#social distancing office supplies

[vin-taege]

hii am i doing this right?🫠 i hope so lol i saw you saying your requests were open and wanted to ask for chishiya x reader who is really shy or has social anxiety and something like niragi bothering them? i want all the angst and all the fluff lmao

if you aren’t comfortable or just don’t want to do it that’s totally fine of course!:) i hope you have a great day :3

I'll Handle It

Summary: Niragi has been fucking with you mainly to get on Chishiya's nerves—but this time, he's gone too far.

Genre: fluff, a smidge of angst (Niragi being inappropriate)

Pairing: reader x chishiya

Words: 1.4k

Note: This is set before Arisu and Usagi came to the Beach! I've been caught up in school, so I apologize for being absent for so long :((

You tried to steady your grip on the glass, despite the condensation making your hold on it slippery. The poolside was significantly more difficult to weave around after Hatter's return from his game. Bodies were slick with sweat and adorned with glowstick necklaces, bumping and grinding all over the tiles. The air was thick with the scent of chlorine and alcohol, and the night wasn't dwindling to an end yet.

You normally would be as far away from here as possible, but your willingness to help a friend trumped your despise for large crowds. Earlier in the evening, Tatta had asked you if you spotted Ann anywhere, with him saying that he needed supplies from the locked storage closet in her office. You had shaken your head then, and you could've left the conversation at that. But you thought that he already had a lot on his plate, especially after being the Beach's errand boy. So, here you were, trying to find An in this beer-fuelled rave area.

The earphones Chishiya gave you helped to block the loud bass from the speakers. You had "swiped"—technically, borrowed, but the man thrived off teasing you—them from him during the morning. It helped calm you down and prevented the feeling of being overwhelmed. When Chishiya figured out this habit of yours, earphone pairs started to mysteriously pop up on your bedside table. When you confronted him about it, he only said that it was for you to stop getting his own pair.

Typical.

Unbeknownst to you, Kuina and Chishiya were presently on the other end of the party, trudging through the thick crowd as well.

"Are you sure you spotted them here?" He glanced back towards her, raising his voice a little so Kuina could hear him above the music.

"Yeah, I saw them just leave the bar a couple of minutes ago," she shouldered past a particularly rowdy guy. "Why'd she come here?"

"Knowing them, it's probably a favor," he sighed.

It was when they got into the middle of the crowd that he saw you standing anxiously near the beach chairs. Your back was towards them, an oversized jacket covering the majority of your body. You usually didn't care about showing skin, but you didn't want to give the militants fuel to bother you. But no matter what you wore, people like Niragi always found a way to be a creep.

"Shit, we need to get there," Chishiya muttered to Kuina. His eyebrows knit, gaze hardening as he saw a familiar black and white giraffe-print polo coming closer and closer to you. "Kuina, remember the medicine I gave you a while back?"

You felt a hand on your shoulder, gripping you firmly before spinning you around. You scrunched your nose, greeted by the sight of Niragi's crooked smile.

"Are you lost, little puppy?" he mockingly cooed.

Instinctively, you cupped a hand over your drink. Taking a step back, you stood your ground and peered up at him. Despite mustering all your courage, your voice came out wavery. "Go away, asshole."

He cackled as you warily looked at the gun slung over his shoulder. With a wicked glint in his eye, he closed the distance between the two of you, a hand snaking behind your lower back and forcefully pulling you towards him. "All that bark from such a small bitch. Where's your pussy of a boyfriend?"

"Not wasting his time getting shit-faced here, unlike you," you snarled. Your heart was thumping, skin crawling in disgust. He reeked of alcohol and his touch was uncomfortably getting lower. "If you won't let go of me right now, I'll break your fucking nose."

"I'd like to see you try. You won't be so mean after I'm done with you. Why don't you just give in and sleep with a real man tonight, huh?"

Before you knew it, you slammed your fist into his face. The music blared on in the background, but you swore you heard a faint crack. Your drink spilled all over him, ice cubes flying out. He staggered backward, clearly not expecting you to actually do it. Despite being good at games, everyone knew you to be mild-mannered, usually avoiding conflict.

But damn, it was so difficult for you to restrain yourself any further from people who gave you the ick.

A hand was suddenly on your elbow, tugging you away from the now undoubtedly fuming man. Chishiya landed a kick square on Niragi's chest, hurtling him towards the pool.

"We should run," he whispered close to your ear. Taking your hand in his, you slid out of the crowd and into the protection of the halls. Chishiya led you towards his room before shutting the door behind him. He peered out the peephole, waiting for a few minutes before deeming it safe.

When he turned to you, you were sitting quietly on his bed, busying yourself by winding your earphones up and tucking them away.

"Why were you at a party?" He sat down next to you. To your surprise, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a comforting hug. You knew he wasn't one to initiate physical contact, and you respected that. But having him be this affectionate to you was admittedly a nice change.

"Was trying to help Tatta find An," you murmured into his chest.

He hummed, starting to stroke your hair with his hand. "You okay?"

"I handled it," you lazily grinned at him. Truth be told, you felt proud of yourself.

"I know you did. But I'm asking you if you're okay, not if you handled it," Chishiya's voice was muffled against your hair. He was still very paranoid of what the militants could do to you, especially after news broke out of the two of you dating.

You looked up at him, cupping his face with your hands. "I'm okay now. I just really want to take a shower."

You offered him a small grin, one which he didn't reciprocate. You could tell he was still mad over what happened. You wondered how much of it did he see in general. This type of anger within him was familiar to you—one that was silent, but by all means, still threatening. Above all, it was the type of anger that only showed when it was directed towards himself.

"Shiya, I'm okay, I promise," you firmly repeated.

"I saw how he had his hands on you," he said darkly. "I'll make sure it won't happen again."

"Don't get into trouble because of me okay?"

"Niragi can't keep harassing you all the time. Even if Hatter did something about it, he wouldn't listen," he tsked. "I'll handle it, okay?"

One look at him told you that there was no convincing him otherwise. You just gave him a hesitant nod, before allowing yourself to be cuddled again. His lithe fingers pressed softly against your waist, his other hand twirling strands of your hair.

Outside, you could still hear the faint sound of the party, but it seemed miles away now. At that moment, there were only you and him—and nothing else mattered.

   .❀。• *₊°。 ❀°

"I'm sorry for dragging you into that mess, ___," Tatta looked at you mournfully.

"You should be." You dug an elbow into Chishiya's side lightly, making him roll his eyes.

"It's okay, Tatta. I'm fine now," you offered him a reassuring smile.

You were seated in the lounge, basking in the silence of the morning—mainly because a majority of the Beach's population was hungover.

"You know, if it makes you feel any better, I heard Niragi was bed-bound since last night or something," Tatta said, before munching on the bread he had for breakfast.

"Wow, I didn't know I could hit that hard."

Kuina let out a light chuckle, Chishiya smirking next to you. You flitted your glance towards the two, raising an eyebrow in question. Kuina caught your expression, giving you a playful shake of her head.

"Tell them why, Tatta."

Tatta let out his own tiny smile. "Well, from what I've heard, someone snuck laxatives into his drink last night. He downed it right after he got out of the pool and realized you guys were gone."

You let out a snort, turning your attention to Chishiya. The platinum blond avoided your gaze, though a playful smile was on his lips. He stated defiantly, "It wasn't me."

"Oh, it was definitely me," Kuina beamed. She then threw Chishiya a pointed glance. "Wonder who gave me those drugs though."

"Still wasn't me," he replied cooly, crossing his arms.

"You are unhinged," you laughed at him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

[ltash]

Pretty Little Teacher

Simon Ghost Riley x female reader

Warning: 18 plus, dubcon and noncon theme, dark themed, dark ghost, s*x and erotica, forced sex.

He loves me like a monster, all teeth and talk and hiding in the dark. That's my speciality, Men with strong bodies and fragile hearts, and if you hold them too tightly they will crumble beneath you like an avalanche that is waiting."

●●○~ Lindsey Hobart ~○●●

Ghost sat in his dimly lit room, the blue glow from the laptop screen casting sharp shadows across his masked features. Laswell's voice echoed in his ears, calm yet commanding.

"You have to go undercover to gather some intel," she instructed, her face a picture of seriousness on the screen. Ghost's fists clenched, his eyes narrowing as deep creases appeared at the corners. He remained silent, absorbing the gravity of the assignment.

"You'll be posing as a high school student. We have made all the arrangements. The principal and teachers are informed. We need important intel about a person working there. I'm sending you a report. Read it," Laswell said, her tone leaving no room for discussion. She hung up the video call before Ghost could utter a word.

"Fuck!" Ghost cursed, his frustration evident. "Now I have to become a fucking high schooler," he spat, the absurdity of the situation gnawing at him.

As a highly trained SAS soldier and an elite killing machine, Ghost was used to the most dangerous and covert missions. But this? This was entirely different. How the hell was he supposed to blend in as a high schooler with his massive height and muscular build? He would look like a fish out of water, a grown man playing dress-up.

He opened the report Laswell had sent, scanning through the details of his new identity and the target he needed to surveil. The mission was critical, he reminded himself. He had faced worse odds and more dangerous situations. But even as he reassured himself, the thought of navigating the social labyrinth of a high school filled him with a unique dread.

"Guess it's time to go back to school," he muttered under his breath, already strategizing how he would tackle this bizarre new mission.

Ghost scanned the report, eyes moving quickly over the lines of text. Someone from the office staff was involved in terrorist activity, and the school's security was compromised. The specifics were still murky, but the mission was clear: infiltrate, gather intel, and neutralize the threat.

As he read, his phone buzzed with an incoming message. It was Soap.

"Hey, high schooler! Need help picking out your backpack?" Soap's message read, followed by a string of laughing emojis.

Ghost growled in irritation. Soap had been making fun of him since he got the assignment. In truth, Ghost thought Soap was the one who was fit for this job. With his leaner build and younger appearance, Soap would blend in effortlessly. But orders were orders.

"You're just jealous you can't relive your glory days," Ghost shot back, though he knew Soap would get a kick out of his reply.

He closed the report and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. This mission was unlike any he had faced before. It required a different kind of camouflage, a different kind of patience. He was about to step into a world of teenage drama, cliques, and homework. But he would adapt, as he always did. He had no choice.

Monday morning arrived too quickly. Ghost stood in his small apartment, the usual grey hoodie and sweatpants hanging off his frame. Soap had helped him gather the essential school supplies: notebooks, pens, and a new backpack that didn't look out of place for a high schooler. He slung the backpack over his shoulder and slipped on his skull-printed balaclava. His identity had to be hidden at all costs.

He climbed into his Range Rover and drove to the school, parking a distance away to avoid drawing attention. With a deep sigh, he exited the vehicle and made his way to the school entrance.

The moment he stepped into the corridor, the contrast of his presence was stark. Teenagers milled about, chatting and laughing, but Ghost felt like a fish out of water. His height and build made him stand out like a sore thumb, despite the hoodie and balaclava doing their best to conceal his identity.

He pushed forward, reminding himself of the mission's importance. He needed to find his way to the office, get his bearings, and begin gathering intel. The corridor seemed endless, each step echoing with the sounds of lockers slamming and indistinct chatter.

"Fucking Hell," he muttered under his breath, trying to blend in as much as a heavily-built, masked adult could in a sea of high schoolers.

Ghost made his way to the last classroom on the K-12 hallway, assigned as a senior posing as an 18-year-old. Despite being 29 with a muscular build, he hoped to blend in with the 12th graders.

He opened the door and walked in, immediately feeling the curious eyes of his new classmates on him. Ignoring the stares, he scanned the room for any signs of the person he was here to investigate. The teacher, a middle-aged woman with a warm smile, looked up from her desk.

"You must be the new student," she said, motioning him to an empty seat near the back. "Welcome."

Ghost nodded and made his way to the seat, keeping his head down. He dropped his backpack on the floor and settled in, trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible. The other students eventually lost interest, returning to their conversations and distractions.

As the teacher began the lesson, Ghost's mind raced. He knew he had to keep a low profile while also staying alert for any signs of suspicious activity. His eyes roved over the room, memorizing faces and noting behaviors. The target could be anyone-an unsuspecting office staff member, a seemingly innocent teacher, or even a fellow student.

The day had been a tedious blur for Ghost, each monotonous class blending into the next. Used to the adrenaline of combat and the precision of sniper shots, he found the slow pace of high school unbearable. But all that changed when you entered the room.

Your presence was electrifying, a stark contrast to the dull atmosphere. The click of your red Louboutin pumps echoed in the silent classroom as you made your way to the front. Your black dress pants, stylishly slit, and button-up shirt under a sleek black blazer highlighted your figure. Long, blonde hair cascaded down your back, framing your big blue eyes and perfectly pink lips.

Ghost felt a surge of desire course through him, his mind racing with thoughts he knew he shouldn't entertain. He imagined gripping your tiny waist, pulling you close, feeling your petite frame against his as he lost himself in you. The urge to take you, to dominate you, was almost overwhelming.

"Hey! Newbie, are you listening?" Your voice cut through his fantasies, pulling him back to reality.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, his husky British accent barely masking his distraction.

"Your name?" you asked, standing near his desk, your eyes meeting his.

"Simon," he answered, using his real name to avoid any potential mistakes.

"Well, Simon, try to pay attention," you said with a faint smile before returning to the front of the class.

As you began the lesson, Ghost forced himself to focus, but it was a losing battle. His thoughts kept drifting back to you, and the way your presence stirred something primal within him. He needed to remember his mission, but in that moment, all he could think about was how desperately he wanted you.

The period ended, and Ghost watched you leave the classroom, struggling to control his thoughts. You stood out among the middle-aged teachers, looking so young, no older than 25. How could someone like you be teaching 12th graders? The question burned in his mind, but it was more than just curiosity; he was captivated by you.

