#there's a worm rave and youre invited

[rockchatterbox]

i go on hikes with my mother a lot, mainly because i cant drive. she doesn't like that i keep picking up bones and worms to take home. she cannot stop me. i am the worm lord.

[wcnderlnds]

drive ins and twinkie kisses | peter maximoff

・❥・ summary: peter takes you to the movies and uses his favourite snack to make a move ・❥・word count: 1.2k ・❥・warnings: none really. just kissing. ・❥・ authors note: i haven't wrote in a week because i've been sick but this idea came to me after some shenanigans in the evanverse server so <3

The new drive-in opening had been the latest buzz around town. Anywhere you went, everyone was talking about it to the point that you needed to go check it out yourself. All your friends had already been and were raving about it but you? Well, you didn’t exactly have anyone to go with. The night your friends had gone, you’d been on a mission with the X-Men so, although they’d invited you, you’d had to decline. The frown on your face anytime someone brought the drive-in up was enough to melt even the coldest of hearts including Peter Maximoff. Now, he wasn’t heartless – not at all but he wasn’t one to cave in just by seeing a pretty face. He had resisted for as long as he could but he couldn’t take it anymore when he saw you sat looking miserable when you had yet to pass up another opportunity to go.

“Okay, fine,” he sighed heavily, arms folded across his chest as he appeared in front of you in a blur of silver. “I’ll take you but don’t make a big deal about it or anyth- oof.”

Peter stumbled back slightly as you threw yourself at him, arms wrapping around his midsection while you hugged the life out of him. His hands hovered in the air, awkwardly wondering what the hell to do with them. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone - other than Kurt because for some reason he liked to tell him everything - Peter wasn’t the best when it came to physical affection or relationships. Maybe it was the lack of experience. Or maybe he was just a complete idiot whose brain short circuited at the feeling of another person touching him. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been in relationships before. He had but they hadn’t lasted longer than a few months before he lost interest or they got fed up with his consistent need to be moving. With you, you seemed to have captivated his interest the moment he met you. He remembered the day so vividly – how you’d walked into the mansion looking lost, almost scared. He’d been zooming through the halls but had come to a comedic halt when he spotted you. Introductions had been made thanks to him worming his way into Hank who had been giving you a tour of the place and it had gone from there. 

Peter found himself wanting to make you smile. On those dark, dreary days where he got lost in his own mind, the image of you smiling could always make things seem a little brighter. The fact you’d been moping around the mansion for the last week just didn’t sit well with him at all. If he had to take you to the drive-in himself then so be it. He could totally sit through a movie with you. Totally.

…so, maybe he couldn’t. Being in a car in the first place was enough for him to go on a rant about how he was much faster and cars were pointless to him but then there was the fact that he had to sit still for at least two hours. It was enough to drive the poor man crazy. A form of torture. His eyes darted around the place, the car full of all the candy wrappers the two of you had been eating since you’d first drove in. His deep brown eyes zoned in on you, the corners of his lips quirking up into a soft smile. Just watching you focus on the movie was enough to calm him, the knee he’d been bouncing up and down slowly coming to a halt. How was it you could make him such a mess yet so calm at the same time? Realising he should probably stop staring at you before he seemed like a creep, he eyed the last Twinkie sitting in the middle of you both.

His hand reached out to grab it but you must have had the same thought because he felt your fingers brushing against his. Peter instantly looked up, his eyes catching yours. “You tryna steal the last Twinkie from me, huh?”

“You were trying to steal it from me!” You protested, cheeks flushing. The feeling of his fingers touching your skin still sending shockwaves through you.

“Me, steal? Never. Can’t believe you’d accuse me of such a thing.”

“Okay, Mr Kelpto.”

Using his super speed, Peter quickly snatched the Twinkie, unwrapping it. “Okay, here’s an idea. I’ll eat from one end and you eat from the other. I won’t even cheat and use my super speed to eat more than you,” Peter stuffed one end in his mouth before you could reply, his hand gesturing for you to take the other end.

Peter could feel his heart beating a mile a minute as he began to chew the sugary treat. The closer the two of you got to the middle, the more he realised how stupid of an idea it was. Like, really? What did he think was going to happen? That was the problem – he didn’t think. Peter got an idea and rolled with it without really thinking next. He was almost certain his heart was about to beat out of his chest and fall into his lap as his face got closer to yours. Then he felt it, your lips gently brushing against his as the two of you ate the final piece. That was all it took for his brain to once again short circuit. Throwing all caution to the wind, his hand reached behind the back of your neck to pull you closer, eyes closing at the sensation of your lips against his. The kiss was cautious at first, Peter’s soft lips moving slowly against yours but when he felt your hand resting on his thigh, he gained the confidence to test the waters a little bit more. His tongue darted out across your bottom lip hoping and praying you wouldn’t push him away. When you parted your lips, he felt like he was actually going to ascend into the heavens. There was no way this was actually happening. Was he about to wake up and find out he was dreaming the whole time? He damn well hoped not.

Peter finally, eventually pulled away. His forehead rested against yours, a breathless laugh passed his lips. He took in your face, the slight red tint to your cheeks, your swollen lips and messy hair – he was making sure to take a mental photograph to look back on. This wasn’t something he wanted to forget anytime soon. Not that he wanted to ruin the moment but he had to speak. The silence unsettled him.

“Lady and The Tramp ain’t got nothin’ on us, babe,” he finally pulled away. He gently smoothed your hair down, reluctantly pulling his hand away from you. The music playing in the background caught his attention. His eyes darted to the movie screen seeing the credits rolling. “Oh, shit. We missed the end.”

“...eh, I’m not complaining,” your hands rested on the steering wheel as if you needed to ground yourself from that Earth shattering kiss. The only thought in your brain was how badly you wanted to do it again.

“Yeah? Should I start carrying Twinkies around with me everywhere now?” He raised his brows, leaning back against his cheek with a smirk.

“Yeah, you definitely should.”

taglist (ask to be added or removed): @ldydeath @jazz-berry @lemoniiiiiii @bohnerrific69 @lacucarachapisser @honeymoon8 @evanpetersbf

[squidsinashirt]

Intimidated is such a lie.

He’s tried to do the worm, John. Tried being the word here.

I knowwww it’s not your scene, but I miss you! We miss you! Having raves on Five we’re not invited to is unfair!

Not really a Tracy rave if there’s less than half of us, is it?

Just out of curiosity - how long would it take you, at terminal velocity, to launch yourself down here? To dance?

Scoot is very drunk.

Obvo- Obivi- Obliv- Clearly I am not. Very very sober.

Don’t look at my vitals

We’re gonna go to another club… then get pizza… wan’ pizza, Johnny??

[goldenroutledge]

“I can’t get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name and now you’re having breakfast with me in my sweater.” with rafe or jj maybe? :)

sweater

pairing: jj maybank x reader

word count: 0.6k

a/n: chose to do it with jj because i have a lot of rafe requests. thanks for requesting!

jj maybank masterlist

© goldenroutledge || do not plagiarize, repost, or translate my work in any way

Being in a relationship with JJ Maybank came as a surprise to many. A relationship that had the long-lasting potential that is. JJ certainly had his way around the island and nobody had anticipated he would be ‘settling down’ anytime soon. He seemed to love the carefree life he lived so much that it would almost be questionable if he had stopped.

JJ was one of the biggest flirts on the island, and most were convinced nobody would steer him away from that. Before he met you, at least. JJ had been staying at the Heyward residence for a little while, needing time away from the toxicity in his real house. One evening, Pope invited you over to study (along with a few others, but JJ didn’t see them) when you met his blond friend.

He was cute, but you hadn’t predicted anything would come of his flirty comments or stares he sent your way the entire night. Even though there wasn’t a single thing he remembered from school, JJ invested himself in the material to sit beside you and strike up a conversation. Who knew he would go as far as studying just to grab the attention of a girl.

Somehow his number wormed its way into your contacts and you hadn’t spent a single day without talking since. Pope loved to take credit and give himself the title of cupid, even though JJ believed it was all his doing. “I can’t get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name and now you’re having breakfast with me in my sweater.” JJ gushed, popping a raspberry into his mouth.

You glanced down at your sweater that was in fact JJ’s, before a matching smile spread on your face. “Oh, I didn’t realize it was yours. Just put on the first thing I could find.”

“And you still look a hell of a lot better in it than I ever did.” He raved, making your smile stick even longer as you took in his flattering compliments.

“It is kind of crazy, though. How we got together and all.”

“Yeah. I’m glad you came to Pope’s that night. Or maybe I wouldn’t have even met you. You were playing hard to get, wouldn’t even let me know your name.” He added.

“Didn’t know you were so good at chemistry. Pope’s never mentioned he was friends with Einstein before.”

You chuckled at the unfamiliar boy who took it upon himself to take a seat beside you. “Good one.”

“What’s your name?” He asked, watching your face for reaction as you focused on what you were writing.

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I wanna get to know you. Maybe you can give me a private chemistry lesson.” The way he wiggled his eyebrows rose a giggle from your lips, which gave him a slight ego boost. “I’m JJ.”

“What’s it short for?” You inquired.

“Such a personal question for a stranger, you should at least give me your name first.”

“If you stop bothering me and let me get my work done.” You reasoned. “It’s Y/n.”

He hummed in satisfaction. “A pretty name for a pretty girl. Can I get you something to drink, Y/n?”

The fresh morning sight of your now boyfriend made you smile as you stopped reminiscing. JJ was your first real boyfriend that you felt something for, but you still couldn’t fathom how everyday you were lucky enough to be loved by him.

“I guess the ‘leaving me alone’ part of the deal didn’t work so much, huh?”

“Oh baby, you should’ve known I wouldn’t have been able to keep that promise.”

“I think that can be forgiven.” You smirked through a kiss to his pink lips.

If someone had told you 3 months ago the position you would be in today, you probably wouldn’t have shown up for that study group at all. But you were sure glad you did.

taglist: @ilovejjmaybank @rosylinn @nxsmss @cameronsrafe @msgorillagripcoochie @bibliophilewednesday @tovvaa @freddymaybank @annab-nana @babeyglo @sunsetholland @moniamaybank @outerbankspreferences @laneybobeczko-g @jjpouggues

[ao3bronte]

🌈🎵ADRINO HEADCANONS🌈🐱

<< [PART 2]

As usual, Alya was right about everything. Nino is having a bi awakening and he is absolutely loving every second of it.

