goal of our oppressors is not the same. We should, instead, look more enthusiastically than we do now to our other siblings in solidarity when it comes to tactics of overcoming.

Yes, we share the same fight in defending our existence, but we also must join with others whose existence is inherently exploited for the “greater good” of the world at large. For women, the working class, and the third world, their presence and participation are necessities in the system that overpowers them, and thus the goal is not eradication. If you kill all of them, who will put in the hard work? No, the goal of femicide is not extinction. It's culling. You kill off just enough of a herd to keep the others in line, amputate just enough of their members to force the population to hobble closer to the floor with their brows bent. You never kill them all. Keep them humiliated. Keep them small. Keep them working.

How could they keep us all small? All working? All humiliated when there are so many of us who do want change? Because it is not just a rejection of oppressive force. It is a rejection of what is normal. The world has already decided on our position in society at the bottom long before we were born. It is radical to remove the white wig from the Ghanan courtroom, just as it is to declare marital rape a crime. Both instances, once the celebration dies down, leaves us with a haunting unease in our stomach, exchanging glances in uncomfortable silence until someone finally asks “Why was this normal up until then?”.

Many of us seek to rebuild a world before the trauma. Both in ourselves, we cling to past versions of ourselves before a great disruption. And in society, we attempt to reinstate practices that predate foreign intervention. The roadblock one runs into is the inaccessibility of a concrete past that remains unaffected by violation. The western intrusion into third world countries, the formation of the third world, remains as painfully raw and recent as it is exceedingly difficult to picture a world beforehand that can exist now. The one-to-one revival of a pre-colonial word is no more feasible than bringing a person from a past and expecting them to have immunity to common modern disease. The painful conclusion after the rape of a person or a people is the same: It happened. It happened, and now I must live with it forever. There is no going back, and I can no longer live with pretending it didn’t happen. Where do I go from here?

I had the privilege of hosting meetings among anthropologists in the bay area, and was delighted to learn about the Indigenous archaeology practices championed by professors and students at Stanford. The fieldwork they did to make a valiant effort in bridging the gap between practices that pre-date western interference in the name of environmental sustainability was fascinating. It is a slow and steady process, introducing tidbits of pre-colonial ways of life, modified to fit in a world that has aged and undergone climate change already, rather than pretending it hasn’t happened. Transitioning from the famously exploitative farming practices of empires to modified indigenous practices that prioritize the health and survival of the environment while taking into account the vast increase of population and industry. Truly, it is the only way we can bridge that gap between the “what it should have been” to the reality of now, scars and all.

But it seems at this point, if we analyze sexism through the same lens, there is no strict cutoff point between the “before” and “after” of misogyny. Misogyny was no more brought over to the New World by colonizers than war was. Certainly exacerbated to revolting means, and mutated into a disease that cripples a nation, but it was not founded when imperial boots met indigenous shores. Many societies that proudly wear the crown of having no slaves run into an uncomfortable caveat when you analyze how many rights women had. Sure, there were no enslaved men. And that is all that matters, I’m sure.

Women are unique in being given no timeline on misogyny even as individuals. Even before one experiences their first, perhaps of many, instances of sexual assault and harassment, you are already brought up in a world saturated in and humid with misogyny. It predates you. Women and nations seem to take on the same tactics, look to the others, look to your elders, for they’ve experienced it all and have remained on their feet. However, young women tend to forget that their elders are too in recovery, and many remain in the same marriages that jeopardized their safety, loyal to the same religions, countries, families. They were born into the same swamp, they were born into the same “after”. Again, there is no perceivable before. Only forward. That cannot be done without the revelation that we do not need this society, it needs us.

The projection upon us that we as people of color, colonized people, women are lazy, entitled, weak, is all just that. A projection. The world depends on us carrying its shriveled body on our shoulders and we should be looking at those in the yoke next to us as our allies, not our adversaries. There is plenty of discord sewn between the woman and the third world, misogyny and homophobia runs rampant in countries and cultures ravaged by US intervention and it turns many, especially whites of sexual minority, against them. I would be a hypocrite if I were to say I held no resentment towards many places and people for the treatment of women, but that drives my urge for those countries to recover. The women of the third world deserve prosperity, to no longer be vulnerable and pushed into subjugation by circumstance. Remember that there are women out there denied hope and opportunity and it is equally the fault of men as it is the colonial systems put in place to facilitate that. Remember to look to those who share your position as a battery of this world. Remember to look back and move forward. Remember who your enemy is, and respond to violations accordingly.

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