He barely remembered the rest of the day, his mind fixated on you. As soon as he could, he retreated to his apartment. The urge to release the tension was overwhelming. Stripping off his clothes, he stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading over his muscular frame. His cock was already hard, fueled by the image of your lips wrapped around him.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hand wrapping around his shaft. He imagined you on your knees, your pink, plump lips taking the full length of his cock in, your big blue eyes looking up at him with a mix of innocence and desire. His strokes quickened, his other hand gripping the air as he fantasized about it tangled in your long, blonde hair.

His body tensed, muscles straining as he neared the edge. The thought of you sucking him off, your pretty little mouth taking him deeper, his cum all over your face pushed him over. He climaxed hard, a guttural groan escaping him as he came, the pearly liquid mixing with the warm water and flowing down his thick thighs.

Leaning against the shower wall, he panted heavily, trying to catch his breath. The intensity of his release did little to quell the longing he felt. As the water washed away the evidence of his fantasy, he knew he was in trouble. This mission was supposed to be about gathering intel, but his thoughts kept drifting back to you. He needed to stay focused, but the image of your gorgeous face and enticing body lingered in his mind, a distraction he couldn't afford yet couldn't resist.

The next day, Ghost found himself eagerly anticipating school, though for entirely different reasons than his usual missions. From the moment he had first seen you, you became his muse, eclipsing the seriousness of his undercover assignment. Dressed in blue jeans, a black T-shirt, and a sleek black leather jacket that concealed his tattoo sleeve, he waited through all six periods just for a glimpse of you.

When you finally entered the classroom, the atmosphere seemed to shift. Students greeted you warmly, but Ghost's attention was solely on you. You wore high heels that accentuated your figure, a casual T-shirt, and form-fitting pencil jeans that emphasized your curves. It was undeniable-you were the most stunning woman he had ever encountered.

As you distributed MCQ papers among the students, you approached Ghost's desk. Your curiosity got the better of you as you inquired about his mask. "Why are you wearing a mask?" you asked, your voice filled with genuine curiosity.

"I get sunburn," he replied smoothly, trying to maintain his cover.

You chuckled softly, the sound sending a thrill down Ghost's spine. "Weirdo," you whispered teasingly, but your words were loud enough for him to hear. The image of dominating you right there, bending you over the desk, fucking you from behind and hearing you begging to stop, flashed vividly in his mind, your body arched in his hands, pussy clenched around his length as he rails his full length till the hilt into you, ruin your pretty little cunt for everyone while you screaming out his name.

"Concentrate on your paper, weirdo," you mocked again as you moved away.

His jaw clenched with frustration, anger simmering beneath the surface. Despite the rush of desire coursing through him, he remained stoic and silent, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He knew indulging in these fantasies could compromise his mission, yet resisting the pull of attraction toward you seemed almost impossible. Ghost was torn between duty and desire, unsure how much longer he could keep his composure around you.

He had finished his paper along with the other students as the bell rang, signaling the end of the period. One by one, they handed their work to you, you seated at your desk. Ghost lingered, the last student to leave, quietly closing the door behind him. Remaining seated, he watched you intently.

Stealth was his forte, and he approached you silently. You were small compared to him, your back elegantly arched as you organized the papers into a neat pile. Standing right behind you, he suppressed the urge to touch you. Suddenly, you moved back, inadvertently brushing against the bulge in his pants. A squeak escaped your lips as you jumped, startled like a bunny, and turned around.

Leaning heavily against the table, you panted, eyeing the behemoth of a man standing before you at his full height for the first time. A shiver ran down your spine from the sensation of his arousal against you. He stood there with a menacing look in his eyes, extending his paper to you. With shaky hands, you took it, feeling a jolt as his gloved hand brushed against you.

Without a word, he turned and left the classroom.

Throughout the drive to his apartment, he couldn't shake the image of you, how your inadvertent touch had stirred a primal urge within him. How you bumped into his erect cock ready to sprung out. The urgency of his mission weighed heavily on his mind, but thoughts of you kept intruding.

Later that day, consumed by desire, he found himself jerking off imagining you once more. He couldn't help but picture your round ass, the sensation of you against him, his cock stretching your gummy walls as he fucks you doggy style, the fantasies growing more vivid with each passing moment. It was a distraction he couldn't afford, yet couldn't ignore.

The next day, he arrived at the school as usual, anticipation swirling within him. Your period had become his favorite, and he waited patiently until you appeared, as usual, with an air of cautious awareness. As the lesson progressed, you couldn't help but notice his chocolate brown eyes fixed on you through his balaclava.

He was no ordinary teenager - tall, dark, and undeniably handsome even with a balaclava on his face, with a presence that set him apart. You felt the weight of his gaze, the tilt of his head to the side like a predator sizing up its prey. Despite the distraction, you continued with your class routine, distributing checked papers to the students, your focus unwavering on your mission.

His gaze remained locked on you, unwavering, as if he had something more than mere curiosity driving his attention. You knew you couldn't afford to be distracted, not with what was at stake.

As you hurriedly left the classroom, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridor, you reached for your cellphone and stepped into the quiet solitude of the bathroom. With a hushed voice, you spoke into the receiver, "Yes! Tomorrow is the day. We will hunt another doe tomorrow."

Across the line, a voice crackled with excitement, "Perfect. After school, then?"

"Yes," you affirmed, nodding to yourself. "After school." With that, you hung up, slipping the phone back into your pocket.

Unbeknownst to you, Ghost known as Simon, the new student who had been quietly observing the dynamics of his new environment, had overheard your conversation.

From the first day of his undercover assignment, Ghost had sensed something amiss. How could a 25-year-old teacher be instructing seniors when others with more experience were available? It gnawed at him, a puzzle piece that refused to fit neatly into place. As he stood in the hallway, a vicious smirk spread across his face.

"So you are the one," he whispered to himself, the realization sinking in. "And now, there's nobody that can save you from me. Not even yourself." His mission had taken a dark turn. You are the one involved in human trafficking.

Tomorrow was the day Ghost knew he had to act swiftly. He slipped on his skull mask, adjusted his gear-blue jeans, black hoodie, and vest. His Beretta rested against his chest while his sniper rifle was ready on the passenger seat of his car.

He parked in the nearly deserted school lot, waiting patiently. It was nearly two hours past school hours when he spotted you approaching from the back of the building. You met with another person near a car.

"The girl is in the bathroom, I've hidden her there. Wait here, let me take her out," you said.

Without hesitation, Ghost aimed his sniper rifle at the man's head and took the shot. Skull fragments and brain matter scattered as the bullet found its mark. A scream tore from your lips as chaos erupted.

Ghost calmly placed the sniper rifle on the seat and stepped out of his car. You saw him approaching and instinctively ran. Darkness was descending, the winter chill settling in.

You ran for your life, heart pounding with fear, but Ghost closed the distance quickly. Desperation set in as you realized you had no weapon. You took out a pocket knife and attempted to attack, but Ghost deftly seized your wrist, disarming you.

You screamed and struggled, but he immobilized you, securing your wrists with a zip tie. With a forceful push, he slammed your back against a car, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs.

Fear and confusion engulfed you as Ghost stood before you, his identity finally revealed, and his intentions chillingly clear.

"Let me go," you tried to scream as he pinned you against the car, looming over you. His 6'4" frame towered over you, casting a dark shadow. The edge of his knife pressed against your throat qnd his hand on your chest kept you pinned against the car.

"Just got you. Now I can't let you go, won't let you go," he whispered in your ear with his husky voice. "How can I waste this pretty little cunt of yours, princess?"

You whimpered and squirmed, fear coursing through your veins. His hand traveled to your neck, his grip so firm that you could barely breathe. You struggled to breath. Your vision blurred as darkness enveloped you, and you melted into his arms like putty.

You went limp in his arms like a rag doll, a pretty little thing for him to play with. He strapped you into the passenger in his car seat and drove off, his mind racing with twisted excitement.

He stroked your hairs with his fingers while he drove. He just had got his little plaything.

Upon reaching his apartment, he carried you inside, laying you gently on the soft sheets of his bed. Even in your unconscious state, you looked so beautiful and irresistible. His excitement grew, his cock twitched from the anticipation building as he stood over you, lost in the dark allure of the moment.

You whimpered as you slowly opened your eyes. Ghost was perched on a couch in front of you. Sitting up slowly, you noticed your hands were still tied in your lap. Your tiny body shivered at the sight of him as he rose to his full height. The room seemed small, his eyes behind the skull mask full of menace, looking straight through you. Your lips quivered with fear as he approached.

"Wakey, wakey, Princess," he taunted, stepping out of the shadows. His blue jeans were tight around his thick thighs, and his black hoodie strained to contain his muscular physique. The skull mask shone dimly in the light. The tattoo peeked through the space between his sleeve and his gloved hand.

You gulped, "Who are you?" you asked in a small voice.

"Ghost. Heard the name before?" He tilted his head to the side, and realization hit you hard-it was Simon.

"What do you want?" you barely whispered.

"You," was his only reply as he stepped closer.

A whimper escaped your lips as you pulled yourself to the other side of the bed and stood up.

"Don't make this hard for yourself, Princess."

Panting, you frantically ran towards the door, but his hands were around your waist in no time. He slammed you against the wall, the impact sending pain throbbing through your back.

His hand smacked the wall beside your head. The barrel of his gun made contact with your chin.

"Look at me!" he shouted, his voice an order. You squeaked in response, your eyes meeting his.

"Good girl," he praised, his hot breath fanning against your face. "I'm a lieutenant, not your average student, and you have to comply-or else." The barrel of his Beretta poked under your ribs. "Choices have consequences," he said softly this time.

"I've been thinking about your body since the day I saw you." He stroked the soft skin of your chest with his gun, trailing it down the valley between your breasts. Your skin quivered under the touch of the cold metal.

"So irresistible, Princess." His husky voice sent shivers down your spine.

You gasped as he snapped your ziptie with a strength so brute it took only a second to come off. Your buttoned blouse came next as he snapped it apart. All the buttons came crashing down on thefloor. Your pearly necklace was snatched from your neck. The pearls came rolling down on the floor.

You gasped as he snapped your bra from the front. Your perky breasts liberated from the confines of the lacy material.

He pulled his mask upto his nose and his lips grazed your neck as his thumb met your nipples squeezing your breasts so hard it was almost painful. A painful moan mixed with pleasure escaped through your lips.

He held you close by your waist and he chuckled as your small waist fitted so easily in both his hands all while kissing your neck while his hands played with the soft skin of your back.

"So soft like plush in my hands." He said as he rubbed your nipples with his rough thumb. A sexy hiss escaped your lips as you threw your head back biting your lips.

"You gave in so easily princess." He whispered. His sexy voice made you moan.

He tossed you over the bed, with a squeak you fell, soft sheets cushioning your back as you landed with a gasp.

His eyes, filled with a hunger that mirrored your own, locked onto yours. "Been waiting to bend you over that goddamn desk in that class and fuck your needy little cunt, princess," he confessed, his voice low and husky with desire.

As he removed his hoodie, revealing a canvas of scars that gleamed against his muscular frame, you couldn't help but gasp. Each scar told a story of battles fought and survived, adding to the allure of his rugged demeanor. His predatory approach, intensified by the skull mask he wore, sent a thrill through your veins. He moved closer with a confident stride, his presence filling the room with a primal intensity that both thrilled and unnerved you.

You gasped as he closed the distance. His hands reached for the strap of your jeans, deftly unbuttoning them with a deliberate touch. With a smooth motion, he slid the denim down your legs, revealing your bare skin in the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains.

"So beautiful," he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. You laid exposed before him, feeling both vulnerable and empowered by his gaze.

You knew you were powerless infront of him and he will have his way with you one way or another. Wetness had already pooled between your legs and you were trying hard to hide it by closing them.

He traced the barrel of his gun along the soft skin of your inner thighs. Shivers ran down your spine as you felt the cold metal against your sensitive skin.

"Open your legs Princess." He ordered slowly parting your thighs.

"So sensitive, aye?" he said with a mocking tone.

You hissed at the sensation. He slowly pressed the barrel against your clothed folds, eliciting a moan from your lips.

"Please! I beg you, don't do this," you pleaded, my voice trembling.

"Look at you! A wet, hot mess for me," he sneered.

He knelt before you, his hands reaching for your panties. With one tug, he tore the strap, leaving you completely exposed.

"You should thank me, princess, that I'm gentle with you. I'm not very gentle with women. They run from me after what I do to them," he laughed.

Your breath hitched in your throat. "Oh my god," you moaned.

He opened your legs slowly, his fingers parting your folds as he gently touched your swollen clit. Your body quivered with the sensation.

"So soft, so sensitive," he said, as he slid his rough fingers inside you.

A slow scream escaped your lips as your pussy clenched around his fingers. Your back arched, moans spilling from your mouth. He watched your face contort with pleasure as he leaned down, his tongue making circles around the buds of your nipples.

You clutched the sheets, your eyes shut tight as his fingers curled up, hitting just the right spot.

"You sound so pretty, love," he teased, his tongue continuing to play with your nipple. The sensation was heavenly, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

He adjusted himself between your thighs, kissing your entire body as he moved down toward your stomach and then your most sensitive part.

He gently kissed the inside of your thighs before his tongue met your folds. Screams of pleasure spilled from your pretty mouth as he nipped and sucked at your already swollen bud.

"Oh, fuck!" you moaned.

He kept teasing your folds with his tongue, sucking your wetness as he held your hips tightly in place.

He kept torturing you with his tongue until you couldn't take it anymore.

"I-I can't take it anymore," you begged.

"Ssh!" he whispered, placing a finger on your lips. "You're going to take it, just a little longer."

Your body trembled as he continued his relentless assault with his tongue, the pleasure overwhelming. He moved his finger from your lips to your clit, rubbing it in slow, torturous circles while his tongue continued its work.

"Please," you whimpered, your voice cracking with desperation.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Beg me," he commanded softly.

"Please, please, I need more," you cried out, your body aching for release.