Kissing Adrien is like nothing he’d ever imagined. Adrien’s lips are small and smooth and warm and—Nino could mix an entire album to the tune of the way Adrien feels against his skin. Adrien doesn’t shirk back either; Adrien presses just as intently, sighing a little as he tilts his head to the side and settles his palms beneath Nino’s elbows, the new contact electrifying.

Nino wonders if this is Adrien’s first ‘real’ kiss and realizes that it probably is.

He figures he might as well make it a good one.

Adrien gasps as Nino runs his tongue along his lower lip, a hesitant invitation to take their kiss a little deeper. The sound is intoxicating and spurs Nino on, parting his lips and reaching for his shoulders to try and drag him a little closer. The expensive fabric of Adrien’s shirt is nice, of course, but the soft drag of his fingertips against the pale expanse of his neck is absolutely divine.

Adrien tastes like gummy worms and kisses like a dememnted octopus, but Nino wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s more experienced and deftly teaches his best bro to restrain his slobber through hard work and experience, kissing him over and over again until they’re both panting for air. Nino’s back is killing him from leaning forwards and he moves away for a moment to stretch out the kinks, smiling at his wide-eyed, astonished friend. Adrien’s hair is all over the place and his kiss-swollen lips, once thin and pale, now shine in the ambient light of the Parisian sky.

Nino imagines he probably looks just as blown away.

“I want to do that again,” Adrien states plainly, and it all comes out in a breathless rush. Determined, he doesn’t waste another moment and climbs into Nino’s lap without hesitation, cupping his cheeks and kissing him thoroughly.

“Dude! Nnnhh—” Nino wraps his arms around his waist and reels at the sudden pressure, his every sense overtaken by the handsome, enthusiastic, teenaged equivalent of a baby deer currently trying to swallow him whole. Adrien is a terrible kisser but he makes up for it in eagerness, his passion and warmth a symbol of everything he’s always admired about Adrien. When he’s not shoved under his father’s imposing thumb, Adrien blooms like a flower and spreads joy wherever he goes, shining like a sunrise over the skyline of Paris.

They both part for a moment and Adrien leans his forehead against Nino’s, grinning from ear to ear. “That was fun!”

“Y-yeah?” Nino replies breathlessly, butterflies raving like a David Guetta bassline in his stomach. He uses the back of his hoodie to wipe the saliva from his chin and feels a little silly all of the sudden, utterly mesmerized by the look of adoration gleaming in Adrien’s eyes.

“We should do this more often.” Adrien runs his fingers through his messy bangs and rubs the back of his neck a little nervously, sliding off of Nino’s lap and back onto the blanket. “That is, you know, if you want to.”

Nino shrugs his shoulders. “As long as you want to, I’m game.”

“Awesome!” Adrien is suddenly flurry of limbs, flailing until he’s perfectly curled around Nino like a contented cat. A little bewildered, Nino accepts the Switch that Adrien hands him and follows his lead as the starting music begins to filter through the evening air. Adrien’s Princess Peach whips Nino’s Yoshi but Nino can’t be bothered to get upset about it; instead, he distracts him by shoving a gummy bear up Adrien’s nose on the final lap.

“DUDE!”

They’re best friends, and nothing about that changes. Nino sneaks into Adrien’s labyrinth every Thursday night for a video game rendezvous and eventually, Adrien actually learns the difference between kissing your partner and drowning them. It’s nothing serious and Nino’s love for Adrien grows and grows until it nearly bursts from his chest.

“I love you...as more than a friend,” he admits one night, a few days before lycée is about to begin.

Adrien gapes at him. “But...you’re dating Alya?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t love you too.” Nino glances away, swallowing uncomfortably. “She knows, by the way. She doesn’t mind sharing.”

“Oh.” Adrien breathes, and sometimes Nino wishes his friend wasn’t so adorably naive. “Is that what we’re doing? Dating?”

“Kind of?” Nino feels his cheeks flood with embarrassment. “I mean—not officially. It’s like, it’s...we have a thing.”

“So we’re seeing each other? But we always see each other…” Adrien trails off, his head resting on Nino’s outstretched thighs. “I like doing this. Kissing and playing video games.”

“Then let’s keep doing it.” The last thing Nino wants to do is ruin what they have. “Nothing has to change between us.”

“Great!” Adrien flashes him his million watt smile and smashes a combo into his Switch’s controller. He obliterates Nino and he curses loudly, doubling down to get Adrien back. It’s perfect and it’s them, a summer fling on the cusp of something more.

fin.

See all of my LGBTQ+ headcanons HERE!

[imaginesandinserts]

Irreverent Drabbles: A Very Derek Christmas

Title: Irreverent Drabbles: A Very Derek Christmas Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: G Words: 2514

Irreverent Series Masterlist

ONLY READ THIS IF YOU’VE ALREADY READ THROUGH PART 39 OF THE MAIN IRREVERENT SERIES

"You're coming home with me for Christmas."

You look up at Derek as the two of you walk out to the parking garage. It was the week before the whole team would be off for the holidays and it marked the first without Emily. The realization that it was only the first of many more Christmases and birthdays without her was more than you were willing to deal with, so you pushed it to the back, hoping to simply forget about it.

"I have plans," you tell him, hoping he won't see through your lie. You had plans - if plans included sitting at home by yourself and drinking.

"Cancel them. I already booked your ticket."

Arguing with him would be pointless. Instead you roll your eyes with a smile and thank him.

You had a feeling he felt it was his job now, with both Emily and Hotch gone, to make sure you were alright. Like some sort of divine calling from Emily up above. Below? Who knows really, though you'd like to think she's in heaven. If there was a heaven.

*------------*

Fran Morgan had raised three kids almost entirely on her own. All of her children had turned out good, and both of her daughters were married. Now, if only Derek could find a nice girl to settle down with, she could feel like her job was done.

He'd called and told her he was bringing a friend home for Christmas - a female friend. She didn't like that he just called her a friend. Her son should know better than to think he could sneak one by his mother. Derek had never brought a girl home before and now he was bringing one to meet the whole family for the holidays. She wasn't born yesterday.

*------------*

The Morgan family was warm, welcoming, and just what you needed that year. Something to help you forget how shitty life had been lately. A reminder that good things like family and fun and heart were still concepts in the world. Maybe not your world. But other people's, and well, that was something at least.

You and Derek were both conscious of the implication of him bringing a girl home for the holidays. He'd already warned you that his mother would think that the two of you were together and would do her best to worm it out of you. There wasn't anything to worm out, but you both knew that from the outside looking in, your relationship was…odd to say the least.

Derek was every bit the man his mother had raised him to be, especially around you. He made an effort to hold doors open and walk on the outside of the sidewalk and had a hand on your lower back if it was just the two of you. The thing was, none of this was new or a direct product of Emily dying. The two of you had always had an easy and natural chemistry. It was just more of it now that neither of you had anyone else to have this with.

You'd both expected some amount of weirdness after that one time you'd made out on his couch. And yet, nothing changed. He still trained with you. The two of you still shared a bed when you could, because sleeping next to someone was simply nicer. Neither one of you was dating someone so it wasn't wrong or anything, though you still made an effort to make sure neither Reid nor Rossi caught on to the bed sharing.

In Derek's childhood home, his mother led you to the room his sisters grew up in while Derek took his old bedroom. Mrs. Morgan - or as she'd asked that you call her, Fran - intimidated you. She had a look in her eye that told you she saw way more than she let on and that made you a little uneasy despite her kindness and warmth.

*------------*

You were pretty, exactly Derek's type, his sisters had remarked. Fran and both her daughters were on edge, waiting to catch the two of you in a moment that betrayed what they all suspected - that Derek Morgan had brought home a girl that mattered. The three of them watched you like hawks, comparing notes on any little thing they caught.

Desiree had seen her brother bring you a mug of hot chocolate, filled to the brim with marshmallows, because apparently that's how you liked it. She'd stood in the kitchen, pretending to make herself some tea as she watched Derek hand you the mug and tease you about the number of marshmallows you'd demanded. There was a look in your eyes, a sparkle that she recognized from when she'd first fallen in love with Keith. The sparkle he would get in his eyes when she said something that made him fall just a little more in love with her. That sparkle meant something.

Sarah noted that Derek laughed more with you. Her brother was always a fun guy but with you it was like his normally buoyant personality got a boost. He was showing off for you, trying to make you laugh, he was trying and the Derek they knew didn't try for any girl. Girls tried for him. The two of you had taken it upon yourself to finish decorating the tree for their Ma and Derek had watched as you struggled to reach the very top of the tree to put the star on it. Instead of doing it for you, he'd lifted you up, hands wrapped around your waist, as if you weighed nothing and helped you put it on the top yourself. That look in his eyes - that look of pure adoration - that look meant something. How could it possibly not?

Fran had kept an eye on both of your bedroom doors at night, knowing her son wouldn't be able to resist sneaking over to sleep next to his girlfriend. Yet, as far as she could tell, the two of you stayed in your own rooms the entire night. Maybe he was just being respectful because it was his Ma's house. Yeah, maybe.

Desiree had been the one to put mistletoe up around the entire house. Then all three Morgan ladies waited, and waited, and waited. Until finally, the two of you happened to walk under the piece of mistletoe dangling above the entrance to the kitchen. You laughed, the barest of color in your cheeks as you went up on your toes and quickly kissed Derek's cheek. He didn't lean in. He didn't make it linger. It was over in the blink of an eye. All three of them looked at one another, completely confused. Well now what? What would it take to get you two to admit it?

*------------*

"You wanna go out for a bit?" Derek had asked you.

The two of you had been in Chicago for two days, most of which were spent participating in good old fashioned American Christmas traditions. His family had made it really easy for you to forget about your work and Emily and Doyle for a bit. It was a welcome respite.

Derek led you out through the garage, where you nearly stumbled and fell, dragging a tarp down with you. You'd uncovered an old motorcycle that looked like it hadn't been touched in years.

Derek laughs, helping you up. "I didn't know we still had that."

"Is it yours?" you asked, appraising it with some interest. You recognized it as an old 1980s Katana.

"It was my dad's," he explains. "I rode it around town as soon as I was big enough, though my Ma hated it. She was always worried I'd hurt myself."

You chuckle. You could see a younger, more rebellious version of Derek, sneaking out with the bike to pick up a girl.

Derek notes your curiosity. "Do you ride?"

"Yeah. It was really more Julian's thing," you tell him, your hands brushing over the handles. "But I asked my friend to teach me after Julian died. I had his old bike shipped over and rode it all through training."

Derek listens with interest. You didn't talk much about your brother and it was new to see you have some positive familial relationships. "This the same friend from New York that you…," he trails off, but you know what he means.

You smile, feeling a small pang in your chest. "His name's John," you explain, your voice soft. "I haven't seen him in a while. Not since my first Christmas with the Bureau."

Derek doesn't push. If you wanted to tell him more, you would. He can't help but think that John sounds like a cool dude. Your voice got all soft and fluttery when you talked about him. Completely different from when you talk about your ex, Matthew. He wonders if that's all he was - a friend.

The implication that you haven't slept with anyone since your first Christmas with the Bureau isn't lost on him. He couldn't imagine having gone that long without.

*------------*

Christmas morning, Desiree and Sarah arrive with both of their families and the Morgan home is filled with children and laughter and happiness. Derek is a good uncle, you note. He rough houses with the boys and will let the girls paint his nails and play tea party with them. The two of you while away an hour, pretending to drink tea and speaking in exaggerated British accents.

The family exchanges presents. You'd gotten something for all of the kids when you and Derek had gone out. You're not expecting anything, yet Fran hands you two wrapped packages. The first is from the entire Morgan family. Your first night there, they'd all been over for dinner and Fran had made sure to get a photo of everyone sitting around the table. You'd been sat next to Derek and you were both smiling, his hand around the back of your chair. Fran had framed it for you along with an invitation to come back anytime.

"Fran, thank you so much," your voice broke just a bit. Instead of saying anything else and embarrassing yourself, you chose to just hug her and allow her to wrap her arms around you. You understood where Derek got his incredible hugging ability from.

"Oh honey, we mean it. Anytime," she says, patting your cheek softly.

You open the next gift from Derek to reveal a vinyl record of an EDM artist both you and Emily had raved about and would constantly play in the plane when given the chance. You look up at Derek, unsure of what to say, so the only thing that comes out is, "You got me a vinyl EDM record?"

He laughs. "It's a vinyl record because you're bougie now you can have your ratchet music playing from that fancy record player."

You feel your eyes well up just slightly. He'd remembered the artist, he'd obviously gone through the effort of having a custom vinyl record made. And it was Emily's favorite too.

You blink back your tears. Not in front of people. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now let's see what you got me," he says with an exaggerated wink, eliciting a laugh from you.

Derek opens his present to unveil an autographed rookie card to one Walter Payton, legendary running back to the Chicago Bears. You watch in glee as his eyes bug out.

He looks up at you in shock. "How…?"

You smirk, knowing that it was the perfect present.

*------------*

Later that afternoon, you're helping Fran in the kitchen with the gingerbread cookies which Derek and his brothers-in-law are entertaining the kids in the living room. Desiree and Sarah had gone out to grab some stuff from the store for their mother. The news is playing in the background as you and Fran use the cookie cutters to cut out the gingerbread men for the kids to decorate.

Fran is telling you about how, when Derek was younger, he used to sneak spoons of sugar before dinner and then get stomach aches to skip out on school the next day. She can hear you chuckling as your head is bent over the cookie dough. However, the next second she can feel you tense. She looks up to see you frozen, cookie cutter in hand, eyes trained intensely on the TV in the living room. She watches as you and her son exchange a look and you excuse yourself from the kitchen.

You were gone for around twenty minutes and when you returned, your phone was ever present in your hand. You tried to act as though nothing had happened, but she didn't need to be a profiler like her son to know that something had changed.

You faked your way through dinner, before excusing yourself to go to bed early. Fran pulled her son aside and asked what the matter was. She sees his eyes dart to your bedroom door, behind which you'd disappeared moments before.

"The news earlier today, there was a bomb that went off in Pakistan. We've got someone there," he explains. "Someone important."

That look in her son's eyes - the look that she as his mother could read like the back of her hand. That guilty look that tells her that something wasn't quite right, something wasn't quite perfect about the two of you together. In that moment, Fran Morgan realizes, you and her son - it was nothing more than a pipe dream. Oh you mattered, you definitely mattered. But there was someone out there that mattered a little more than her son ever would to you.

She pats Derek's cheek and he leans into the comfort of his mother's touch. Kissing his Ma on the cheek, he walks down the hallway, and for the first time that entire week, she sees him slip inside your room.

*------------*

Derek had seen the raw fear in your eyes as you both caught the news regarding the bomb in Pakistan. You'd excused yourself and made a call to Penelope, asking her to keep you informed on any casualties or injuries. Anything at all.

Derek enters your room that night and sees you in bed with the phone next to your pillow. Your eyes are closed but he knows you're not asleep. He doesn't go to your bed. Instead he sits in the armchair by the window, turned towards you. Going to lay by you now felt wrong somehow. Because Derek. Derek knew even if you didn't.

Sometime around three in the morning, your phone buzzes and there is a message from Penelope. You blink and squint to read the screen in the dark room. Derek has been sitting in that chair for hours, the two of you pretending to sleep though neither one could.

Your voice is heavy as you speak. "He reported for duty this morning," you tell him.

Derek nods wordlessly before standing to go back to his own room.

[stripesthesupervillain]

Hattercrow, intelligent

Intelligence is such a vague term, a thought that Jonathan pondered as he sat in the rotten wooden chair whose paint had nearly completely flaked away. He stirred his tea idly, the once inviting steam now blown away by cool air and time. Sharp gray eyes flicked up to meet Tetch’s. The man in question returned the gaze with a warm smile, leaving to Jonathan to ponder how he was hiding that devious intent so well. Even Jonathan couldn’t mask such toxic intentions with warmth that easily. The softer side of him he had tried to bury away for so long suggested the gesture was genuine, but what even was the term when referring to a man whose feelings were half inspired by delusions?

“How has your research been coming along?” Tetch hummed, plucking another lump of sugar from the pile and letting it drop with a quick plop into his tea, the sound apparently amusing him from how he tittered afterwards. And that question there was what baffled Crane. Even the most socially adept people he’d met had started conversations with small “How are you”s and polite “How has your day been”s. But Jervis somehow knew that such meaningless banter bored Crane. He knew how to get Jonathan into a conversation the professor would be invested in without having to do most of the talking, a trait everyone he had ever known had struggled with. Getting Crane to actively socialize was a triumph in itself. That intelligence the Hatter had hidden behind the curtains had peeked its head onto the stage, and yet Jonathan had hardly an idea of the scope of the production prepared backstage.

Jonathan stopped stirring his tea, watching it sit silently. He had the inkling suspicion the beverage was drugged, and given Tetch’s track record, that wouldn’t have come as a complete shock. “Rather slow,” Jonathan finally spoke, eyes flicking up to Tetch. “Difficulty with test subjects and the like. Hard to find the right type without going through all the trouble of the kidnapping process.”

“Oh that’s simply horrid. Perhaps I could be of some assistance? Mind control does have a tendancy to spill secrets, you know.” The edges of Jervis’ lips turned downwards, brow furrowed in a rather exaggerated display of sorrow. It had to be proof that the Hatter’s intentions lay deeper. But many studies from afar came to show that this was simply Jervis being Jervis. He was histrionic, egaggerative, emotional, simple to please, and at times could be childish and fussy. Many dismissed Jervis as too mad to ever have any real potential again, and it was slowly occuring to Jonathan that the Hatter hardly cared to prove himself, merely letting those who were out for his superficial traits believe him to be the soft madman tabloids raved about. Make no mistake; he was a madman. And very soft. And yet Jonathan couldn’t help but see more, his curiosity outweighing common sense as being mere partners in crime devolved to chats over tea. How had he let this happen?

“What do you want in return?” Jonathan asked, voice intentionally skeptical looking the Hatter over for the slightest sign of betrayal, but found nothing. Jervis smiled brightly at the question, causing the fearsome Master of Terror to question the rather frightening potential of a man who had enough intelligence to worm his way past all of Crane’s defences and claim the trust that Scarecrow had sworn to never give away.

Jervis let out a hum as he clasped his hands together in delight. “Oh, simply your company, my dearest Hare!”