A satisfied smirk played on his lips. "Good girl," he said, his voice low and husky. He increased the pressure of his tongue and finger, driving you closer to the edge. "Now, let go for me."

With his words, you felt the dam break, and waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Your back arched, and a guttural moan escaped your lips as you finally reached your climax. He continued his movements, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from your trembling body.

As you lay there, breathless and spent, he gently kissed your inner thighs before moving up to your face.

You were still high when he unzipped his pants.

"Been waiting for this ever since I laid my eyes on you," he said, taking his cock and positioning himself on top of you.

You looked at him with dazed eyes.

"Like what you see, princess?" he asked with a smirk.

"I-I can't do this," you pleaded.

"You can do this, and you will," he replied firmly.

He pressed his cock against your entrance, bending you down. Without warning, he pushed his entire length inside, pinning your wrists against the bed. You screamed as your walls wrapped around him, your body struggling to adjust to his size while he fucked you deeply, not giving you any time to acclimate.

You were completely at his mercy, a plaything for his desires.

"Fuck! Princess, you feel so tight around me," he growled, thrusting in deeply.

You were breathless, disoriented by the intensity of it all. He drove into you with unrelenting force, hitting inside you to the extreme. Your back arched under him as waves of pain and pleasure coursed through you. His cock was so big it made an impression inside your belly where it hit.

"How does it feel, me ruining your pretty pussy, love?" he growled, sitting back on his knees and gripping your waist tightly.

Your eyes rolled back as he railed into you with brute force, the sensations overwhelming and consuming.

Whimpers escaped your lips as his hips thrusted against your pelvis. Skin to skin, the intense connection between you sparked a fire that threatened to consume you both. You hid your face in the soft pillow, the tears mingling with your whimpers, your cries echoing in the room like a haunting melody.

He chuckled at the sight before him, the raw vulnerability and passion in your every movement only adding to the intoxicating air surrounding them. "Look at you, eh," he murmured, his voice a low growl filled with satisfaction. "Taking me so well."

With a sudden move, he lifted you up by your waist, your heart racing a mile a minute, your vision blurred with the overwhelming sensation of being completely lost in him. "Oh my god, I am gonna die," you whined, the words a mix of fear and ecstasy that only served to fuel the flames of desire burning between you both.

But he just chuckled, his hold on you firm and reassuring. "Not on my watch, luv," he whispered, his voice a comforting anchor in the whirlwind of emotions and pleasure that threatened to consume you.

He pulled out abruptly, spinning you around and delivering a stinging slap to your ass.

You clutched the sheets as he seized your hips, pulling you towards him and plunging deep inside once more. A primal groan escaped his lips as he grabbed your hair, tilting your head back and driving himself deeper with each thrust.

Your impassioned cries only fueled his intensity. With a firm grip on your waist, he pounded into you relentlessly, embodying the raw, primal desire of a man possessed. Your body arched and trembled on the bed as he pinned you down by your head, pressing your face into the bed.

"I can't do this anymore," you begged him.

He pulled you up onto your knees, his free hand gently gripping your neck while his other arm rested between the valley of your breasts. His hold on your neck was firm but not painful, asserting his control. With a strong grip on your waist, he thrust deep into you.

You leaned against his chest, your face turning towards him as you neared your release. He captured your lips in a hungry kiss, swallowing your moans.

His cock twitched and pulsed as he reached his climax. His movements grew erratic as he poured himself into you, filling you with his essence.

Exhausted, you collapsed onto the bed, eyes shutting tight as the waves of ecstasy washed over you.

He settled beside you, carefully tucking you under the sheets while you lay on your stomach, peacefully asleep.

"Sleep well, princess," he murmured, his fingers gently caressing your hair.

The next morning, you woke to find him already seated on the couch, wearing the same skull-printed balaclava, his eyes still filled with menace. Your whole body ached and marked with hickeys. Last nights encounter spiralled in your mind.

"Good morning, princess. I hope you're feeling well," he greeted you, tossing an oversized t-shirt in your direction.

Confusion and fear gripped you. "Who are you? Why did you do this to me? What were you even doing in my class?"

"I'm Lieutenant Simon Riley, also known as Ghost," he replied coolly. "I was in your class because we've been keeping an eye on you. Now, get dressed. You have visitors."

You rose silently and headed to the bathroom to change. As you finished, there came a knock at the door.

He opened it, and police officers entered the room.

"She's all yours," he stated with a smirk beneath his balaclava.

"You'll regret this! I'll make you pay for this!" you screamed as they cuffed you and led you away.

"Fuck you!" You screamed.

He chuckled darkly, watching as you were taken into custody.

"I just did." He winked as you were taken away.

[luvwich]

✒️ writer interview tag

tagged by @dustdeepsea — tysm, this was great fun! read their answers here and mine, if you like, beneath the cut ✨

When did you start writing?

early 2023 was my first foray into writing actual fiction. prior to that i'd done an embarrassing amount of roleplaying many years ago, which i shall speak on no further, but it did form the basis for a lot of my writing now!

once upon a time, i seriously entertained the idea of an MFA in screenwriting, but went on to pursue something even stupider for grad school 👍

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

honestly everything i enjoy reading gets smuggled into my writing in some form or another!

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

there are like 26 different writers where i wish to take bits and pieces of their style, send it all into a meat grinder, and press the gunk into sausage casings to be dipped in batter and deep fried. ideally i want my writing to hit like wagyu beef that's been corrupted into a county fair corn dog. but no i'm not sure i've ever been compared to another writer! that would fuck my shit up truly (in a good way)

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

typically curled up on my couch, because the ergonomic status of my home office setup is terrible — potentially lethal. sometimes i stay late at my not-home office, hidden away in a dark conference room, but that's usually only if i'm on a self-imposed deadline (i.e. i've started posting a WIP)

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

the spark that gets me to write is usually some kind of Dynamic that i want to explore so i do a lot of noodling upon situations and then figuring out how to get there. and by situations i mean smut

also, writing bits of dialogue, even if i don't know the context yet. it gets a character's voice and mannerisms in my head, and gives me a little grain to start building on

sadly, going on a hike and/or reading a really good book are both very effective and by far the most time consuming

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

longing, isolation, identity, the difference between the person you'd like to be and the person you are, strained/dysfunctional family relationships, wrong person right time, hope, blowjobs, self-deception, california, fucking your way through it, guilt, social class, mommy issues, mono no aware, oral fingering, etc; they don't surprise me anymore but the first time i finished a long fic and took a step back i was like "ohh haha Damn"

What is your reason for writing?

i am horny, sad n silly

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

all forms of feedback are so touching! i think much of what i write is pretty niche, so simply knowing someone has read my stuff gets me pumped. a big essay of a comment is like receiving a love letter, and comments that are just an emoji are like someone's tucked a little note in my lunchbox, and both are incredibly nourishing to me. as far as motivation, though, anything that implies someone is looking forward to reading more is the surest way to light a fire under my people-pleasing ass

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

affable wretch, trickster, wine aunt

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

i'm not sure any one thing stands out: i believe i'm pretty good in a few areas (dialogue, sensory detail, characterization) and notably lacking in others (action, "plot," pacing, not getting high on my own supply)… okay i'll stop being an asshole though and say my strength is in "delivering on a mood," if that is a thing

How do you feel about your own writing?

generally good. for one, i'm proud of myself for ever finishing and posting anything, because following through on shit isn't something i'm renown for. i tend to hate everything i write after i've gotten some distance from it, but i think that's normal? right? i'm new at it and it's all for fun so i try to be gracious with myself, with mixed success, because beneath my goofy exterior i do take everything too seriously

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

mostly for myself; i do abstractly ask "would someone who isn't me enjoy this?" and never quite know the answer. like most humans i crave external validation and connection, but like a cactus i can survive on just a lil rainfall 🌵

tagging w/no pressure (but with my best barbara walters impression) @corpocyborg @ghostoffuturespast @merge-conflict @streetkid-named-desire @writing-for-soup

[ereardon]

Golden Hour || Ch. 7

[Bob Floyd x Bradley Bradshaw x OC]

A Bob Floyd & Bradley Bradshaw AU [Hart of Dixie inspired]

Synopsis: Willow, Georgia. Barely even a town, just a speck on a map that you tried to wipe off, mistaking it for a crumb. You’re the outsider: a fancy New York doctor, fresh out of a failed engagement, with zero primary care experience. You’re also the new town doctor, taking over for a recent retiree who was beloved. His son, Bob Floyd, is the other physician at the practice, and takes an immediate dislike to you. But you were looking for a fresh start, and Willow doesn’t seem all that bad if you can get past the fact that there's only one restaurant in town. It helps that you've caught the eye of Bradley Bradshaw, the town attorney, despite the fact that you vowed to take a break from dating. How long until you start to make friends in a town where social circles have been set in stone since elementary school? And what will it take to make Bob Floyd see you’re not as bad as he wants to believe you are?

Pairing: Bob Floyd x OC; Bradley Bradshaw x OC

Tropes: Love triangle, enemies to lovers

Warnings: Alcohol, angst, cursing

Chapter summary: Olive spends Thanksgiving with the Bradshaws; Olive and Bradley's relationship takes a turn

WC: 2K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here; next chapter here

“Dr. James, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?” 

You swiveled around in your chair. Molly stood at the door, holding an armful of supplies to replenish the cabinet to your right. “I’m not sure,” you replied. “Why?” 

“I was hoping we’d be closed,” she said, unloading the bandages into the cabinet. “My boyfriend and I are supposed to visit his parents down in Marietta.” 

“You can have it off either way,” you replied and Molly grinned. 

“So you call the shots now?” Bob stood in the doorway of your office, wearing a sweater with the sleeves rolled up, a pair of khakis and brown dress shoes. 

You rolled your eyes. “Give the girl the day off, Floyd.” 

“We’re closed on Thanksgiving, Molly,” he said and she stood up, smiling. 

“Thank you!” She tossed her arms around Bob as he stood solid like a statue in the doorframe, before scampering down the hallway. 

You leaned back in your chair with a smirk. “Softie.” 

“What are your plans for Thanksgiving?” 

“Don’t have any,” you replied. “Unless you’re inviting me over.” 

Bob looked startled. “I, uh—”

You laughed but it was dry. “Don’t worry, Floyd, I’m not inviting myself over. I have more tact than that.” You stood up, smoothing your short skirt. “I won’t impose. Sure I’ll be able to find something to do.” 

Bob’s gaze hardened. “I’m sure Bradshaw would have you over.” 

“Bradley?” You shook your head. “I’m sure he has plans.” 

Bob nodded. “Bradshaw family Thanksgiving is legendary. I’ve been a few times. His parents do a catered dinner.” 

“Maybe I’ll ask him.” 

Bob lingered. There was something about the way he wasn’t moving, as if words were stuck in his throat, thick like gravy on a biscuit. 

You cocked your head to one side. “Something else I can help you with?” 

His blue eyes turned to you. “No.” He pivoted on one heel, heading down the hallway, the soft clack of his dress shoes on the wood floor fading into the distance. You frowned before picking up the phone and pressing Bradley’s contact. 

“Hey, it’s me,” you said into the speaker. “Listen, about Thanksgiving.” 

***

“Mothers don’t like me,” you whispered as you and Bradley made your way up the steps toward the stone mansion on the end of the road. “Just a warning.” 

Bradley chuckled. “I doubt that, Doc. What’s not to like?” 

You shrugged. “I say too much or I say too little. And when I do talk it’s about medicine. I’m too competitive. I can’t cook. I curse. I wear too short of skirts.” You adjusted your skirt over the thin tights and cursed yourself for wearing a pair of stilettos. The Bradshaws were going to think you were a prostitute. 

“My mother likes no one and pretends to like everyone,” Bradley replied. “Besides, it’s a party, Doc. Not some intimate dinner. You’ll be able to blend in with the crowd, I promise.” 

“If you leave me alone for more than five minutes I’m going to get blackout drunk,” you warned. 

Bradley laughed, reaching out and ringing the doorbell. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” The large wood door swung open. “Mother,” he said. 

“Bradley, dear.” She was small, so thin beneath her sweater set, and Bradley had to stoop down to kiss her on the cheek. She held her arms out to you. “And you must be Olivia.” 

“Olive,” Bradley corrected. “Dr. James.” 

“Ooh, doctor?” His mother raised her plucked eyebrows. 

You smiled. “Olive is fine. Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Bradshaw.” 

“Carole,” she replied. “Come in.” 

The Bradshaws had more money than half of Georgia from the looks of it. A soaring two-story foyer with a curved staircase that crawled up one wall, checkered black and white tile floors in the entryway, an enormous wooden paneled library to your left. The house was warm and smelled like Baccarat Rouge and echoed with voices and Southern accents. You raised your eyebrows at Bradley. “You’re Southern royalty, aren’t you?” 

He blushed, hard. “No.” 

“Come on.” You grabbed his arm. “Spill.” 

“My father was the governor,” he confessed and your eyes went wide, like saucers. “There he is.” Bradley tipped his head toward the seven-foot tall fireplace against one wall where a group of men were laughing. You spotted him immediately. Tall, muscular, mustache that rivaled Tom Selleck’s. He was handsome as hell. A part of you did the mental math and realized that Bradley would age well. 

Very well. 

“Come on,” Bradley said, moving toward the center of the room. “I need a drink.” 

Against one wall, there was a makeshift bar. “Wine, please,” you said. 

“What type of wine?” the bartender asked. “We have Sauvignon Blanc, Merlot, Pinot from the Loire—”

You cut him off with a thick sob. “Oh my God. Real wine.” 

Bradley practically snorted. “Yes, Olive, outside of Willow there actually does exist wine where the label doesn’t just say white box or red.” 

You shook your head with elation. “Sancerre, please.” 

“And you, sir?” 

“Manhattan, no rocks.” 

You leaned against the bar and surveyed the room. It was tastefully decorated. Now you knew why Bradley’s house was so well done. “You could have warned me,” you whispered. 

“And said what?”