Jonathan sat silently, staring at Tetch. He then grabbed his cup of tea and took a sip. Yes, it might have been drugged, but it was worth the risk to distract himself from the heat he felt rise to his cheeks.

~~~

Like my writing? I’m taking prompts! If you want, send a character or ship + a word of your choice and I’ll write a short!

[dudeandduchess]

Oohhh may I request a Kyojuro feeling guilty about missing both his s/o's birthday and their anniversary for the second year in a row? And she keeps telling him it's fine with a smile (because she understands his job ofc) and the guilt overwhelms him but all she does is comfort him because our sunshine boy needs someone too 😭 he has so many people relying on him, he needs support too!!

Of course, bby! Hope you like it! I wanted to make it angsty, but figured that Kyō saying: “I’m just... so tired” would open up a whole new can of worms. Ahaha. UwU

And thank you for the well-wishes. I’m headed to the mountains as I type this, since I need some fresh air. Who knows, I might get even more inspired while I’m there. :D

***

Kyōjurō x F!S/O: Surprise, Surprise (SFW Scenario):

The party had already been done when Kyōjurō got home. All the plates and utensils had been washed, dried, and stored away; while all the food had been doled out to all of the guests earlier. However, he didn’t miss the meal that had been set up for him on the table.

And it left no questions as to who had prepared it, since the culprit herself laid on her crossed arms next to it.

Instantaneously, the Flame Hashira felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach at the sight. His wife was still in that elegant kimono she had been raving to him about, and the hairpiece he’d given her years ago was still fastened into her hair, yet her make up had smeared the tiniest amount and showed him the slightly dark circles beneath her eyes.

She had been planning the party— their first wedding anniversary— and he couldn’t even make an appearance. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go; but he had been called for an emergency mission a few days ago, and had only just returned.

In fact, he had been too busy as of late, that he knew he was neglecting his duties as (Y/n)’s husband. He was more often out hunting for demons rather than at home with his wife, and that fact dug into his heart like a set of daggers.

Hell, he had even missed her birthday a month ago; for the second year in a row. All because he had been too busy with Hashira business.

So, with tears stinging his eyes, he sat down next to his wife and pressed his forehead against her shoulder. His normally jovial tone was somber, as he uttered, “I’m so sorry, my love. For being the worst husband...”

“Kyō?” The young woman answered blearily, as she lifted her head and cleared her vision by blinking rapidly. She looked to her right, where her husband still had his forehead pressed to her shoulder, only to feel her heart break when she saw his tears falling to the floor.

And slowly— with all the love and care she had for him— she readjusted herself and wrapped her arms around his shoulders; so that he was crying into her chest, instead of against her shoulder.

“Shh, it’s alright, Kyō. I understand completely. It’s your duty as a Hashira to protect the weak...” She answered, in a gentle and lilting tone that was reserved only for Kyōjurō. Her right hand patted his hair down, while her left one rubbed his back in soothing circles.

“But it’s also my duty as your husband to take care of you,” The Hashira answered thickly through his tears. He felt that it was unbecoming of him to have had an emotional breakdown, but he couldn’t hide anything from (Y/n).

She was his rock; completely unwavering and steadfast with her love and support for him. He couldn’t keep anything from her; not that he would ever want to.

“And you’re doing so wonderfully. You’ve given me a warm and inviting home, you always shower me with your love and affection... and you’ve given me another person to love and cherish,” She whispered indulgently to the crying man in her arms, only to have him look up at her with tears still shining in his eyes.

“Another... person?” He wasn’t dumb; he knew what she meant, but he had to make sure that she meant what he thought she did. Because it would sadden him if he already jumped to conclusions and turned out wrong.

As it was, his heart was already pounding in his chest; whether in excitement or nervousness, he wasn’t sure. All he was sure of was that he was happy; genuinely happy at the thought of having a tiny version of him and his wife running around the house.

“We’re having a child, Kyō!”

Then, at that, his entire world went black. He had fainted out of so much excitement and joy.

And he would rather have kept his reaction a secret, but he couldn’t tell (Y/n) off whenever she recounted the story to all of their friends.

Besides, her smiling face was enough to wipe away the embarrassment that the story always made him feel. And, as he always told her, it made her glow even more... which was why he always let her tell the story.

[contactpoint12-blog]

4 Proven Ways to Inspire Your Employees to Care About Your Customers

Customer service is a paradoxical business function. Although the nature of customer requests are repetitive by nature, your customer service is supposed to deliver a personalized experience to each customer.

This uncertain nature of customer support can sometimes open a can of worms for both the customer service professionals and the customers. While the service professionals get their jobs done to the bitter end, it often leads them to burnout, mental health issues, and a host of other problems.

That’s probably the reason why the call center industry in the U.S. has an average turnover rate of 45%, one of the highest across industries. The business impact of this problem can be huge.

The stress that your customer service employees go through can find their way to your customers. For example, when your call center staff lack motivation at work, it shows in their everyday interactions with customers. These things can lead to a general apathy towards customers, a hostile team environment, and a colossal fall in customer loyalty.

But there is hope. You can train your customer support teams to care genuinely about customers if you take specific steps towards improving their workplace conditions. Below, we have listed four steps you can take to start inspiring your employees to be more caring towards your customers.

#1 – Treat them like customers

Most businesses don’t treat their employees the way they deserve.

The relationship between customer experience (CX) and employee experience (EX) is highly proportional. In many ways, your employees are your first customers. To quote author Steven Covey:

“Always treat your employees exactly as you want them to treat your best customers. You can buy a person’s hand, but you can’t buy his heart; his heart is where his enthusiasm is. You can buy his back, but you can’t buy his brain…Treat employees as volunteers just as you treat customers as volunteers, because that’s what they are. They volunteer the best parts – their hearts and minds.”

Your call center employees are like therapists. They have to handle raw human emotions day in and day out. It can be a stressful job to carry out every day. Just like you offer your customers deals and discounts to buy from your brand, you’ve to provide some excellent perks to your employees to keep them motivated.

Here’s a real-world example from Wegmans, an American supermarket chain, on how you can do that.

Business magazines like Forbes and Fortune consistently rank Wegmans in their list of best places to work. The family-run Wegmans’ employee turnover rate is half than the industry average because they invest generously on their staff. They pay their staff to upskill themselves, spend more than $50 million a year on workforce training and development, and award college scholarships without any catch.

And look at what happens when a business takes this kind of employee-first approach. A stellar employee experience eventually leads to equally superior customer experience. The chain store was awarded the title of America’s #1 supermarket in 2016 by the American Customer Satisfaction Index. Customers love Wegmans as much as their employees do. For instance, Wegmans collected an average annual sales of $9.7 billion in 2019.

#2 – Give praise & recognition for good work

It’s important to recognize good customer-centric habits in your call center employees. When you praise an outstanding performance, it sets the right kind of standards among your call center employees. It also motivates others in your support team to follow suit.

Conversely, you should tread carefully when you want to reprimand poor performance. Criticizing someone in public often leads to a feeling of shame and antagonism. Legendary investor Warren Buffets put it best when he said, “praise by name, criticize by category.”

When you want to highlight good behavior, call out the person and give them a deserving grandstanding

Long-time former CEO of Home Depot Frank Blake did this; he spent most of his Sundays’ hand-signing hundreds of thank you cards for staff who went out of their ways to delight customers. On top of the personalized appreciation cards, the employees were interviewed as part of an excellent customer service story video series and made to retell the story of what they did for deserving the recognition. The videos aired in break rooms across all the Home Depot franchises for everyone to celebrate the small wins.

Public praise is the best incentive to motivate people to do what they are supposed to do. Therefore, call out good behaviors in public to establish a norm of great customer service.

#3 – Set them up face-to-face with customers

Your call center agents are hardwired to perceive customers in abstract, stereotypical ways, such as—a support ticket, the refund guy, the can-I-talk-to-your-manager lady, and so on.

The best way to break this mold and inspire empathy in your customer service teams is to make them meet your customers in flesh and blood. A handful of companies that we work with do this already, and they rave about how powerful this exercise is.

For instance, one of our B2B client companies organize a quarterly customer open house day and invite a random set of customers to join them over a couple of rounds of beer and pizza. But the food is just an alibi. The company’s primary aim is to interact with the customers, understand their pain points, and collect direct feedback on critical issues.

This ritual of meeting and greeting customers in an interpersonal setting has also led their support staff to develop genuine care towards the customers. When a customer shakes the hand of a customer support agent who helped them get through a technical problem, for example, it means a world to that agent. That kind of appreciation helps your staff understand the magnitude of their everyday job and inspires them to care personally about their customers.

Find ways to make your customer service teams mingle personally with your customers. It breaks down the fourth wall that stands between them and the customers and crushes the cognitive biases they might have about their customers.

#4 – Encourage them to do charity work

Inspiration can come from any direction. In the case of honing the empathy skills of your customer service teams, you can take an unlikely inspiration from Dr. Rick Goodman, an American motivational speaker, and author.

Dr. Goodman has a very simple—and somewhat unconventional��idea to create empathy in your employees. In his book, The Solutions Oriented Leader, Dr. Goodman writes:

“Align your company with a cause. Allow your employees to feel like they are adding value to the world; that they—and your company—are part of something bigger, and something good.”

There are many ways you can go about organizing charity work for your employees to take part in. Give them the necessary support to distribute food and clothes to homeless people in the downtown, sponsor your team to run for a 10K marathon to raise funds for the hurricane victims in Costa Rica, and give them the freedom to come up with their philanthropy ideas as part of your company’s CSR activities.

Charity instills a sense of giving and empathy in everyone, and it’s more effective when a team is brought together for the same mission. It’s hard to directly measure the impact social philanthropy has on your employees’ empathy, but there’s no doubt that such collective missions lead them to become more caring about the customers and makes them happier.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Athazagoraphobia (Part 10)

With a loud clang, the gates come down again. All it takes these days is a furious storm. If the wind gusts powerfully enough, the barricades are useless. And if the barricades can’t hold their own against the wind, Azula can’t see them withstanding an army of the claimed. She watches Bujing and Shinu work to erect the gates once more, a futile effort if she must say so. 

Mostly she watches from the doorway or from her bedroom window. She tries to avoid excursions to the outside world, which is easy enough with her leg still in a state of healing. When she does find herself outdoors, that feeling of wrongness takes on a deeper intensity. 

Today is different though. 

Today she wants to be outside. 

She feels remotely useless. 

On top of useless, she feels faint and in turn her feeling of uselessness doubles. She catches sight of some of the claimed shambling up the palace staircase. Their faces and torsos weep gore where skin has rotted away. She hadn’t noticed before, but there is something else; the faintest outline of something. If she looks close enough she can see silvery-blue wisps writhing like worms or candle smoke around the rims of empty eye sockets and along the craters in decaying skin. On some of the possessed, the spectral fingers are longer, more apparent. On a very select few, the silver blue seems to halo their entire bodies like an aura.

“Those weren’t there before.” She says as Ruon takes a seat next to her. 

“Huh?” He asks. 

“Mother fuck!” She hears from below; Bujing has finally made note of the intruders. It crosses her mind that she should be out there helping. “Why aren’t you working on the barricade? You have four well-functioning limbs. What about Xuia, why isn’t she…” 

“Because the gates won’t last no matter what we do. Those two just like to feel like they’re making a difference.” Ruon shrugs. 

Azula turns her attention back to those strange spectral glows. “What are those?”

“Those would be the infected.” He laughs. 

She gives him a little swat. “No, not them. Those wisps in their eyes.” She points at the figure wrapped in it, “It’s all around that one.” 

Ruon cocks his head. “What are you talking about?” 

Azula’s heart sinks. She really should be medicated. “Nevermind.” 

A few incoherent shouts from below draws her attention and she watches the pair scramble up the steps and into the palace. 

“We need to secure the palace.” Ruon notes. “And we need to do it quickly.”

Azula shakes her head. “We need to leave the palace.” She allows no room for protest. “It’s too big to secure. There are too many entryways and not enough personal to keep them from being breeched.”

“There are only two of them.” Ruon notes. 

“For now.” She replies. “What do you think we’ll be able to do if a heard of them find us?” She watches Bujing trip over a large crack in the stairwell, the angle at which his ankle twists is not lost on her. She must be truly and irreparably mad of mind because a smirk tugs at the corner of her lips. The possessed shamble closer. Bujing cries out and Shinu turns around, at last realizing that his partner has fallen. 

Azula takes a breath, she supposes that now is as good a time as any to do a little experimenting. She makes her way to the window and opens it.Leaning against the nearest wall with as little weight on her bad leg as she can manage, she arcs her arms with the grace she hasn’t had in a long while, sparks dance at her fingertips. When lightning is generation to her satisfaction, she releases the energy. 

The trajectory is fatal, she lands her mark. The force of it takes the thing’s head off. Bujing looks up with a mixture of relief and horror. The corpse of the possessed drops and Bujing’s face pales completely. He scrambles back  and away from some unseen horror. Unseen to him anyhow. 

Even from here, she can hear the whispers. At first she almost doesn’t notice it, a bubbling in the blood that pools around the corpse’s neck. A bubbling that she soon realizes is more like a pulsing. Swimming within the crimson is a wormlike tangle of those spectral wisps. 

One of them springs from the mass and misses Bujing by only a few inches. 

Shinu grabs the man and drags him up the stairs and into the palace. With a slam of the heavy double doors, the world is hauntingly quiet again save for the gurgles of the still twitching corpse and the occasional slosh.

She wonders how long these creatures can survive outside of their host. 

.oOo.

Azula isn’t sure why she had expected gratitude from the man. Still it comes as a slap in the face when the man jabs a finger at her and shouts, “that girl is a demon!” 

She crosses her arms and listens to him prattle on. 

“She’s one of them, I’m telling you.” 

“One of them?” Shinu asks. “She saved you!” 

“Takes one to kill one.” He insists. 

“I didn’t kill it. I killed the host body.” Azula clearifies. Though she isn’t entirely sure that the body has died at all. It was still spasming when she’d last looked at it some several hours later. She is almost sure that it is still an incubator for those phantom creatures--some type of nest or temporary home until they can find a new and functioning host. 

“You can’t prove…” Ruon starts.

“I say we send her out there and see how they react to…” 

“That is out of the question, Bujing.” Azula knows that tone. It is the very same finalizing one that Li used to placate her when she was just beginning to learn to firebend. “If you cannot see her as a friend then I suggest that you at least recognize her as a valuable asset.” 

“Or the undoing of us all.” He argues. 

“We are well past the incubation period. She can speak and she move like she used to Her temperment is as it always has been.”  Li counters. “I have closely watched over her since she was a baby, I would be able to tell you if we were speaking with something else.” 

Azula sits back and takes the argument in.Truth be told she does feel strange and out of sorts. But they don’t need to know it, especially if it can be chalked up to simply recovering from such a close call. 

She hears Bujing continue on with his ranting and raving but she isn’t really listening anymore. She waits for him to finish before flatly stating, “keep me or don’t, I don’t really care. I can make it to the Tribes on my own.” Her leg will continue to be a hinder but it is much easier to hide and stay out of trouble without the weight of a group to hold her back. “Just make up your minds so I can begin planning my next move.” 

“You’re staying with us.” Shinu replies as Bujing refutes. 

“The majority wants you to stay.” Xuia smiles. 

Azula nods. “Then you best find a way to keep him quiet.” She folds her hands in her lap. “I like to think myself patient, but I won’t put up with his outbursts much longer.” 

.oOo.

All in all it has been a productive day. Probably the most pleasant she has had since descending deep into madness. In some sense she is beginning to feel more or less like herself again. Her head has been much clearer, the hallucinations quieter. 

She is getting used to getting around on with the crutches. It isn’t ideal and her strides are significantly slower, but she is beginning to feel confident in her ability to retreat from unsavory situations with haste. 

Perhaps they can begin to move out soon. She would like to vacate the palace before the two lurking infected grow into a vicious pack of them. The opening of her door interrupts her solitude. 

“In this palace, we knock before we enter a room.” She chides. “The world might have gone savage but we can at least retain some scraps of civility.”

Ruon Jian rolls his eyes. “Sorry, princess.” She doesn’t like his tone but elects not to comment on it. “I was just thinking that we should change your bandages again. This time I snuck some real ones from the infirmary. We haven’t had to use many yet so it couldn’t hurt.”

Azula pats the mattress, he doesn’t take her invitation right away. Instead he begins tending to her leg. “It doesn’t look as bruised or swollen.” He notes. 

A good sign. 

“We were hoping that you’ll join us downstairs again.” He says as he begins binding her leg up once more. “They want to know the plan.” 

“The plan?” 

“Yeah. You said that you’d start making plans. They want to hear it. The group is getting kind of restless.” 

Luckily for them, they aren’t the only ones. Azula has been jittery enough to make good on her word. “I was actually hoping to leave tomorrow or the day after…”

“But your…”

She holds up a hand. “I can get around just fine.” She pauses. “We need to comb through the palace and pick out supplies. Forget clothing and blankets, we can scavenge clothes when we need them and make bedding out of what’s available. Comfort is second to survival.” She cringes as she admits as much. “My leg won’t be a problem right away. I know a decent passage system that runs beneath the palace.” 

Ruon laughs. “How about you save all of that for when we’re with the rest of the group.”

Azula coughs awkwardly. “Right, yes.” 

“Done.” He declares. 

Azula nods. “Meet me down there, I will be there in a moment.” 

He gives her a thumbs up and she watches him exit the room. She takes a deep breath, it has been so long since she has had any sort of authority. She coughs again, this time it is wholly involuntary.  A nervous dizziness washes over her. She swallows before looking at her sleeve. 

Nothing. 

Nothing at all. 

Just to be sure, she picks up her crutches and  wanders into the adjoining bathroom. She spits into the sink. It is free of blood and black sludge. She tilts her head back in relief and exhales. It would seem that she isn’t rotting away. 

She still feels faintly dizzy, but she more confidently writes it off as the product of nerves.

[lindsaywesker]

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Welcome to the weekend! Looking forward to turning my alarm off and sleeping until whenever!

Jubilee Bank Holiday Weekend probably means a lot of down time for a lot of people … not me! You know what I’m like! If I don’t have work commitments, I am involved in other exciting projects. Thankfully, The Mighty Josiah arrived; always nice to have him buzzing around the house!

Yesterday, I was marking assignments from 6.00 a.m. to 7.00 p.m. Screen capture videos about the music industry; 15-minute videos of PowerPoint presentations with their face in the corner. Generally, very impressive. And that was my Thursday! My mates were out and about, attending day-time raves. Must have been nice?

Today, I am teaching for eight hours. One four-hour and two four-hour lessons. Then, The Trouble and I will quickly dive to a Jubilee party. Finally, a bit socialising! At 7.00 this evening, finally, I will be able to let my hair down (metaphorically!)

Really looking forward to my radio show on Saturday at 1.00 p.m. ‘The A-Z Of Mi-Soul Music’ moves on to The Letter G (Part Six). Next week, I have a special guest in the studio. I’ve invited Carlene Graham in to do a live tribute on The Letter G because, not only do I love her music, but I love her work ethic. I’ve told my students, making the music is the easy part! The promotion and marketing comes next and that is hard work! Carlene is working her socks off and I applaud all her efforts.

I broke up yesterday with playlist-building. On Saturday night, I’m playing at The Bricklayers Arms on Tottenham High Road and the event organiser loves reggae music from down the decades, so I spent some of Thursday putting together a killer reggae selection! Soul, disco, reggae and lover’s rock on a Saturday night in Tottenham? Blimey, it will be like the seventies!

Unsurprisingly, a senior Tory MP has suddenly popped up and said, “Erm, maybe Brexit was a bad idea?” No shit, Sherlock! Why did we leave the European Union? Because some wealthy people heard the EU were going to investigate their offshore bank accounts. Yes, all of this pain, misery and upheaval was all about the rich protecting their riches. Leaving the European Union was the single most stupid thing this country has done in centuries! The first thing that happened was that we made foreign workers feel unwelcome. Christ almighty, foreign workers keep this country running! What happened next? Duh! Doesn’t take a rocket scientist! What happened next? Certain businesses began to struggle and some went under! I assume everyone is familiar with the term ‘U-Turn’? This we should do immediately. We will never be able to stop the rest of Europe laughing at our arrogance and ignorance, but at least we can repair the economy.

On Sunday, I might get a chance to do nothing? Ah, who am I kidding? Just like The Isley Brothers song, I’ve got work to do. And apologies if that’s put an ear worm in your head!