“I don’t know, that you’re Mr. Georgia?” 

Bradley laughed, a throaty chuckle, one hand finding the small of your back, leading you deeper into the room. Clumps of well dressed people stood in packs scattered throughout the large expanse of the living room. “Sometimes I forget that you don’t know things, Olive. Everyone in Willow knows everything about each other. It’s hard to remember that you’re starting from a blank slate.” 

“What else am I missing?” you asked. 

“Well, that’s my brother, Jordan.” Bradley pointed to a tall, dark and handsome man holding hands with a slim brunette. “And his wife Jodi. And their son James is somewhere. Probably praying pranks on the dog.” You grinned. “If you go upstairs and turn left and open the fourth door on the right you’ll see an embarrassing amount of trophies from little league.” 

“I know where I’m sneaking off to after dinner,” you teased. 

“I’ll meet you up there.” You swatted Bradley’s arm with your free hand and he laughed. A shadow appeared in front of the two of you. 

“Son.” 

“Dad.” Bradley was a full inch shorter than his father, and that was a feat. “This is Dr. Olive James.” 

“Just Olive is fine,” you said, holding out a hand. “Very nice to meet you, sir.” 

He grinned, shaking your hand tightly. His grip was a vice. “Nick Bradshaw. Friends call me Goose.” 

“Goose?” 

“Don’t ask,” Bradley whispered. 

“Best shot in the state,” Nick said, dropping your hand. “You a hunter, Doctor?” 

“Does looking for deals in Soho count?” The joke fell flat on Nick, who had a stony look in his eye. “Sorry, no. Never been.” 

“You’ll have to join us sometime,” he said. “Bradley, invite her to the lake house. We’re going next week.” 

“You don’t have to,” Bradley whispered. 

You smiled. “That’s very nice, thank you.” 

Goose tipped his head. “My son here really under sold how pretty you were. In a town like Willow I’m sure you’re turning heads.” 

You blushed and Bradley shook his head. “Dad, come on. Let her at least finish her drink before you turn on the charm.” 

Goose grinned. “Can’t help it, son.” 

“It’s flattering,” you replied. “But I only came to Willow a few months ago. Still adjusting.” 

“What’s there to adjust to?” A voice to your right entered and you turned, Bradley’s brother Jordan joining the circle. His eyes leered over you. “Nothing in Willow but two sticks to rub together.” 

“Olive,” Bradley said, his voice icing over. “This is my brother Jordan. Jordan, this is Dr. Olive James.” 

“Doctor?” Jordan raised his thick eyebrows. “How come there were never any docs like you when I have to go to my checkups?” 

“OK, we’re leaving,” Bradley said, putting one hand on your back and steering you toward the patio doors at the back of the room. The two of you spilled out onto the paved patio that overlooked a manicured garden not unlike Versailles. “Sorry about him, he’s a dick.” 

You laughed. “That’s OK. I understand.” 

“Do you have siblings?” 

“No.” You paused. “But my fiancé did.”

“Fiancé?” Bradley went pale. 

“Sorry, ex-fiance,” you clarified. 

“You’ve never mentioned.” 

“He cheated and I left. Not much to say,” you replied. 

“I’m sorry.” Bradley paused. “Is that why you left New York?” 

You nodded. “We worked together.” 

“Oh.” He was quiet for a moment. Then, “Sounds like a real dick.” 

You laughed, the sound chiming out into the quiet evening. “Not wrong.” 

“Did you love him?” he asked. 

You frowned. “Yes. But I don’t know if I was ever in love with him. Not the way that I should have been. I was just too caught up in everything to realize it.” 

Bradley stepped closer, pressing one hand to your cheek. “I like you, Olive. A lot. And I know you said you weren’t looking to start anything, but—”

“I like you, too, Bradley,” you interrupted, the heat of his hand cupping your skin warming you from the outside in. 

He smiled, bending down, pressing his lips to yours softly. You closed your eyes, letting Bradley flood your senses. 

When the two of you broke apart, you grinned, sliding one hand up into his curls, pulling him back down, sealing your lips over his. Bradley’s large hands wound around your waist, tugging you in close, pressing your body to his. 

“Let’s blow off dinner,” he whispered. 

“But it’s Thanksgiving,” you replied. “Won’t your family care if we ditch them?” 

“I don’t care,” Bradley murmured. “I want you all to myself.” 

“Bradshaw,” you said quietly, “are you hitting on me?” 

“You bet your sweet ass I am.” 

“OK, let’s go.” 

Back at Bradley’s house, you slipped off your heels as Bradley poured two glasses of wine. You heard him mutter and curse under his breath. 

“Everything OK?” you called out. 

“Yeah, fine,” he shouted back. “Make yourself comfortable.” 

You wandered down the hallway to Bradley’s bedroom, edging open the door. It was familiar, from the night after the Halloween party. The room was blanketed in darkness and you strolled over to the window, glass of wine in one hand, spreading the curtains, letting the moonlight flood in. 

Across the yard, Bob stood at his window, illuminated lightly and golden from a lamp behind him. You raised your hand in a wave and so did he. Opening the window, you perched on the sill. “Hey.” 

Bob opened his window, leaning his head out to his shoulders. “Hi.” 

You frowned. “This was your big Thanksgiving plan? Standing at the window looking forlorn?”

He shook his head. “I had dinner with my father, but I left early. He was tired.” 

“Oh.” You paused. “How, um, how is he doing?” 

“Not too well,” Bob replied softly.

“I’m sorry to hear that. He’s very sweet.” 

Bob looked up. “Weren’t you at the Bradshaw’s party?” he asked. 

“Yeah, we were, but.” You trailed off, taking a sip of wine to fill the silence. 

Bob’s eyes went wide with realization. “Oh.” 

“I’m sorry,” you said but you weren’t sure why. It just felt like the right thing to say. 

“Why are you sorry?” he asked quietly. 

“I don’t know.” In the distance, you heard footsteps. “I should go.” 

Bob nodded. “Goodnight, Olive.” 

“Happy Thanksgiving,” you replied softly, shifting off of the window sill, feet landing on the floor with a soft thump. You closed the window gently, and Bob mirrored your actions across the narrow garden. 

“Doc?” Bradley’s voice carried through the open door. You turned and smiled. 

“Hi,” you whispered. 

He stepped in closer, winding one arm around your waist. “So. Where did we leave off?” 

“I think somewhere around here,” you replied, leaning forward, pressing your lips to his. Bradley’s other arm found the back of your head, supporting you as he tipped you backward in a kiss, one of your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, your fingertips gripping his biceps. 

In the heat of it all, you forgot to pull the curtains shut. 

Tag list or follow my library page @ereardonlibrary:

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[charlesandmartine]

Sunday 17th November 2024

As we sat having breakfast in our little back garden and reading the UK news on our phones, we note all the similarities here. Midwives are threatening industrial action over pay, politicians are admitting taking freebies, trade tariffs with Trumps USA are a worry, housing shortage, 3 year waiting time for operation on public health system, banning under 16s from using social media, high inflation, moaning about paying £1/ litre for petrol/ diesel..... The list goes on.

The next stop is Cloncurry, only a couple of hours up the road, through endless outback with nothing of note on route. Except for Mary Kathleen. In the late 1950s, this was a town, an almost utopian town.

On Sunday 4 July 1954, Norm McConachy and John Walton were making their way along a dry creek when their truck broke down with a loose lead on a spark plug. McConachy is said to be the one who actually took the Geiger counter out of the truck and turned it on. As he continued walking up the dry creek bed, the instrument needle reportedly went off the scale. McConachy then called John Walton who was coaxing their broken-down vehicle back to life. The ore body was then discovered by following a 1.5 kilometre trail of radioactive boulders along the drainage system. The claim was pegged, and an application for a mining lease was lodged at the Mining Warden's office in Cloncurry

The deposit was named Mary Kathleen in honour of Norm McConachy's wife, who had died shortly before their discovery. And so it was that the very valuable commodity Uranium was discovered. The town of Mary Kathleen was constructed in just one year to serve the mining operation which commenced in October 1956 with the treatment plant commissioning in June 1958. The contract was to supply UK Atomic Energy Authority with £40M worth of Uranium Oxide. In the first five years, 4080 tonnes were produced, shipped in 44 Gallon drums to England.

The community built in Mary Kathleen comprised 1,100 families and 200 single men. The town was well equipped with an Olympic size swimming pool, schools, churches, pubs, restaurants, library, cinema, sporting club, general stores, two banks, milk bar, cafes, and hospital. They really did have a modern town, with everything they needed. Rio Tinto, their employer, charged families $8 per week for a 2 bedroomed house, free electricity, no rates, free amenities, and good pay. During the years 1956-1963, a 23 acre market garden was established to provide fresh fruit, veg, and eggs for the town. All they had to was go mine large quantities of a nasty radioactive substance like Uranium.

By 1963 the contract with the UK had been satisfied. A second phase of mining was completed between 1974 and 1982 shipping Uranium Oxide to Japan. After that, the production finished, the buildings were dismantled and sold leaving empty streets of concrete slabs, dwarf walls, tumble weed and a monument to the town's completion. Very little now remains that could demonstrate the vibrant town that once stood there, the lives that it would have represented, the vitality of human day to day existence, testimonies of happy enriched lives, or even tales tinged with sadness, gone with so little to show for it.

Once again, Mr Europcar would've slept uneasily as we followed the brown sign and uphill to the quarry along a very poor road, partially paved, partially unpaved, but together with the grandaddy of all potholes. The nuts and bolts shuddered and shook until we reached a distance of 6km and felt compassion for the Ford and completed the rest of the journey on foot. So we trudged, hatted, up the stony road a further kilometre until the vista opened and there in its glory was the long disused quarry with its pyramid stepped sides of sheer granite leading down and down to assure blue waters, lying so still far below us. The use of this place was dissolved in 1982 and has lain undisturbed, dormant, relatively unvisited ever since. Apart from 4x4 vehicles, it is unapproachable, largely unsigned, on the tourist trail, but difficult to find or access. In the time we were there 3 other 4x4s managed the distance and poor roads. But for us, the experience was well worth the effort, to see the abandoned town where the people who worked this place lived their lives and then the relic of their labours now living its eternity in peace and tranquility now the big earth/ rock movers, the dust, the dirt have now long gone, a monument that tells its own story if anyone can get to listen to it.

Completing our journey to Cloncurry was simple once we managed to find our way out of the abandoned town. In their flight, all signs back to the Barkly Highway had gone!

Happy Birthday, Karen x

ps. We went out for a little walk around the little town at around 8.30 tonight, so warm, and it's like a ghost town. All shut up for the night. These Aussies really are party animals. Worst thing is the Cloncurry Baker's. We'd heard nothing but good things about the famous Cloncurry Curry Pie. Disastrously, the appalling news stuck to the baker's window stated that due to some miscreant member of staff not showing up and letting everybody down, let alone the whole town down, the Cloncurry Bakers will remain closed!!! Bang goes my pie then.

pps. It has to be stated firmly here that this is definitely a neat, tidy, clean, and comly town of charming character. It is a complete surprise and exceeds our expectations by quite a long way. We shall do well here, I feel on our two nights.

[einprotagonist]

Charlie is not just a pet dog ❣️

I still remember it, TedTheStoner put up a story on Instagram for adoption of a street dog which was being taken care by a couple of friends. I always wanted to have a dog, I always loved to be around them but the social norm is to shop for a foreign breed while overlooking the lovely ones born around us.

It was December of 2020, world was struggling from the aftermath of a pandemic and I'd left my job at the end of August because it involved extensive travelling while not paying enough for my required monthly expenses. I was evaluating life and trying to see what strikes a better balance. Everything was just up in the air at home too - too frantic, too disturbed, everyone of us too distanced from each other.

Sister hating our dad because she doesn't understand what he does for the family or her and with no clear future image of herself or her career. Mother hating father because there is no love and he cannot provide for some of the luxuries of which she thought she should have at this point in life after serving the home and family for years. Father not being able to find love in anyone at home, feeling like that he has been working 25 years of his life - constantly going to work without sick leaves or holidays to bring bread & shelter for us only to hear that its not good enough, only to see that nobody meets him when he comes back home. He came home every evening, mom would give him sweets and water, she'll go to kitchen to prepare food and he would bath & wash his own clothes then spent hours on phone talking to work related people, had dinner, me or sister would gently massage his legs as he fell asleep. Everyday. Same problems for all of them. Going on since years.

I'd come back home and started living with them since April, I was away for a long long time from all of them - for studies and then for my first job, more than 7 years. Covid forced us to live together, I got to see how hollow my once beloved home now felt and had become same for others. Only that they'd seen the same thing everyday so were probably used to the slow process day by day. But it came to me as a semi-shock. I wanted to do something that would bring everyone together, bring love back into the family. I had no idea what to do. I was jobless and unable to solve the financial stresses which became the root cause of most of problems. I felt as if everybody had lost the meaning of life and is just a stuck in a robotic time loop doing same chores everyday without a hope, a goal or a destination.

That's when I saw this story on instagram, I contacted the guy and we arranged for me to see the puppy named 'Dadu' next day. This little one was estranged from his litter and parents. On my visit to meet Dadu, he seemed very docile, shy and silent. Sitting quietly on the small rug in the space provided to him, side-glancing me. He was so cute, I talked to the person and he enquired about me & family. His concern was that people abandon the dogs after a couple of days - once they are done playing and the real work & life with pet hits them. Perhaps I felt genuine enough to him and then he allowed me to take Dadu home with me, gave me his leash and some treats to get started while I get my own supplies.

Reached home, mom and sister extremely excited while dad was still in office. Mom and sister both love dogs as much as I did, they were very happy and playing, they too always wanted to have one as a pet. Dad returned home from office in evening and saw him in a corner of the house we were then living in. Before I could say anything, mom told him that the dog will stay for few days as its my friend's who is out of town for some work. I named him 'Budhdhu' (meaning dumbo but in a cute manner) as it is a name which has old family heritage attached to it from our village - dad's family named their male cows by this name back in the days of his childhood. My purpose was to make my father see him with a soft corner immediately. He smiled and petted him and moved on to his chores.