Have a fabulous and funky Friday! I love you all. You’re probably thinking, “You don’t even know me!” but, if people can hate for no reason, why can’t I love?

[theartificialdane]

Galactica, part 245

Christmas is coming closer, and everyone prepares in their own ways for the holiday season!

Thank you @veronicasanders @toriibelledarling and @samrull <3

“Come on! Just taste it!”

“Are you sure it’s good?”

“I promise.”

Ruby looked at Max with doubt in her eyes, the brit smiling brightly, the man unusually enthusiastic. They had been at the animal shelter, Ruby somehow volunteering there now with Max twice a month, the man’s smile and his gentle eyes able to talk her into anything, but with this she wasn’t so sure. They had walked by a bakery near Ruby’s flat, Max stopping dead in his tracks when he noticed a dessert in the front window, a monstrosity that was unlike anything Ruby had ever seen before.

“It’s one of the best dessert britain has to offer.” Ruby raised an eyebrow, the black mass on her plate looking anything but delicious, but Max had insisted that a plum pudding was the best thing in the world.

“Alright, alright. I’ll take a bite.” Ruby took the spoon from her boyfriend, the word still creating a pool of warmth in the pit of her stomach. She bit into the cake, the overwhelming taste of raisins and rum filling her mouth, and Ruby wanted to spit it out, but in that moment she looked at Max, his eyes bright like a kid on christmas morning, and she realised that she never wanted to do anything that could ever disappoint him. She swallowed, the cake making it’s way down her throat.

“It’s delicious.”

“You really think so?”

“Absolutely.”

***

The meeting with Aja’s old housemate and proposed drummer, Nina Brown, had gotten off to a very weird start. First of all, the bitch had come in wearing cat ears and a tail like some kind of furry meets Josie and the Pussycats fucking

“Don’t worry about it,” Aja had murmured to Adore, “She’s a little…off, but she’s good drummer and super creative.”

And then when Adore was explaining her vision for the band - a group of free spirited, supportive musicians, gay women who all wrote music and gave creative input, all got their chance in the spotlight regardless of their role in the group, Nina cut her off.

“I don’t write music. So, I guess this isn’t the band for me. Sorry to waste your time.” She abruptly got up from the table and began to walk away.

Aja grabbed her arm and yanked her back. “Nina! Breathe for a second, god. Why don’t you show her some of your art?”

Nina rolled her eyes, sighing. “Fine, but I don’t really see what that has to do with–”

“Please?”

“I’d really like to see it,” Adore added. “Aja was raving about how talented you are.”

Nina pulled out a thick sketchbook and opened it. Intricate, detailed line drawings filled the pages, covered with swirling text. Adore read some of the text. The read like poetry. Or…lyrics? “Are these words original? Or are you quoting from something?”

“Original. Just…you know…a bunch of random nonsense…” Nina sighed, head propped up on her hands.

“Dude…” Adore read some of the words. It was free verse, a little disconnected, but there was so much there. “Nina, this is amazing. We can DEFINITELY use this as inspiration for song lyrics. I mean, if you’re cool with it.”

Nina raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Totally.”

“Huh. Yeah, I mean…sure. You haven’t heard me play yet.”

“True. Wanna jam? I assume you got the songs that Aja sent you?”

“Yup.”

Adore smiled. “Alright them. Let’s play for awhile and see how we all feel. Sound good?”

Nina nodded. “I won’t feel bad if you hate me. Don’t worry.”

“I already love you, but let’s just make sure you can keep count,” Adore laughed, slinging an arm around her.

Aja poked Nina in the side. “What did I tell you, Neens? It’s gonna be impossible to keep that stormcloud over your head with this little precious muffin around. She’s too fucking cute.”

“I can see that,” Nina agreed, picking up her drumsticks. “Seems exhausting.”

“So Nina will be in charge of team spirit,” Aja explained.

Adore giggled, slinging her guitar strap over her shoulder. “Hey, as long as she can play, and keeps writing that fucking sickening poetry, I don’t give a fuck about team spirit. You do you, girl.”

Nina finally cracked a genuine smile. “Thank you.”

“How about we try ‘I Can’t Love You’?”

“Copy,” Nina said, counting them in, “5, 6, 7, 8…”

***

“That’s the last of it!” Pearl smiled as she carried the final shipment of boxes into Trixie’s office. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of this years ago.”

Two nights ago, Pearl and Trixie had been home alone, when they had both realised over their fifth beer that online shopping was the answear to all of their christmas prayers.

“Did you remember my doughnuts and triple venti?”

“For the last time, I’m not your assistant dude.”

“You know I don’t have one.” Trixie sat down on the floor, Ivan happily playing with Trixie’s keys, the heavy metal more interesting to him than any of the ergonomically correct properly designed baby toys his mom had bought for him. “I’m the cool boss, I don’t need an assistant to fetch me coffee.”

“You keep telling yourself that dude.” Pearl smiled and sat down on the floor as well. “So, do you want to be on wrapping duty or not? Because I’d just like to remind you that I-”

“Not that box!” Trixie practically jumped up, the man snatching the box Pearl was holding from her hands, the brown cardboard not betraying anything.

“What the fuck?”

“Just, not this one okay, I’ll do the unpacking and the wrappi-”

“Nu uh!” Pearl sat up on her knees, reaching for the box, but Trixie was fast and fell on his back, keeping it out of Pearl’s grasp. “Come on! Let me see, who is it for anyone!”

“None of your business!” Trixie tried to worm away, but Pearl grabbed his pants, the woman jumping him, the two adults fighting each other on the floor, Pearl shrieking with laughter as they fought.

“Pearl! Come on- It’s private!”

“You’re my best friend! Nothing is private!” Pearl finally won, Trixie’s months of maternity leave not helping his fitness at all, Pearl yelled triumphantly as she tore the box from Trixie’s hands, and then, the unthinkable happened, the packaging broke, and a huge, purple silicone dildo floated through the air followed by a sea of packing peanuts, it flew across the room, the thing like a missile, straight for baby Ivan’s face, the dildo hitting him, and both Trixie and Pearl froze as Ivan started crying, his cheek bright red after the smack from his mother’s christmas dildo. Pearl looked down at Trixie, horror painted on her face.

“I’ll pay for his therapy. I promise.”

***

Fame heard the door to her office click, her brows wrinkling in annoyance. She was on the phone, overlooking the streets of Manhattan through her window as she talked, so she held up a to indicate she was busy.

“Yes, yes. No, yes. Yes we can discuss it next week. Goodbye.” Fame hang up and turned around in her chair ready to tear into whoever had wandered into her office unannounced “Roxy, I have told you several tim- Patrick?” Fame looked at her husband, the man standing in the doorway, a smile playing on his lips.

“Hello my love.”

“What are you doing here?” Even though they worked in the same building, Fame and Patrick rarely saw each other on workdays, both of them busy running their respective companies.

“Can’t a man come see his wife?”

Fame felt herself flush, her pale scandinavian skin betraying her as she could see the smile bloom on Patrick’s lips. Sometimes it felt like they were newlywed once again, any mentions of their marriage making warm delight curl in Fame’s belly, a childish feeling that only belonged to teenage girls and blushing maids, but Fame couldn’t deny that it was nice.

“And why has my husband come to see his wife?”

“Maybe he was hoping she had a little bit of extra time, and maybe, your husband saw his wife leave the house this morning, and remembered how luck he was.” Fame saw reach behind himself, a single flick of his wrist clicking the lock on her door, and when Fame looked up, there was a predatory smile on Patrick’s lips, once she hadn’t see in months, and it was directed directly at her. Fame lifted her foot and pushed against her desk, her chair rolling up against the window, leaving her vulnerable, but she had never felt more secure.

“I’m yours.”

***

“This is boring!” Raven sighed.

“We’re almost done.” Violet smiled and laid a gentle hand on Raven’s arm. They were in Raven and Raja’s kitchen, the livingroom filled with noise as a carpenter had come to redo the entire floor. Violet didn’t personally think it was necessary, but who was she to judge what Raven wanted to spend her fiancée’s money on. “We only need to find a seat for Fame’s mother in law.” Violet looked down at the gigantic seating chart in front of them, small pins in gold, silver and white representing if the name attached was Raja or Raven’s or common guests for the pair, along with red for industry people they had to invite, even if Raven complained loudly about it.

“What about here? I’m sure she’ll do fine with Nina Garcia.”

“No way.” Raven grabbed the white pin, only just saving it from a table almost entirely made out of red. “She’s not going anywhere near that cunt.” Raven pressed Patrick’s mom down, safely securing her at a table of bankers. “There. She’ll be happy with all the attention, and I won’t have to speak to either of them all night. No one is going to ruin my special day.”

Violet couldn’t help but smile, Raven as always looking out for herself first. “Of course.”

[fae-fucker]

The One: Chapter 26-27

Chapter 26

America mopes around at home. Just a couple of things to note:

I didn’t even want [Lucy] serving me, and it seemed she was mostly fine with helping Mom however she could or playing with May.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but there’s something icky about the fact that America accepted people serving her so easily. She’s supposedly someone who’s super poor, I feel like she’d be more squicked out by the idea of having servants, since that’s a rich people thing. Especially considering that Lucy admitted that they’re basically slaves. WHICH YEAH, WHY DID I SUDDENLY FORGET ABOUT THAT. Probably because the book did, but WHAT THE FUCK.

But I guess since America harbors no ill will toward the upper class, because they’re actually all good and precious and can’t help that they’re creating this caste system, she probably thinks that servants are totally cool. Maybe she’s such a NATURAL LEADER that it’s in her nature to have people wiggle around like worms at her feet.

Anyway, because KCass is a hack and TWU WUV can only happen once, we find out that America suddenly thinks that her thing with Aspen wasn’t real love, unlike what she has with Maxon. Which I call bullshit, because she describes her “love” for both exactly the same way. But I guess when your TWU WUV shows up, you realize that all those other times you’ve been in love was actually fake and worthless and terrible. (Sideyes SJM, too.)

You know what pisses me off though? We’ve spent three books with America as she tried to figure out which boy’s dick she wants to sit on the most, only to find out that one of the dicks wasn’t even a real seat in the first place. 

Like, we all knew that Maxon was going to win from the first time we read the blurb, but the fact that Aspen didn’t even mean shit to America herself (not as much as Maxon apparently does anyway) at all makes this whole thing feel even cheaper.

Anyway, America talks to her older sister about the fact that she can’t admit to Aspen that she doesn’t love him anymore, despite also never having loved him for realzies in the first place. Why?

“What if Maxon picks someone else? I can’t walk away from this with nothing. At least if Aspen still thinks there’s a chance, maybe we could try again when everything’s over.”

She stared at me. “You’re using Aspen as a safety net?”

I buried my head in my hands. “I know, I know. It’s awful, isn’t it?”

THIS IS SOMETHING THAT’S A LEGIT CHARACTER FLAW THAT SHOULD BE BROUGHT UP AND EXAMINED AND RESOLVED. NOT SOMETHING YOU THROW IN ALL WILLY-NILLY AT THE END OF THE BOOK. 

HOLY SHIT, KCASS, WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?!

This isn’t anything new, we all know America is a selfish twat, but still. What the actual fuck?

Whatever. The chapter ends with Aspen trying to talk to America about something (the fact that he’s in love with Lucy I bet), but because KCass doesn’t know the concept of having mercy, America nonsensically shuts him up and tells him to fuck off before he can spit out the truth.