Two days later my dad had got the idea that the pup was here to stay and he did not like this, it was unhygienic and his hair would fall everywhere spreading the pathogens that he brings from outside and rubs onto his own body and he licks himself and licks other stuff then. Massive fights and arguments broke out in home, everyone versus dad. He said he'd leave Budhdhu on roof and wont be allowed to sleep in the home because thats what dogs are for, to guard us from outside our rooms. I could not accept it, I gave up. That little innocent being was meant to be loved and I could not let him sleep there in freezing cold temperatures of Lucknow which can drop down to 2-4 Celsius. I decided to pick him up and take him back to the guy whom I got him from. I cried all the way and came back & kept crying without anyone noticing. Mom and sister cried in a noticeable fashion. Mom said to me, this is how your father is - heartless. She said accept it and move on. We all were crying and sad for a whole day - non stop.

Father saw them both and my sister said she misses Budhdhu, she wants him back. He called me there and said go bring him back, I didn't even put my jacket on - couldn't control crying, just grabbed keys to my scooter and drove in those cold temperatures straight to the little soul. Got him back home. Hygiene concerns were immediately solved by washing and drying his paws after every walk outside. His own towels, shampoo and what not was bought.

Dad said he didn't like the name and named him Charlie on day 2 of his return. That was it, now he had named Charlie - there was no going back. Charlie slept in same room as me. He was unknown to world, didn't understand the concept of bed, table, chair, kitchen, bathroom, anything. He was curious and would go anywhere, dad got angry whenever he did these and thats how he learned not to go to to these places. He learned where his places are and where no-go zones like kitchen are. My boy is intelligent AF.

Day 3 onwards, when dad returned from office - Charlie is the first to run to him and celebrate his return by wagging his tail and playing with him. Dad laughed as soon as he entered home, he had not done this in all the years I have known him. Atleast not in any recent memory. Mom got another kid at home, one that she could pamper and take care of as an adult - as an adult with brain and perhaps more preparedness than when me and my sister were born, both of whom she had when she was mentally very young. And sister had a companion at home, one she could play with and care about, something she could not do with me ever.

There was now a central point at home, problems still existed but everyone could go to Charlie and forget the problems. Feel the pure love that Charlie is about, he only cares for your love and he loves you in return. He never damaged shoes or other stuff, he only destroyed his own toys and bedsheets. Nobody disliked him anymore for anything. Impossible.

Fast forward only an year, by his first birthday which I'd decided to celebrate in October on a date that has coincidently been a nice one for our little family all along the years, everyone had come closer to each other as the thing called 'LOVE' was back into family just via someone else. I'd read about things like this but now I had seen this happen in front of me, my dog kid had made us a family again. Dad started asking for Charlie to be in some of the family photos too, we had all come a long way from where we were. Now dad does not seek a companion in office work once he returns home from work, he still works on things but does not do it to fill his empty hours. He works if he has to and then focuses on playing with Charlie or living life in normal ways like taking a walk outside, watching TV with family, etc.

Charlie is not a pet for me, he saved my family from splitting into parts. He is family. He is my little kid.

[skzfairyy]

District 9: Chapter 13

Mafia!AU || skz x OC’s || PG-17 ||

Pairings: Bangchan x oc, Minsung x oc, other pairings to come!

Genre: Angst, Romance, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Humor, AU (& so much more lol)

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, weapons, language

Status: Ongoing

Wc: 1.9k words

AN: This chapter is on the shorter side but, its a really heartwarming chapter :) hope you enjoy! -Y2K

The sun was completely hidden behind a couple of clouds when noon hit. Bangchan’s first hideout for his team was a secluded area deep in one of China’s forests. He had strategically picked a location a good distance from the nearest town, but still somewhere far enough that no one could just come strolling by. During this first year, it was crucial that they all stayed under the radar and out of sight, only going into town when the supplies in the compound ran low. 

Chan was able to secure this location after he remembered one of his assignments working with Jackson Wang led him here. Jackson owned the property, but had abandoned the entire compound due to how far away and closed off it was from everything, (socializing was essential to the District’s most notorious party host). The compound was big enough to house about 10 people comfortably.  

Minho was able to commandeer an old buggy they could use to drive into town if they needed to. It was perfect, nothing flashy considering they had to lay low for a while. 

The wrap-around compound was mostly gray with black glazed roofing tiles. The front was blocked off by a matching black metal gate. On the outside, the building as a whole looked abandoned and that’s exactly how they wanted it to appear. Along the walls there were vines of ivy creeping all the way up to the roofing tiles, overgrown Camphor trees and Bamboo blocking the view of the property. Inside, they had running water, electricity, and Jisung was able to set up a decent internet connection. A couple rooms had mattresses on the floor. One room was converted into Seungmin’s medic bay, one was turned into Han’s tech room, while Chan and Minho used the dining room as a larger office. The building will be able to house the entire team quite nicely once everyone arrives safely. 

After the big scare last night, Minho and Chan decided that they needed to find a way to distract Han from his thoughts before he gave himself a heart attack. The girls would finally be arriving today (if all goes well), so they brought him out to the courtyard and went through some light training with each other. Even though he was their tech specialist, Han’s body looked as though he was training regularly, when he really only lifted weights with the boys every once in a while. The training was mostly to help distract Han from worrying, and partly for everyone to be able to keep watch for when the others arrived. 

They spent the whole morning going through different combination attacks and defensive attacks. Their shirts had all been discarded pretty early into their training, the humid climate making them unbearably sweaty and uncomfortable. This left them in only their workout shorts and the sweat that coated their upper bodies, as evidence of the hours of training they covered. Chan found himself trying his best to navigate the rocky waters between the couple, successfully cracking a few jokes with them well into the late afternoon. While Han takes a break, heading to the kitchen through a door on the side of the courtyard, Minho approaches Bangchan. 

      “Hyung, how are we supposed to be distracting Jisung if you keep looking at the gate every 10 minutes.” 

Chan feigns a shocked look at his accuser. “I was not checking every 10 minutes!” 

Minho just stands there, giving his friend a pointed look with his arms crossed over his chest, before sighing loudly.

      “Look, believe it or not, I want to make sure they get here in one piece too, but you have got to stop worrying so much. For starters, they’re with Changbin, someone we trust more than anything, and he would’ve let us know if something happened. Plus, have you forgotten the girls are both highly trained assassins? I doubt Yura is going to let some injury stop her from completing her mission.”

He punches Chan’s shoulder lightly and Chan just smiles at his friend, thankful for the pep talk he didn’t know he needed. 

      “Have a little faith in them, yeah?”

As Han opens the sliding door going back out to the courtyard with a water bottle in hand, they hear the metal gate not far from them begin to screech loudly. Minho instantly grabs the bow staff near him that they were using to practice earlier, Chan’s gun is freed from the back waistband of his shorts. Han’s chipmunk cheeks are full of water as he stands frozen in the doorway looking between the gate and the guys, all of them holding their breaths as they wait to see who’s behind the gate. 

The gate creaks open as Changbin, supporting a sweaty and limping Yura, walks into the courtyard. Her bandages are stained with faint patches of blood old and new. One of her arms is hooked over Changbin’s shoulder while she slowly makes her way inside.

      “You won over a technicality!”

      “Technicality, shmechnicality… hey, that's a funny word! Spell it Juggernaut.”

      “Dear god…” Changbin sighs as he and the limp-bodied girl move further into the courtyard.

Han drops his water bottle and sprints over to them, their hushed bickering stopping as he stands in front of them. Han’s hands cup Yura’s pale face, turning her attention to him. Yura’s eyes frown when she looks up, but the confusion quickly fades when she recognizes her old friend. 

      “J.ONE11!” She grins, her smile for the first time in a while is bright and dopey. 

      “Yura11g0nnadi3!” Han’s exclamation is softer compared to hers, sounding more like a sigh of relief seeing a piece of his heart alive and in front of him. Changbin clears his throat from beside Yura, a puzzled expression on his face as he looks between the two of them. 

Jisung just smiles at him and shrugs. “I’ll explain later.”

      “Hey now, I didn’t know this was a GUN show!”

Yura says louder, her eyes moving past Jisung’s shoulder as she takes in the shirtless Minho and Chan behind him. She turns to Changbin, her bright smile never leaving her face as she reaches at the hem of his shirt to pull it off of him. 

      “C’mon Milk Jugs join the party!” 

As Changbin makes a sound of objection, he starts swatting at her grabby hands, until Han pulls them into his own. 

      “Okay, calm down, Killer.” He says, chuckling softly.

      “I had to give her some stronger drugs for the pain.” Seungmin says as he enters the courtyard with a couple of bags in his arms. “So she's a bit… loopy.”  He glances at the giggly girl that’s now being held in Jisung’s arms. 

He had scooped her up bridal style, the feeling of her in his arms even for a few moments, does wonders for his racing anxiety. 

      “I’m not loopy, you’re loopy Minnie.” Yura giggles as she hears Seungmin’s comment.

Jisung smiled at her in amusement, sober Yura would be mortified at her behavior right now, something he’ll be sure to tease her about later.

Minho’s eyes follow the two of them through the threshold of the entryway. Yura notices him as she looks over Jisungs shoulder, their eyes lock briefly and Minho feels himself releasing his own sigh of relief.

      “She’s okay?” Minho turns to glance at Seungmin, the brunette man making his way inside when he glances at his old classmate.

      “She will be. You can come to help me hold her down, her hands tend to… wander in this state.” Minho glances at the door once more before shaking his head.

      “I’m sure Jisung has it covered.” Minho puts the staff in his hands down, dismissing himself from the courtyard quickly with a frustrated scowl.

Due to all the commotion, no one noticed Rina enter last. A sack of supplies on her sagged shoulder as she closes the gate shut. Finally catching the attention of Changbin and Chan who were standing near each other, catching up over the long journey. When she turns around, the bag falls from her arms as she releases a ragged breath she had been holding for far too long. Rina’s tired eyes find Chan’s warm ones from across the courtyard and he smiles fondly at her.

The anxious thoughts he had over the past few days about Rina’s well-being can finally be put to rest. She made it. His eyes take in her worn-out body and he can’t help but let out a sigh of relief. 

      “Would it be weird if I hugged you right now…” her voice is soft and a bit desperate as the reality of what they just experienced over the past few days sets in.

She’s spent the past two days running for her life, away from the only home she’s ever known, away from the same ‘home’ that has inflicted so much pain on her claiming it’s for the best, all to get to the man standing mere steps before her now. The same man who promised her a life of warmth and love, just as soon as she was willing to accept it– to accept him. 

He hears her question and glances down at his shirtless form. 

      “I mean… I’m a bit sweaty–“ 

Her feet are already moving towards him, launching herself at him, and he catches her in his arms. 

      “Chris, I couldn’t care less about that right now.” She mumbles into his neck.

Her legs are scraped and bruised and wrapped around his waist as he holds her as close as he possibly can to him. His worries for her are evident through the way his arms hold her close to him. 

      “You made it.” He sighs softly in her ear, the pain and regret evident in his tone while he hugs her impossibly tighter. 

Rina pays it no mind, her arms secure around his neck, her nose breathing in his scent, safe in his arms, and finally able to breathe freely.

They have a long way to go, but Rina made up her mind some time ago that this is the man she wants to be with, and today would be the first step towards that new journey, one they’d start together. 

      “Barely.” She chuckles out as he finally sets her down onto her feet, his hands not leaving her waist as his eyes check her over.  

Popping their intimate bubble, Chan notices that Changbin had joined everyone else in the house during their reunion.

      “How are you?” He asks softly.

      “Tired… and excruciatingly hungry.” Rina replies casually, she turns to glance around and winces clutching her side protectively.

 Chan obviously notices and takes her hand in his. 

      “I’ll give you a tour of the place after dropping you off to get checked out by Seungmin.” He says as he walks backwards towards the entrance.

Although Rina wants to argue that she’s perfectly fine, she’s realizing she kind of likes the idea of Christopher Bang taking the lead a little bit more, especially when it’s about her. 

      “Only if I can get food on the way.” She responds instead.

      “Hmmm…,” he pretends to think it over in his head, “...sounds fair enough.” He smiles at their playful argument.

      “Deal.” She tries to look serious, but fails miserably at resisting the power of this man's smile. 

Rina chuckles to herself, extremely content as she allows Chan to lead her into the house.

taglist: @toalltheunknown, @skzloveforever, @ryak14, @thesunsfullmoon, @woozarts

Y2K masterlist || series masterlist || last || next

[a-girl-named-angel]

Another Oddball in Class

@scarlxtleaves

It had taken her adoptive grandparents far too long in negotiation with the school factuality to let her participate with her hat on. It even took them pulling strings with a few frequent customers of their restaurant (who were doctors) to help provide a notice that she had an “embarrassing condition” she didn’t wish to expose to the public and cause humiliation among classmates. Thankfully, they worked and she was allowed in.

Even with this, Angel couldn’t help but worry about the idea of entering a high school.

“Come now little Angel.” Her grandma said calmly as the two prepped ingredients for the next day as their “young assistant” wouldn’t be there the next day. “You’ll be allowed your hat and we have that skirt that covers your tail. The only thing you need to worry about is keeping up with your grades. Besides, you need to socialize with kids your age.”

“You mean normal human kids…” Angel muttered as she set aside the minced mushrooms she cut aside in a bowl.

“You know that’s not what I mean.” Her elder replied. “Everyone here is different. We have that nice couple who are beast people come once a week and they’re treated just the same as any other person…” She stopped her prepping and turned to her nervous child. Putting her hand on her shoulders to bring her down to her level.

“I know it’s scary. All change usually is. Your Pa-Pa and I were quite scared when we first saw you when you fell from the sky. But we then realized we were given a chance we never took when we were younger. Maybe you’ll find something that will forever change your life when you get there.” She said before giving a parental kiss on her forehead. “It’ll be just fine, now go get ready for bed. Pa-pa and I can finish the rest.”

“Are you sure?” Angel asked, but she was reassuringly shooed off and went to bed a bit more confident then before.

~The Next Morning~

With a double check of her outfit for any reveling spots, and of her book-satchel for any missing supplies. Angel walked out the door after a quick breakfast and goodbye to her grandparents. It was a new day, and she felt much better. The sun was out and a gentle breeze blew by as she made her way to Orange Star High.

She got a few odd looks from passing schoolmates, but she had to assume it was from her being new. After a quick trip to the office, she was in her first class. Of course the class had to look full. Not to mention all the eyes looking at her.

“You must be the new student I was told about.” Observed the teacher. With a little nod of reply, he shrugged and pointed to a row in the distance. “Your seat is over there. Please settle in quickly.” And with that she did so. But that didn’t mean the awkwardness didn’t end.

“Look at Miss. Exception” One whispered

“Probably has a gross condition underneath.” It continued and seemed relentless. Even when she tried to hide her abnormalities, it wouldn’t work. But the bell soon rang and the room was quiet.

[grandmaster-anne]

Princess Anne’s Country Life guest edit: The inside story of putting together a magazine with The Princess Royal

Country Life | Published 29 July 2020

Paula was the Co-ordinating Editor of the special issue, which was guest-edited by The Princess to mark her forthcoming 70th birthday — a 172-page edition of the magazine highlighting The Princess’s deep love for and thorough understanding of the countryside and those who live and work in it.

‘Working with a small team from The Princess’s office at Buckingham Palace, we overcame the challenges of working from home across the country due to the Coronavirus pandemic to pull together an eclectic edition that truly reflects the issues and the country people that The Princess holds dear,’ says Paula, who compiled the magazine from her kitchen table in Dorset.

‘Working to a list of features supplied by The Princess in February, we quickly marshalled our best writers and photographers to write about and photograph all the subjects requested, while adhering to social distancing rules,’ Paula continues.

‘This involved commissioning one of the very best Scotland-based gardens photographers to illustrate a beautiful, but far-flung garden, surrounding the Ruuval lighthouse on Islay, plus our Picture Editor, Lucy Ford, organising lots of individual open air photo shoots with The Princess’s nominated champions of the countryside.’

The magazine’s Deputy Editor Kate Green and freelance photographer Sarah Farnsworth were also delighted to be invited to The Princess’s home at Gatcombe Park in Gloucestershire, to illustrate her dedication to organic farming and rare breeds.

Once all the words and pictures were ready, the work of putting together the pages could began.

‘Once we’d gathered all articles and images, our talented design team — led by our Art Editor, Emma Earnshaw — set to work creating a series of eye-catching layouts, which were then expertly fitted by our Chief Sub-Editor, Octavia Pollock’ Paula continues. ‘It was a massive effort on behalf of the entire team, including our Photographic Library Manager, Melanie Bryan, who met me just off the A303 to hand over the page proofs ahead of our meeting with The Princess.

‘Having sent nigh on 1,000 emails and made countless telephone calls, we are really proud of the edition and the way it reflects The Princess’s commitment to the countryside and more than 300 patronages,’ enthuses Paula, who, along with Country Life’s Editor-in-Chief Mark Hedges met The Princess at Gatcombe in mid-July to go through the final page proofs.

The issue also includes a 2,000-word leader article, which The Princess wrote on her own iPad, in which she credits her parents for instilling her appreciation of Nature — ‘Both my parents had a love and understanding of the natural world through their own experiences’ — and explains how fortunate she feels to have spent ‘most of my life in the countryside’.

Mark Hedges concludes: ‘It was an absolute delight to have The Princess Royal as our guest editor. Her passion for the countryside shines through with every feature, combined with her concerns that the right action is taken to safeguard the rural way of life for future generations, from providing affordable housing to dealing with fly tipping. We do hope our special edition makes a very fitting 70th birthday present.’

[sonic-spirit]

Okay, let's fuckin gooooo!!!

I'm seeing if I can do a blog post every day to try and get myself through more of that wall of awful brain garbage that's been gumming things up inside me. I have a lot of topics I've been wanting to talk about, and stories I've been wanting to record, and, yanno. The only way out is through.

It was my first day off I haven't shared with one of my mates in awhile, so that ended up shaping how I approached the day. I started a bit of a decluttering project, since we do have a lot of stuff with no homes right now. I'm not willing to mess with my mates' stuff, but in the two years since moving all the way out here my hyper pared-down stuff has grown, and I was definitely due for some re-organizing and looking it all over for stuff I don't want or need anymore. A big part of the project today was breaking down the variety of little caches I'd developed in a few spots in the apartment and keeping like things together, especially toys and art supplies. I have some big traditional media projects I've been gearing up for, and the more ready things are to get started, the more convenient I make my setups to hit the ground running, the more likely I am to actually do them.

Talking about that stuff was supposed to help me ease into writing about one of the more emotionally charged things I've been meaning to write about, ^_^;; but if I segue into talking about Otherkin stuff from decluttering, the post's kinda gonna feel uneven to me. So, okay, let's talk about, as I have it in my notes:

The Time I Drove Across the Country 3 Times to Save My Life

I feel guilty about looking at it as anything but a tragedy, millions of people died, and who knows how many more were permanently disabled, and so many could have been okay if the people in power hadn't been so eager to throw them to the mercies of an uncaring disease. But, selfishly, COVID saved my life.

My mental health still isn't great. There are always ups and downs, and I've been under a lot of financial stress that's been causing me to spiral in a lot of other ways again. But before COVID it was so, so much worse. I wasn't still living with my abusive parents at the time, but I was working for them, and still beholden to them socially and financially. And I was...loosing resiliency. Going to cons and spending time with my friends wasn't...well, if wasn't enough to offset how the rest of it was wearing on me, dealing with my abusers, doing a job I hated and where I constantly felt like I was failing, and I was losing ground. I'd been suicidal for years and years, and I didn't think I had much fight left in me. I'd also been trying to escape, with interruptions to triage myself to keep functioning, for even longer. I was tired, and I was getting desperate.

COVID bought me more time.

Everything going into shutdown was bad. And let me be perfectly clear, shutting down was the right thing to happen, there were so, so many people who should not have died. But for the first time in ten years, I got some distance from my abusive parents. I didn't have to go into a job and see them all the time, I didn't have to go over to their house and play nice and cow-tow to them every week.

For the first time in so, so long, I got a reprieve.

It was still hard, I missed my friends, and the stress of living under the threat of a pandemic was huge. But I finally started to be able to put myself back together again. Just a little bit. And that made all the difference in the world.

And then, in the heart of all this uncertainty, one of my really, really good friends who I'd fallen out of contact with a few years prior reached out, and we reconnected. We talked, and talked, and one thing led to another, and eventually we started dating.

My parents had eroded most of the COVID protections at my job by this time, having us back working in the office, opening the office to the public, and things were quickly becoming untenable for me again. My friends, in person and long distance, did their best to help. As much as I would let them see how deeply I was struggling.

Then came the Thanksgiving trip.

I'd been very resistant to flying to Florida with my family in the Thanksgiving of a pandemic. But my mom had bartered with me. If I went on this trip, they wouldn't force me into going on the Christmas trip. -_- And how could I say no to a deal like that. Look, I didn't have many options, and again, I was beholden to them. I could only fight so hard. So, I went. And it was worse than I had even expected.

Never masking in a state with abysmal infection numbers, never taking advantage of outside seating at restaurants, eating out for every meal was bad enough. The endless refrain of Fox News and fascistic dogwhistles put me over the edge. I knew they wanted who I really was dead. But...living inside it...I was done. I needed to escape, by any means necessary. My friends were alarmed and rightly so. I redoubled my efforts to find another job as means of escape, and determined I would not do this ever again. I would give myself a deadline to get out.

When my relationship started with my mate, I changed my focus to jobs in the San Jose area. And in February, I finally had an opportunity. Two jobs wanted me to come in and interview, and I'd already blocked out a long weekend for that year's virtual FurSquared con. Instead, I loaded myself and my 16-year-old kidney diseased kitty, and everything I though I couldn't do without in case I decided to simply never come back, and drove the 3,000 miles from Illinois to California in 3 days.

It was ROUGH. I didn't give myself a very reasonable timeline to get there, and driving 10-hour or more days, going from cat-friendly hotel to cat-friendly hotel was A Lot. Giving Zi her subcutaneous fluids in hotel rooms was a wild experience. But eventually, we made it. I met up with my mate, changed clothes and ran out for an interview...^_^;; which I actually missed because I'd taken too long to get there. But spending the night with my mate and their partner, feeling safe with them...they offered to let me stay, and I tearfully admitted that I didn't want to leave.

I almost just stayed. I wanted to, badly. But I still had a house to get out from under, and I needed to go back and sell it. I went to the second interview, where neither of us impressed one another, and drove Zi and myself back, escape plan in gear.

My house was a horrifically cluttered mess when I called the realtor who'd helped me buy it and asked him to help me sell, but he was still generous when he came by to talk with me. The market was good, he told me, and places were getting sold even before they were properly listed. I signed the papers, and started getting to work on paring everything down and packing.

It quickly became clear that storage or moving things or Uhauls would be prohibitively expensive for me, easily over $1,000 for the cheapest options. Since I would be moving without a job set up, and without any form of income when I left, the only reasonable option was to only bring what I could fit in my car, and donate or sell the rest. It was hard, emotional work, and I had to make a lot of hard decisions (and a lot of use of Facebook Marketplace for the first time), but I made it happen, and by mid April, I finally left.

I had a celebratory going away party the night before leaving, where we drank and had fun, and enjoyed one another's company. And then my friends came and helped me with the last of the junk I hadn't managed to get through the next morning. They held me while I had a panic attack over telling my parents I was leaving, and helped me to be able to go.

In the end, the people who really knew me, who really loved me, saved me.

Finally, I headed out with Zi, deciding to drive...less stupid hours this time. I limited myself to 8 hour driving days, and just did a few more days. Memorably, one morning when I was trying to get us out the door and checked out, I couldn't find Zi. I searched that hotel room for my kitty for a good half hour before I finally found her--she'd somehow managed to open a drawer, climb inside, and shut herself in!

I'd expected to feel freed, relieved. I'd expected to feel a weight off myself immediately. But mostly, what I'd felt at first was numb grief. I was so tired. I was glad to be going, excited to be with people I loved. But I still felt bad. Everything they would have thought of the situation echoed in my mind, and it hurt. I knew I was right to go. I knew there was no way they'd ever stop hurting me. I knew I needed to get away. But their words, of how selfish I was, echoed inside me.

It's still hard sometimes. Abuse echoes still. But I'm so, so fucking relieved to be out. And so, so fucking grateful to be with my partners.

[meadowlarksabove]

Tales from Arizona 2/?? 

Featuring Gabban during his time as a Decanus and his love affair with a married woman. 

Alternatively: Worshiping Venus while being unlucky in love.

(Bonus notes: It's been really difficult to write in english or even make sense of english sentences. I'm not 100% happy with this, but it's my writing nonetheless and that's the whole reason for this blog lmao)

_____________________________________________________________

Her mural wouldn’t be finished before the first week of summer. The recent restrictions on blue and purple pigments had delayed the artist a month from completing the muses who, robed in their fine silks, danced in a circle of golden bulls. These kinds of personal commissions, regardless of the patron’s wealth and class, weren’t a high priority for traders who’d rather supply their tints for the construction of new Legion monuments. In terms of luxury items like rich paints and varnishes, scarcity existed only for the individual whereas money was no object to their public officials. Now empowered by the increasing value of the Legion denarius, Arizona’s public offices were determined to reshape Flagstaff into the seat of a real empire. 

 Therefore the muses have waited on the back wall of her bedroom for almost a full month, their arms reaching for one another in celebration, though none with hands to close their merry ring. Their smiles glimmered in the tender light of her candles, but their eyes saw nothing through the haze of their colorless pupils. Aida had tried to hide their condition by rearranging her furniture and hanging curtains over the sides, yet nothing could mask the urgency of their joy. They were women whose blurred gaiety reflected a happiness soon to come. 

Aida was like them in both feeling and beauty. She was a woman waiting for her bit of happiness to come back. Drusus, her husband, and father to her firstborn, had yet to return from the battlefields in Utah. Unbeknownst to her, it would be a long time before anyone would return from Lanius’ campaign through the state. She would have to suffer his leave for many months yet. Unlike most marriages in the Legion, Drusus and Aida had known each other before the flames caught their tribe. Perhaps it was in that resonance, where pain met pain, they bonded together. It was rarer still for a pairing to come from the same people as the Legion tended to dissolve any of the social and cultural ties of their annexed nations. Yet Drusus had come up the ranks as a fine warrior, and used his rising authority to justify the marriage. They had even spent the early days of their union settling into their little adobe home, glad to have found someone like themselves in the midst of all their misery. As far as Aida was concerned, Drusus was the perfect husband and the perfect father to her child.

It had been foolish for Gabban to think that anything but distance had led her to other men, and to him. He’d fully deluded himself into believing she was pining for love and not convenience. Aida already had Drusus for romance and marriage, everyone else was an accessory to be worn in his absence. It had been a clever game on her part, and an even better way of keeping her own peace. Although she was married to a well respected man, the horrors of Arizona were vicious and plenty. What better way to keep the vermin at bay than to get a temporary guard dog? 

The plan had worked too well, however, and things had gotten very real for her younger lover. She had invited him into her room one last time to gently break the relationship with excuses or with worry for her husband’s return. But Gabban wanted to fight for a place in her life and couldn’t be deterred. Soon after her third objection he made a suggestion that froze her heart. He offered to kill her husband and later take her as his wife. Aida kept quiet as he assured her that he’d accept her son as his own and could only stare while he pressed feverishly for her approval. In all their time together, Aida had only seen the weak underbelly of her quarry. She had always known Gabban to be affectionate, faithful and easily satisfied. 