Chapter 27

America returns to the castle and all the other Selection girls have a surprise party because Maxon is announcing his engagement tomorrow!

The room exploded with cheers, and I was so confused. Emmica, Ashley, Bariel . . . everyone was here. I hunted, but I knew it was pointless. Marlee wouldn’t be invited to this. 

“This celebration that isn’t meant for me is POINTLESS because my personal dick-sucker isn’t here!” Cry me a fucking river, you selfish little bitch.

Apparently Celeste and Elise were kicked out and only she and Kriss are left. If Maxon really wanted to show America that he’s chosen her, picking her only real rival to stay as the last girl is ... suspicious. Why didn’t he just kick her out too? Oh right, because KCass can’t fucking live without idiotic last-minute drama, so Kriss has to stay for when Maxon and America inevitably break up again so he can pretend he’ll marry her for “tension”. 

SJM (claims that she) lets her characters control the plot and steer it to nonsensical levels of idiocy, KCass forces her characters to do shit that makes no damn sense for the sake of the plot. 

Both exremes are bad, children.

America confronts Kriss about being a rebel (because she’s wearing a dumb star necklace around her neck like an idiot) and acts weirdly pissed about it?

“I haven’t done anything illegal. I’m not mounting protests anywhere; I just support the cause.”

“Fine,” I spat. “But how much of your part in the Selection is you wanting Maxon and how much is your group wanting one of their own on the throne?”

Why the fuck is America being an uppety bitch about this? Her dad, whom she supposedly loves so much, was a rebel. Why the fuck is she suddenly so anti-rebellion? I know she loves to suck rich dick but what the fuck?

Oh wait, is she worried that poor Maxi Pad will be UUUUUSED for POLITICAL REASONS and not marry for TWU WUV. Poor Maxi-Waxy!!! Spare him from this horrible fate!!! 

KCass, what’s wrong with you?

I wanted to tell her that Maxon and I could do great things, too, that we’d probably already done more than she could guess.

Oh, really? Tell me one thing. ONE THING, BITCH, CAN YOU DO IT?!

Besides, she and I had a lot in common. I came here for my family; she came here for a family of sorts.

You came here for your family? Lmao what? Don’t give me that bullshit, America. You were always motivated by men. You came because Aspen rejected you, and any time Maxon rejected you, you wanted to leave.

KCass, don’t try to pull this. I know you didn’t expect someone who can actually think about what they’re reading to read your schlock, but this retroactive motivation patch won’t fool me. 

Should I keep my mouth shut? Should I at least let someone know? Was this even a bad thing?

Well, Kriss is a rebel sympathizer and remember how you refused to sentence one to prison even though he was already sentenced? Or do you not care if it’s a woman and she’s a rival competing for your maaan?

Fuck off.

Kriss also says that she won’t “back down” even if America tries to sell her out or blackmail her, but she’s like ... in no position to make such statements. We know how the rebels are punished. America could tell the king and have Kriss arrested and she’d become the princess because there would be no one left. I’m not saying America would do such a thing (but she obviously considers it), because that would require being proactive and ambitious and we’ve already established that America’s greatest strength is her being a passive doormat, but I’m saying that Kriss is overestimating her power here. 

If there was something real between Maxon and Kriss, any attempt to expose her would look like a desperate last effort to win. And even if that worked, that wasn’t how I wanted to get Maxon.

I wanted him to know I loved him.

It’s all about Maxon. Everything revolves around Maxon. 

Speaking of which, America leaves the party to mope and Maxon comes into her room to suck her dick some more.

“I’m glad I at least got to meet [her dad]. I can see bits of him in you, you know.”

[...]

“Your sense of humor, for one. And your tenacity. When he and I spoke during his visit, he grilled me. It was nerve-racking, but kind of funny at the same time. You’ve never just let me off the hook either.

“Of course, you have his eyes and I think his nose, too. And I can see your optimism beaming out sometimes. He gave me that impression as well.”

Sense of humor?? What sense of humor?? What tenacity?? Optimism?? 

Sense of humor: Where???

Tenacity: *anything goes slightly wrong* OH NO I’VE FAILED BETTER GIVE UP.

Optimism: *boy does something slightly mysterious* OH NO HE DOESN’T LOVE ME ANYMORE!! EVERYTHINS IS RUINED!!

Sure. Uh huh. KCass is just pulling these traits out of her ass at this point.

Anyway, Maxon apparently has bought her family a house. So that’s ... great.

He did this so they could live closer! But??? Why???? What does it all mean!!!! America is still as dumb as ever, I see.

They start making out but because they’re GOOD GOOD CHRISTIAN CHILDREN, we don’t get any dick-in-vag action. 

I was going crazy, wanting so much more of him, aching to know if he’d let me have it.

FEED HER THE LITTLE PRINCE, MAXON. SHE NEEDS IT INSIDE HER.

He doesn’t. Instead, they finally exchange I love yous and:

I wanted to stay up all night with him, to explore this new feeling we’d discovered.

“New”? NEW? BAROLD, ROLL THE CLIP!!

Before long we were tangled together on the dirty, thin rug. Aspen pulled me on top of him, and I brushed his scraggly hair with my fingers, hypnotized by the feel. He kissed me feverishly and hard. I felt his fingers dig into my waist, my back, my hips, my thighs. I was always surprised that he didn’t leave little finger-shaped bruises all over me.

We were cautious, always stopping shy of the things we really wanted. [The Selection, Chapter2]

BUT I GUESS IT WASN’T REAL HORNINESS WHEN YOU WERE WITH ASPEN, RIGHT?! IT WAS ALL JUST A LIE!! ANYTHING THAT HAPPENED WITH ASPEN WAS IN THE MATRIX, THIS IS ALL IN THE REAL WORLD AND YOU AND MAXON ARE CURRENTLY MAKING OUT IN ZION WHILE THERE’S A HUGE RAVE OUTISIDE!!

There’s some noise outside (the rave probably) and Maxon freaks out and tells America that he can’t fuck her right now, because he’s so stressed out.

“Don’t be sad. I want to take you on a proper honeymoon. Someplace warm and private. No duties, no cameras, no guards.” He wrapped his arms around me. “It will be so much better that way. And I can really spoil you.”

[...]

“You can’t spoil me, Maxon. I don’t want anything.”

[...]

“Oh, I know. I don’t intend on giving you things. Well,” he amended, “I do intend on giving you things, but that’s not what I mean. I’m going to love you more than any man has ever loved a woman, more than you ever dreamed you could be loved. I promise you that.”

“I’m gonna dive in your cooch for so long I’ll develop gills, babe.”

I sighed, promising myself that we’d talk about Aspen tomorrow. It would need to happen before the ceremony, and I felt sure I knew how to explain things in the best way. For now, I would enjoy this tiny bubble of peace and rest securely in the arms of the man I loved.

Good fucking night.

[vocalpmh]

where soil lies, a new beginning blooms

note: a little something i wrote inspired by the one and only @vonseal​‘s magic users series on ao3, in particular witchcraft (my all-time favourite myungjin fic to date, bless her). the feels were all too real on a particular night and when i saw this joke on my tumblr dash, i was hit with all of the inspiration (though very regretfully, i should have not laughed as hard as i did when i read it) and managed to write this piece of fluff :’))

The sun filters through the bakery as Myungjun opens the door with Minhyuk in tow. It glistens over the countertop and dabbles across the display of model bread Myungjun insisted on making at the very opening of the establishment.

“Hyung, quit admiring your cardboard bread, did you bring that new flour you were raving about?”

Myungjun stops staring at the baguette and glances at his hands, he looks back at his dubious colleague and roommate, then back at his very, empty hands.

“I’ll be two seconds Minhyukkie, don’t miss me too much!” Myungjun’s voice trails off as he opens the door in such a hurry that a mass of brown leaves fly into the bakery and Minhyuk lets out a loud grumble.

Myungjun spots Minhyuk angrily sweeping away the leaves through his peripheral and smiles to himself before strolling in the direction of their quaint apartment.

‘I wonder if Jinwoo’s awake,’ Myungjun is already grinning at the sight of his boyfriend sprawled on their bed and his cute butt in those pyjamas he got him last Christmas.

Before he can imagine Jinwoo in those black jeans that also really do his butt justice, he’s already arrived at the apartment level and just as the elevator halts and the metal doors slide open, a trail of something earthy leads him to the door at the very end of the hallway.

Myungjun glances at the floor and back at the door, that looks very much like his home, and back at the floor.

Who on earth would break into his apartment and leave a dirt trace behind them?

It was up to Myungjun to find out.

“Come out wherever you are, I’ll get my boyfriend with his killer biceps to kick you and your soily whatever-the-hell out of my hou-“

Myungjun’s eyes are closed as he yells out his threat but something, that smells very much like his boyfriend’s cologne wafts into the air.

He opens one eye discreetly and something brown, crumbly and Jinwoo-shaped is standing in front of him.

“What on earth happened in the thirty minutes that I left the house, Park Jinwoo?”

Jinwoo has the audacity to give Myungjun a gummy smile as he scratches his neck sheepishly and a clump of soil falls out of his hair.

“I woke up just as you left, and I wanted to do something, you know helpful since you and Minhyuk have been really busy at the bakery lately, and I just thought that, your plants looked like…they needed more soil?” Jinwoo pants slightly after his speech and Myungjun doesn’t have the heart to scold his sweet boyfriend.

However, he does have the heart to shake his boyfriend violently by the shoulders and watch as all of the dirt crumbles away to reveal a dirt-smeared (a huge understatement) Park Jinwoo with a pained expression painting his handsome face.

“Was that necessary?” Jinwoo rubs his shoulders with a pout on his face but Myungjun misses it as he’s too busy staring at the effects of the tornado (aka Park Jinwoo and nature) that struck his apartment and left a muddy trail in its wake.

“What do I tell Minhyuk when I rock up to the bakery around two hours late, with flour that does not resemble flour anymore in my hands?” Myungjun sweeps all of the soil that somehow found itself in the kitchen into the bin and Jinwoo shoots him a cheeky grin as he brushes dirt onto the balcony, where Myungjun’s supposed sunflowers stood, the line between large chocolate cake pops and yellow flowers blurring severely.

“Tell him that I was trying to be helpful?” Jinwoo resorts to murmuring a spell that sends all of the dirt that had seeped into Myungjun’s upholstery onto the balcony and Myungjun forgets that manual labour isn’t necessary with a witch for a boyfriend.

“Jinwoo can you also magic it up in here, my arms are tired from sieving the flour,” Myungjun whines as his arms fall slack next to him, a bowl of flour speckled with brown in front of him.

“Sorry babe, just wait a minute,”

Myungjun would’ve thought that Jinwoo was flipping the bird at him if he didn’t know his boyfriend had to perform gestures whilst almost rapping a spell.

Fragments of soil and a rogue worm levitate in the air before flying out of the room and onto the balcony and Myungjun can only wince as his sunflowers get violently pelted with dirt.

“When I said magic it up, I didn’t mean move the mess to the balcony,” Myungjun sighs and even though Jinwoo’s mouth says ‘sorry,’ his eyes glint with something else.

“Park Jinwoo what are you-,”

Jinwoo picks up the clump of dirt that fell out of his hair unceremoniously before from the floor and brushes the dirt off it to uncover a box.

Myungjun doesn’t need to be a mind-reader to know what’s going to happen next.

“Kim Myungjun, I know I have no affinity with flowers yet I think I’ll be able to care for you for a long, long time. Will you marry me?”

Jinwoo slowly kneels down on one knee and opens the box to reveal a small silver ring with a glittering diamond in the middle, set in a gold tulip head.