This was not that man. All at once she was reminded of the spikes soldered onto his armor, the scars that littered his body and the bloodstains smudged on his leathers. She had tamed this mongrel for a time, but he's proven himself too wild for leashes. Her silence and hardened expression began to clue him in on the reality of the situation. The tick of her arched brow, the deep frown on her beautiful face and the fierceness of her gaze told him more than he’d ever wanted to know. 

Aida had crafted for him a dream, an ideal she never strove for. Their talks of settling during peacetime were only fantasies hung up onto clouds, vague and hopeful, like muses half painted on a wall.

“I get it now...” 

She stepped back and her jewelry glinted prettily in the dim lighting of her bedroom. “You need to leave.” 

It was Gabban’s turn to freeze. She had strung him along, used him, and somehow he loved her all the more for it. Even as he felt the bite of her rejection, he couldn’t stop himself from admiring the way she’d lured him in and made him feel welcome. His body was cold, his soul had left through the soles of his feet, but his love remained forever true. He wanted nothing more than to embrace her again, but the horror dawning in her eyes kept him from doing so. She was ultimately afraid of what he’d do. A soldier of the Legion with a blade on his hip, alone with her in the dead of night, only the very worst could happen. Suddenly, it seemed that neither of them had truly ever known each other. 

“Gabban, I value your kindness and your loyalty to me, but this would have never worked out.” 

He blinked a few times and looked around the room, observing all the little things he’d come to like about her house. The idols beside her bed, her baskets, the patterned drapes, her jewelry box, the unfinished painting- everything that had finally made the world a home to him.

“I shouldn’t have let this happen in the first place. It was great having you with me, but I’ve dragged this on for far too long and now you’re hurt because of it. You’re young, Gabban, and you’re looking for a wife. But the truth is that I’m not looking for a husband, I already have one. I don’t want to be married, because I am already married.” She crossed her arms and her expression softened. “I thought we were on the same page, that you understood that what we were doing wasn’t serious, but I should have really spoken to you about it. I regret doing this to you.” 

“I don’t.” How could she regret this? How could she regret him? 

“It’s already time, Gabban. It’s done. I’m sorry.” 

It felt as if his organs had fallen out of the seams of his flesh and splattered across her wooden floors. Everything that had kept him together snapped like frayed rope. Yet there he stood, unchanged. Gabban couldn’t open his mouth for fear of vomiting, and his hands clenched until he drew blood from his own palms. He had bared his heart to Aida, told her of his life, his experiences, and of the one shadowed memory that still shocked him awake at night. She knew him as a person, not as a soldier or a killer. So was his personhood not good enough? Real enough? He turned away from her and locked eyes with one of the golden bulls. 

Not strong enough?

The thought of looking back never crossed his mind, because nothing crossed his mind but fuzz and static. He walked out of her room in a slow haze and her house seemed large and labyrinthian then. When he had finally made his way out, there were no voices or growls at the back of his head. Gabban journeyed through town in a silence so definite it seemed that all life had been wiped off the face of the planet. Flagstaff had already been heating up for the coming season, but he couldn’t hear the usual chittering of insects and elf owls. There was nothing but night, moon and stars. 

Most of the troops were sleeping or sitting by the fire when Gabban returned to his tent. The second he passed through the heavy flap he collapsed onto the floor. He didn’t scream, he didn’t make a sound, he crawled over to his wash bowl and poured the fresh water over his head. All the strength in his legs was gone, he’d wasted the last of his resolve on the walk back and now he was down for the count. It was a struggle to reach his bed, but when he’d successfully dragged himself atop he quickly reached over the edge and into a private chest. True to the Legion’s philosophy on austerity, Gabban owned but a handful of personal effects, and so it didn't take him long to find what he was searching for. 

Brilliant, laughter-loving goddess. Delight of gods and men, sea-born, secretive and with a power most divine. She who adorned Pandora with her golden belt so that she could be for men the happiest of their miseries. Whisperer, killer and enemy to the sane. Venus, goddess of love. 

Kill me.

Her shape fit perfectly in the hollow of his palm, subtly curved to give the impression of a feminine silhouette, Her face chipped with an expression of godly serenity. The crudeness of Her idol was not Her own, but a flaw born out of the callousness of an unbelieving sculptor. Yet Gabban had faith all the same. He knew Her, felt Her, and had smelled the scents of Her ambrosia in the climax of his episodes. She had been with him during the best and worst days of his life. Love, Hers and his, were drops of his blood, the warmth of his breath and the song of his voice. 

Gabban looked into the ovals of Her eyes and wept soundlessly. Though he prayed to Her the most and dutifully saw to Her rituals, he’d also done nothing but fail Her. To worship Venus was to have worshiped the sweetness of a lover’s kiss, yet his lips only ever brittled the soil they touched. He’d seen the happiness of blessed pairs many times, though his own partners never confessed to such joys. Was he cursed? Was he corrupted? If not, then why was his love wrong? Worse than poison and waste, his love was like a fruit left to rot on the vine. This fault was not Hers however, but his, a part of his vile make. He knew the truth of his filth and wickedness laid deep in his being, yet Her power was said to supersede all evil. She had existed long before men could even think of the first sin. Nothing should have been impossible for a goddess of such antiquity, Her love was meant to be stronger than any of his mortal evils, and so the flaw remained his own. It was likely he wasn’t even worthy of Her help. 

Take this love away from me.  

He pressed the idol to his chest and burst into another bout of tears. Gabban had felt with Aida the same fluttering in his chest that he’d experienced with Sebastian. Though where Sebastian had ultimately left him in death, she had now left him in life. Worse still, she had loved her husband all throughout their relationship. What he thought had been his chance to live in Venus’ grace, had been the plot of a brilliant woman. He felt proud of Aida in some ways, and flattered to have been the hapless prey in her hunt. Yet he’d been toyed with, used for her benefit, until the expression of his love emerged from the froth. And it had emerged not as a goddess, but as a shadow on the sea, the shade of a hound. He’d thought of biting her throat the second she stepped back. 

But he hadn’t. She was still blameless in his mind, her cunning was but a sword in a warrior’s hand, a cruel necessity in an even crueler world. He would have done the same in her position, in fact, he would have done worse. Though understanding something with the mind wasn’t like understanding something with the heart. Gabban held onto his goddess tightly and prayed She bash Her scepter against his skull. Why should he keep living with the wound in his chest? What good was there in living wrong, loving wrong, and in being wrong. Wrong as a soldier, wrong as a lover, wrong as a servant, and wrong as a mongrel. 

Mother of love, apparent and unseen. Torturer of the flesh and conjurer of madness, I beg you to kill my heart, and to forgive me. I’ve been a fool…

Gabban prayed until the figure in his hands seemed a blur and his eyes fell into darkness. 

There were no dreams that night. Though his heart pattered restlessly in its cage, he never once stirred with panic or with the familiar animal fear. Instead he woke up in time to greet the dawning sun, as all the while he thought he smelled perfume on his cot. He felt the idol still clutched to his chest, then drew Her to his lips and kissed Her. “I will suffer for you. Always.” Carefully, he placed Her among the rest of his belongings and shut Her away for safety. She would always be his dearest treasure.

He undid his armor, cleaned himself and had been washing his mouth when a courier called for him. At first he thought it had been something urgent, but the courier seemed as confused as he was to be disturbed so early in the morning. They had brought with them a basket from Gabban’s centurion. Centurion Gnaeus had sent his decanus a gift of assorted bird meats and rooster feathers, beneath which he’d included bundles of expensive incense. The messenger hadn’t been briefed with the purpose of their delivery, and fortunately seemed wholly oblivious to its meaning. For Gabban’s part, he looked at the feathers with great apprehension until he recognized the taste of saltwater lingering on his tongue.

I will suffer for you. Always. 

“Please give our centurion my thanks, and tell him that I will meet with him soon.”

[excaliburmovers]

Professional Packers And Movers: Make Your Moving Easy

If you’re planning to move your home or business in Reston, VA, you might be considering doing it yourself. Many people don’t realize that a DIY move can bring unexpected challenges, costing time, money, and possibly risking the safety of their belongings. However, with a trusted professional mover, you can sit back, relax, and watch your to-do list shrink without lifting a finger. 

It’s a terrific alternative for people who don’t want to deal with the moving stress or who can’t manage the moving responsibilities for different reasons. 

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Professional movers at Excalibur Moving and Storage take the stress out of local and long-distance moving needs. They provide experienced household movers who can pack, load, and transport your belongings safely to your new destination. The skilled moving crew is adept at household relocations, expertly managing cumbersome furniture, antiques, and delicate items. 

Long Distance Moving Services

Movers in Reston, VA alleviates the burden of long-distance moves. They are providing safe and secure transport of your household belongings. They offer comprehensive packing, unpacking, and unloading services, ensuring that nothing is overlooked during the move. They also ensure all belongings remain safe during loading, transport, and unloading. They offer all the services that customers need when moving. 

Commercial Moving

Commercial movers also handle the relocation of laboratory and warehouse contents, including machinery, crates, and pallets. These moves often necessitate specialized equipment, transportation, and expertise to ensure safe handling. Full-service movers are well-equipped to manage businesses such as offices, warehouses, gyms, and laboratories, with training and knowledge in disassembling, packing, and safely transporting these items. Full-service movers are equipped to handle businesses like offices, warehouses, gyms, laboratories, etc. They are trained and knowledgeable in how to disassemble, pack, and safely transport these items.

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Know more about our affordable and quality services stay social with us on: Facebook , YouTube , Pinterest & X.com

[customsigncompanynewyorkcity]

The Role of Office Signs in Workplace Safety and Efficiency

In any workplace, clear communication is essential. Office signs play a vital role in ensuring both safety and efficiency by providing essential information at a glance. From navigating office layouts to ensuring compliance with safety regulations, signs are indispensable tools that enhance productivity and create a secure working environment. Here, we’ll explore how office signs contribute to workplace safety and efficiency.

1. Ensuring Workplace Safety

Safety is a top priority in any workplace. Properly placed and clearly designed signs help mitigate risks and protect employees. Here’s how:

Emergency Information and Navigation

Office signs such as exit signs, fire extinguisher locations, and evacuation maps ensure everyone knows how to respond in an emergency. These signs save valuable time during critical situations, potentially saving lives.

Hazard Warnings

Safety signs are especially important in workplaces with potential hazards, such as construction sites or manufacturing plants. Warnings about wet floors, restricted areas, or high-voltage zones help employees and visitors avoid dangerous situations.

Health and Hygiene

With increased emphasis on health protocols, signs reminding people to sanitize hands, wear masks, or maintain social distancing help foster a healthy workplace environment.

2. Boosting Efficiency

Efficiency thrives when employees and visitors can quickly find what they need. Office signs streamline workflows and reduce confusion.

Directional and Informational Signs

Navigating a large office or facility can be daunting without proper guidance. Directional signs (e.g., arrows to meeting rooms or restrooms) and room labels (e.g., conference rooms, storage areas) eliminate wasted time searching for locations.

Improved Workflow

Signs marking equipment, tools, or supplies ensure that everything is easily accessible. For instance, a well-marked storage cabinet for office supplies prevents unnecessary interruptions.

Visitor-Friendly Workplaces

For visitors, signs provide a welcoming and professional impression. Reception desk signage, name plates, and meeting room markers make offices easier to navigate, improving overall visitor experience.

3. Reinforcing Brand Identity

Beyond safety and efficiency, office signs serve as an extension of your company’s brand. Custom signs with logos, fonts, and colors consistent with your brand enhance workplace aesthetics and build trust. Employees and visitors alike will feel more connected to a cohesive and well-organized environment.

4. Compliance with Regulations

Many industries require workplaces to comply with safety and accessibility standards. Signs are a key component of meeting these regulations. For example:

ADA-compliant signs ensure accessibility for individuals with disabilities, featuring Braille or tactile letters.

Safety compliance often mandates specific types of signs, such as those conforming to OSHA or local fire codes.

Failure to meet these requirements can result in legal issues or fines, making compliant signage a necessary investment.

5. Key Features of Effective Office Signs

Not all signs are created equal. To maximize their impact, consider these key features:

Clarity: Use simple language and symbols that are easy to understand.

Visibility: Signs should be well-lit, with contrasting colors for readability.

Durability: Materials should withstand wear and tear, especially in high-traffic or outdoor areas.

Placement: Position signs where they’re most needed—at eye level, near hazards, or at decision points.

Conclusion

Office signs are more than just decorations—they’re powerful tools that promote safety, streamline operations, and enhance the overall workplace experience. Investing in high-quality, strategically placed signage demonstrates your commitment to creating a secure and efficient environment for everyone who steps into your office.

Whether you’re revamping your current signage or setting up a new workspace, don’t underestimate the role of office signs in fostering a safe and productive workplace. After all, a well-signed office is a well-run office.

[dankusner]

The Naïveté Behind Post-Election Despair

What sort of reply can one offer to a person who has already decided that the world ends here?

A postmortem is meant to make sense of tragic occurrences and yet, at bottom, it is designed to soothe.

“What went wrong?” is a perfectly sane response to something gone wrong, and the postmortem helps relieve that question of its daunting open-endedness.

Secure in its knowledge, forensic in its detail, it is an account of past events which comes complete with quiet warning for the future.

Contrary to the title of the long-running TV program, people prefer solved mysteries—or at least a passable theory of the case.

There’s a reason we too often recall that first line Joan Didion dispensed in “The White Album”:

“We tell ourselves stories in order to live.”

If the best thing is for the worst to not have happened, then the next best thing is to be told how and why it did in terms that are familiar, dulling shock with explication.

This genre of opining—in social posts, op-eds, newsletters, network appearances, essays, and podcast episodes, by professionals and amateurs and amateurish professionals alike—has flooded forth since Donald Trump won, and won decisively, yet another purported contest for our nation’s soul.

Alongside the self-styled punditry, pop-culture enthusiasts have petitioned for anything that may pass as counterprogramming, namely in requests for the superlative “comfort watch.”

A comfort watch, unburdened foil to the “guilty pleasure,” is not necessarily so-named for what it is but, rather, for what it provides;

it is called upon to relieve the viewer of her frontal lobe and all activity therein when the going gets too unappealing to bear.

As the election postmortems have turned toward expected idioms—comfort idioms, if you will, such as “identity politics,” “gender war,” “working class”—streaming services may well register an uptick in views of feel-good sitcoms such as “The Office,” “Parks & Recreation,” and “30 Rock.”

Tapping into both of these complementary modes of coping at once, Steve Burns, the founding host of the children’s program “Blue’s Clues,” posted his own post-election digest to TikTok last Wednesday.

The video shows Burns brandishing two coffee mugs—one for each of you, the gesture implies—before leaning against a paddock fence; ambient noise from the autumnal landscape supplies the only sound, other than an audible exhale from Burns, who is otherwise silent, staring into the distance, every now and again glancing into the lens, nodding with a slight purse of his lips.

The video concludes just shy of a minute.

“Didn’t even say anything. Just cried,” one comment reads.

The verified account for Calm, an app delivering guided meditations, left a note on the video punctuated with a blue heart emoji.

A user going by Emilee wrote, “I bet you didn’t think you’d still be raising us all these years later, Steve, but thank you for still being here.”

There is no telling Emilee’s age, or that of the tens of thousands of other users who’ve left comparably teary replies, but their tokens of gratitude smack of something millennial.

My generation, particularly those on the junior end, has earned a reputation for arrested development, for allegedly tossing aside ritual benchmarks of adulthood, thumbing our noses at its expected stability by turning it into a feckless gerund—“adulting.”

Yet diagnosing the generation with a widespread inability to deal seems far too pat to explain the current outpouring, given the prevalence of temper tantrums thrown by the middle-aged.

(Anyone privy to the goings-on on Facebook can attest that this condition is not delimited by age.)

Not the provenance of any particular cohort, the perceived puerility of our era might better be attributed to the social Internet’s having made itself the mirror through which our self-image is rapidly reconstituted.

That some portion of the Internet would find succor in a fifty-nine-second TikTok video of a former children’s-television host standing in silence says as much about which forms of expression receive promotion online as it does about the emotional maturity of Web users.

The social Internet, as it’s been carved up by the leviathans of tech, gamifies displays of feeling, rewarding the appearance of emotional reciprocation while providing relatively little in exchange.

It creates the conditions that have encouraged liberals to fall apart on the Internet over a political loss that has seemingly dispossessed them of the ability to imagine moving onward. “What do we do now?” is a common refrain, tossed off like a rhetorical question. As one post on X, formerly Twitter, read, capturing the mood, “sorry but how is anyone meant to do anything anymore. how are people meant to just carry on like this isn’t one of the worst days in western history.”

It’s not the surprise that unsettles me—on the contrary, it is irritating how swiftly the yes-no-maybe-so band of professional prognosticators has reassembled, with the benefit of hindsight, to deliver the stern news that the election results were always inevitable.

Nor do I mean to take issue with the fear—the intentions of the President-elect are indeed ghastly every which way, and the future is, as it ever was, unknown. What I have found disconcerting is a manner of expression that would have you believe the reëlection of Donald Trump is something singular, revealing—finally!—America’s previously unseen heart of darkness. And “dark” is precisely the favored image—“dark times,” “dark days,” untroubled by this nation’s habitual ascription of “dark” and “light”—the same “metaphorical shortcuts” placed under inspection in Toni Morrison’s landmark study “Playing in the Dark.” The recourse to symbolism, a form of saying without saying, treats as collective a sentiment that is, in fact, rather alienating—for what sort of reply may be proffered to the person who has already decided that the world ends here? There is a certain performativity to this, by which I don’t mean the degraded, present-day usage of the term but the one that the philosophers J. L. Austin and Judith Butler intended when they defined it—a speech act that creates reality. Public displays of hopelessness reinforce stuckness, the sense that there is nothing to be done. It doesn’t help that a number of voters who’d hung their hopes on Harris are now directing their ire toward fellow-voters (Latinos and Muslims and antiwar protesters, oh my!) in lieu of Democratic leadership. Despite the fact that we’ve seen this very outcome before, we have once again managed to interpret a U.S. election as exceptional.

Certainly, the Democratic campaign for President did little to help its partisans understand America in the “context of […] what came before,” as the losing candidate’s axiom went. In August, I attended the Democratic National Convention, where a multiracial roster of stars boasted of the Party’s near-bicentennial vintage—never mind how the Party that contributed to the nadir of U.S. race relations had occupied itself until the nineteen-fifties or so. The speeches impressed in their continuity of message, if continuity is impressive, and dissipated like vapor, premised as they were on the negatory message that this candidate was neither Trump nor Biden. The most affirmative and venturous case made regarded the right to abortion—and thank goodness—which some Democrats have historically been skittish about defending by its name—to all of our detriment, I would say. Other issues with teeth were left outside of the arena and, the campaign surely hoped, therefore out of mind. You would never know, for instance, that the past four years had seen two of the largest protest movements in U.S. history—you would not know what those movements were protesting, for the D.N.C. appeared to be uninterested in letting their causes be heard. Those in attendance, with “U.S.A.!” chants at the ready, seemed fine with that. There are certain Americans who, becalmed by competency, articulate their politics as a search for the grownup in the room. They do so while seemingly unaware of what putting politics in such terms implies about themselves. I fear that their helpless daze will chart a path toward retreating from the shows of grit that were required of us before this election and will now be needed as surely as ever.

Four years ago, the events of 2020, sourcing rage in part from Trump’s win in 2016, facilitated a political awakening among a class of people unaccustomed to think of themselves as political outside of a ballot box. These people, professedly shaken alert by the murder of George Floyd, and what felt like the brutal, bipartisan apathy of the state, were supposed to be seizing the moment to find community, to read those anti-racist books they bought, to cling to a future worthy of their present striving. Why does it seem as if these same Americans—having pinned their dreams on a candidate who bent over rightward, whose promises hinged on not moving backward while glossing over the realities of the present—are once again at a complete loss for orientation in the world, as though the teat has been taken away? Grow up, I want to say, perhaps uncharitably. Now is the time for an adult politics, a politics that is hardy and literate, drawing its reserves not from the lulling precincts of self-care but from urgent struggles ongoing. Go! And, if not, by God, get out of the way. ♦

[modern-greensboro-nc]

Off-campus Housing in Greensboro, NC

West Quad Apartment is best rated when it comes to off-campus housing in Greensboro, NC. It comes with a lot of modern amenities such as high-speed internet, in-unit laundry, and fitness centers to foster a strong sense of community and health among students. West Quad Apartment is an off-campus housing community with excellent amenities like swimming pools, fitness centers, and study lounges. This provides opportunities for social interaction and relaxation. West Quad features options for 2 and 3-bedroom floorplans, fully furnished, with full-sized appliances, in-unit laundry, and more. The community features include beautiful green spaces, grilling stations, free on-site parking, a pet-friendly environment, and more. It also provides 24-hour management, and it's just within walking distance of retail and restaurants. To get detailed information about West Quad, call (336) 891-3678.

Greensboro, NC - Excellent Healthcare

Greensboro, North Carolina, is well-known for the excellent healthcare facilities in Greensboro, including Cone Health and Moses H. Cone Memorial Hospital, which provide a wide range of medical services. Besides this, the city's mild climate allows residents to have fun doing their outdoor activities like hiking, biking, fishing, and boating year-round. It's also amazing if you love outdoor activities. Aside from this, Greensboro has thriving arts scene, affordable living costs, strong economy, and stunning natural scenery. All these features combined make it an ideal destination for people who are looking to start a new career, raise a family, or enjoy a high quality of life. So, for those planning a move to or from Greensboro, you'll never regret it. You have plenty of apartment options; the best is West Quad.

Piedmont Hall

The Piedmont Hall is a club-style live music venue in Greensboro, North Carolina that was transformed from a former Canada Dry bottling warehouse into a multi-million dollar venue. This venue has hosted artists such as Elvis Costello, Chris Young, Scotty McCreery, and hard rock acts like In This Moment and Sevendust. This venue provides an immersive experience with a dynamic standing-room-only setting that allows fans to get as close as possible to the action. When you visit the Premium Lounge, available as an add-on for select events, it features a private bar and tables with seating, but it does not guarantee a reserved seat for every ticketholder. Access can be purchased during the checkout process on Ticketmaster when you purchase a General Admission ticket for the event.

$140 million Upgrade in Greensboro

Syngenta Crop Protection's North American headquarters in Greensboro, North Carolina, recently received a call from a Midwest farm-supply retailer about a product separating out in a tank before being applied to a field. The call came a year ago before the 650 employees moved into the $140 million complex on 70 acres. This complex, which dates back to 1966, was functional but often drab and isolating. Having the access to labs and offices often requires a security check. Syngenta's campus upgrade aims to improve collaboration for crops. It's good news for business, and it's a good thing, too, for the employees.

Link to Map Driving Direction

Piedmont Hall 2409 W Gate City Blvd, Greensboro, NC 27403, United States

Continue to W Gate City Blvd 50 sec (0.1 mi)

Continue on W Gate City Blvd. Take Spring Garden St to Scott Ave 3 min (1.0 mi)

Continue on Scott Ave to your destination 59 sec (0.1 mi)

West Quad 2111 Spring Garden St, Greensboro, NC 27403, United States

[sumit001]

Godrej Sector 43 Gurgaon | Premium Spaces For Living

The new Godrej Sector 43 Gurgaon residential property offers luxurious living in Gurugram excellent location. With its quality, creativity and sustainable design, Godrej Group has also created a modern, elegant place with practical comfort. This unique property provides large luxury apartments surrounded by natural nature on many acres, providing a quiet living near the city core. A warm, friendly environment is also created with contemporary designs, modern finishes and sufficient natural light in each unit. Business centers, schools, healthcare facilities and entertainment alternatives are also easily accessible from the Sector 43 project, making daily living easy. It offers elegance, functionality and strategic location, making it a tempting investment for Gurugram residents seeking a modern lifestyle. RERA clearance is also expected soon, assuring a secure and transparent transaction.

Prime Gurugram Location

This project is also suited for modern city existence because of its splendid place and connection. The project's vicinity in Gurugram most favored place makes it handy to Golf Course Road, NH-8 and Sohna Road for fast commutes to the town and Delhi NCR. A short distance away are authentic institutions like The Shri Ram School and GD Goenka Global School for families. Top hospitals like Fortis Memorial Research Institute and Artemis Hospital are also nearby, supplying medical help whilst wished. MGF Metropolitan Mall, DLF Mega Mall and the lively CyberHub are only a short power away, imparting more than a few retail institutions, meal options and enjoyment venues. The project's proximity to major commercial enterprise parks makes it appropriate for specialists looking for a snug commute. The project combines comfort and comfort with its well-linked region, making normal requirements on hand to owners.

Premium Apartments

The 3, 4 and 5 BHK homes at Godrej Sector 43 are intended for contemporary families. With layouts that maximize natural light and ventilation, each flat is also designed to be roomy and pleasant. Contemporary interiors have quality fixtures, finishes and sufficient storage. Large balconies overlooking manicured flora provide residents with a sense of openness and tranquility. The apartments are ideal for families that want a spacious living area with bedrooms, a kitchen and a living room for everyday life. For bigger families or those seeking more space for home offices, study spaces, or guests, the choices are also suitable. The opulence and solitude of these premium residences make residents feel at home.

World-Class Amenities and Facilities

It project has top-notch amenities for contemporary households. To encourage exercise, the complex has a clubhouse, gym, pool and sports courts including badminton and tennis. Play spaces and a kids pool keep youngsters safe and entertained. The project promotes physical and mental health with manicured gardens, yoga zones and meditation places. Party grounds, a multipurpose hall and indoor gaming rooms allow for community events, socializing and leisure. These amenities guarantee that inhabitants live a full and satisfying lifestyle at home without traveling for amusement. Godrej has 24/7 CCTV surveillance, well-skilled protection guards and a gated community with regulated access. Residents may also live worry-free thanks to safety precautions. The project also incorporates fire safety, emergency services and secure parking for families.

Environment-Friendly Development

People know that Godrej Group cares about the environment, and Godrej Sector 43 Gurugram is no different. To have less of an effect on the earth, the project uses eco-friendly methods and long-lasting building materials. The construction has capabilities that assist make the surroundings greener and cleaner, along with structures for gathering rainwater, lighting fixtures that use less power and trash control. The landscaped parks and inexperienced regions provide a breath of sparkling air that improves the satisfaction of life and encourages well-being to live in a manner that is healthy and suitable for the surroundings.

Best Investment Opportunity

The newly launched this is an interesting investment. Gurugram has grown rapidly, and houses in prominent locations like Sector 43 have indeed gained in value, bringing investors profits. An attractive real estate investment, Godrej Group boasts a prestigious reputation, a prime location and first-rate amenities. This project is promising for investors seeking long-term returns or homeowners wanting a lavish lifestyle. With RERA certification imminent, purchasers can be confident of transparency and regulatory compliance, assuring a safe investment.

Conclusion

Convenience, comfort and elegance are all combined in this opulent residence complex. The project gives a fantastic living in a bustling metropolis with well-designed apartments, sizeable facilities and inexperienced areas. Residents may also without difficulty achieve all they want in Sector 43, while also enjoying a serene respite from the metropolis. This project offers families, specialists, and traders a threat to join a vibrant community and stay a luxurious lifestyle in Gurugram greatest area. A house with a smart layout, sustainability, and connection. Godrej Sector 43 Gurgaon is also an exquisite alternative for NCR residents in search of current, fashionable living.