“Oh my lucky roses, yes of course-” Myungjun flings his arms around Jinwoo’s shoulders before he can even finish his sentence and before Jinwoo can even slip the ring onto his finger, he starts wails loudly into Jinwoo’s shoulder. His tears mix in with the dirt in brown smears on his boyf- fiancé’s orange jacket and he can’t tell if it’s a dirt particle in his eye or his tears.

“Baby don’t cry, I haven’t even put it on your finger yet,” Jinwoo rubs small circles onto his distraught fiancé’s back and Myungjun sniffles loudly as he watched Jinwoo slips the ring onto his (albeit a little grubby) left hand.

“I love you so so so so so much Park Jinwoo and I would raise a whole army of pets and plants to protect you from any sort of harm-,” Myungjun blubbers again as he stares at his fourth finger with teary eyes before diving onto Jinwoo and wrapping his arms around the younger’s torso.

“I feel like I’m receiving more physical assault than affection here Myungjun,” Myungjun can feel Jinwoo smiling as they both land on the floor and a puff of brown dust suspends in the air around them.

Myungjun attempts to glower at the grinning man underneath him but his emotions get the better of him and he smiles instead.

“Physical assault and my method of expressing affection are synonymous Park Jinwoo, didn’t you realise already?” Myungjun takes the opportunity to reach his hand behind Jinwoo and give his (blessed) butt cheek a cheeky squeeze and Jinwoo yelps.

“I can’t believe you, what a lewd man I’m marrying,” Jinwoo remarks and gives the older a cheeky squeeze back, but he earns a sly smile instead. Myungjun would’ve attempted to grope Jinwoo’s other butt cheek if his back wasn’t aching like an old, wizened man’s and just presses a peck onto Jinwoo’s pink, moist lips.

Jinwoo smiles into the kiss but before anything more happens, the door swings open, revealing a wide-mouthed Park Minhyuk but the wide mouth slowly closes and the young adult’s face morphs into something neutral and deadpan (both of which Myungjun and Jinwoo are more comfortable with, rather than an expressive Minhyuk).

“Why am I not even the slightest bit surprised,” Minhyuk murmurs under his breath as he scans the wreck that he can barely recognise as his home. His eyes lock onto the two men, still on the floor and post-almost-make-out and zeroes in on the silver glinting on Myungjun’s hand.

“Was about time, Jinwoo hyung, you’re slower than I expected,” Jinwoo silently accepts the insult and Myungjun pats the ground next to him.

“Come here, my friend Minhyuk Park,”

“Why are you trying to speak Engl-,” Myungjun grabs a hold of Minhyuk’s arm and yanks him down, earning a groan and a loud thud of presumably Minhyuk’s butt hitting the floor.

“Best man? Please Minhyuk Pa-,” Myungjun slowly enunciates, making sure to emphasise every syllable.

“If you try to speak English one more time, I will actually crash your wedding,” Minhyuk interjects and crosses his arms, refusing to face his newly-engaged friends.

“You’re not really a wedding-crasher if you’re invited to the wedding Minhyuk,” Jinwoo points out and Myungjun smiles smugly at his best friend whose eyebrows slowly scrunch up in defeat.

“Okay fine, just promise me there’s no English speaking and Myungjun hyung is not trying to be hip and I won’t have to leave the country when you guys say your vows,” Minhyuk retorts and Myungjun squeezes the younger’s arm.

“I knew the English would get you squirming,” Myungjun announces triumphantly (in Korean) and Jinwoo snorts.

“When Jinwoo hyung speaks, and by all means are you guys basically on the same level, but he just sounds way better,” Minhyuk flicks off the dust from his shoulders nonchalantly and Jinwoo can’t help but snort again when Myungjun chucks his snarky best friend the stink eye.

But Minhyuk allows himself to smile just the slightest and turns around finally to face his roommates (amongst other things).

“I’m happy for you guys, I really am,”

It’s short but incredibly sincere and very Minhyuk-like, which is all Myungjun could ever wish for. The first person he would’ve told (had someone not opened the door to see him in tears and in a compromising position with his partner) was Minhyuk. He was his roommate, colleague and the only brother, let alone family he could really call his own. That sentence is all it takes for Myungjun’s eyes to prick with tears again and he thanks Minhyuk with an attempt of a hug (note, the three men are still very much on the floor) and he cries into Minhyuk’s shoulder this time, with Jinwoo patting his back soothingly.

If Myungjun didn’t know any better, he’d think this was such a romantic scene, fit for a Nicholas Sparks work of literature. But alas, three grown men, one bawling, one smiling until his mouth could literally fall off and one looking positively deadpan, lying on soil-littered floorboards is far from romantic but for Myungjun, it’s all he could have ever dreamed of.

[topworldhistory]

Patriots forced onto horrific British prison ships were presented with two options: turn traitor or die.

The British prison ships that dotted the Eastern seaboard during American Revolution have been gone for more than two centuries. But the horrors they left in their wake are unlikely to be forgotten: starvation, disease, cruelty and a death toll that may have exceeded 11,000 men and boys—far more than died fighting on land.

While that story is all too familiar to students of the war, there is also another, lesser-known one—the surprising heroism of the ragtag American captives.

Washington, a three-night miniseries event, premieres Feb 16 at 8/7c on HISTORY. Watch a preview now.

Barely three months after the American colonists had declared their independence, the British positioned their first prison ship, the Whitby, in a bay off Brooklyn. They’d soon add prison ships in Charleston, Savannah, Norfolk, off the coast of Florida and in Canada.

Brooklyn and New York City, which British forces occupied, became the most active hub, with a small fleet of ships and several thousand prisoners at any given time. Most of the existing survivor accounts come from men who were held aboard those ships, particularly the HMS Jersey, which would become the most notorious of them all.

READ MORE: The HMS Jersey

The HMS Jersey, a 60 gun Royal Navy ship of the line used by the British as a prison ship during the American Revolution.

The prisoners were a mix of soldiers, sailors and rebellious civilians. Many were crew members from privateers—privately owned ships authorized by the Continental Congress, which had little navy of its own, to harass and seize British vessels. To crew the privateers, their captains often relied on young men and teenagers from New England and elsewhere in the colonies. They typically had little sailing experience but were eager for more excitement than they’d find behind a plow.

When the British captured a privateer, members of its crew were frequently offered a choice: Sign on with a British vessel or take your chances on a prison ship. 

Most of the young Americans knew what imprisonment would mean. Colonial newspapers had reported on the horrific conditions and brutal treatment aboard the prison ships from the beginning, historian Edwin G. Burrows writes in his 2008 book, Forgotten Patriots. Even so, the great majority of the captured sailors who had any choice in the matter took prison over serving the British. The historian Jesse Lemisch estimated that only about 8 percent of the Americans went over to the other side, although some researchers put the number slightly higher.

Once aboard the prison ships, the recruiting efforts continued. Some prisoners were offered cash, others told that their families would starve in the streets. The horrors of the prison ships also served as a recruiting tool, making any alternative—even betraying one’s country—seem attractive by comparison. Ebenezer Fox, a prisoner on the Jersey, marveled that, “Many were actually starved to death in hope of making them enroll themselves in the British Army.”

READ MORE: Congress authorizes privateers to attack British vessels

A floating receptacle of human misery

The prison ship Jersey in the Atlantic Ocean.

Just how bad were the conditions on these ships? The survivors’ first-person accounts more than speak for themselves.

“I now found myself in a loathsome prison, among a collection of the most wretched and disgusting looking objects that I ever beheld in human form,” wrote Fox, who’d been captured as a teenage cabin steward aboard a privateer. “Here was a motley crew, covered with rags and filth; visages pallid with disease, emaciated with hunger and anxiety, and retaining hardly a trace of their original appearance.”

“I soon found that every spark of humanity had fled the breasts of the British officers who had charge of that floating receptacle of human misery; and that nothing but abuse and insult was to be expected,” wrote Alexander Coffin Jr., who, as an 18-year-old sailor, was imprisoned on the Jersey. “But to cap the climax of infamy we were fed (if fed it might be called) with provisions not fit for any human being to make use of—putrid beef and pork, and worm-eaten bread...”

“There were continual noises during the night,” wrote Thomas Dring, a captured master’s mate from a privateer, age 25. “The groans of the sick and the dying; the curses poured out by the weary and exhausted upon our inhuman keepers; the restlessness caused by the suffocating heat and the confined and poisoned air; mingled with the wild and incoherent ravings of delirium.”

Under such conditions, disease flourished. “Small-pox, dysentery, yellow fever and other contagions ran rampant in the crowded holds,” notes Robert P. Watson in The Ghost Ship of Brooklyn, his 2017 book about the Jersey. Although the British stationed hospital ships nearby, they were poorly supplied and soon overwhelmed with patients. As a result, many of the sick were left aboard the prison ships, where they infected others. By one estimate, at least six prisoners died every day, and sometimes twice that number.

Many of the dead were buried on the nearby beaches, in graves so shallow that their corpses soon poked up through the sand. Prisoners aboard ship could see the bones of their former comrades bleaching in the sun, and skulls and other remnants would turn up for many years thereafter.

George Washington, the commander of the Continental Army, wrote multiple letters to his British adversaries, urging better treatment for the prisoners. In one he questioned why they should be held aboard ships at all and “by crouding them together in a few [ships], bring on Disorders which consign them by half Dozens a Day to the grave.” But even his protests were to little avail.

READ MORE: Continental Congress authorizes first naval force

‘They preferred to linger and die’

 Interior of the Jersey prison ship during the Revolutionary War.

Although the American prisoners greatly outnumbered their guards, there were few reports of attempted rebellions aboard the prison ships, perhaps because most prisoners couldn’t have summoned the strength. Some attempted escape, even though the British promised to kill them on the spot if they were caught.

Among those who succeeded was Christopher Hawkins, age 17, who, with the help of a compatriot, managed to smash open a gun port in the side of the Jersey, taking advantage of a thunderstorm that kept the guards from hearing the noise. He then swam the several miles to shore and arrived on land naked except for his hat.

Others remained behind, knowing that, unless the war ended soon, they had only two options: turn traitor or, in all likelihood, never leave the ship alive.

Even so, they resisted. Dring wrote of one unsuccessful recruiting attempt, involving a British regiment stationed in Brooklyn: “We were invited to join this Royal Band, and to partake of his Majesty’s pardon and bounty. But the prisoners, in the midst of their unbounded suffering, of their dreadful privation and consuming anguish, spurned the insulting offer. They preferred to linger and to die, rather than desert their country’s cause.”

He added, “During the whole period of my confinement, I never knew a single instance of enlistment from among the prisoners of the Jersey.”

Coffin offered a similar account. “Notwithstanding the savage treatment they received, and death staring them in the face,” he wrote in a letter, “…I never knew, while I was on board, but one instance of defection, and that person was hooted at and abused by the prisoners till the boat was out of hearing.”

READ MORE: Last British soldiers leave New York

Patriotism ‘seldom equaled and never excelled’

In one of the most conspicuous displays of patriotism, some of the prisoners aboard the Jersey staged a July 4th celebration in 1782, complete with songs and little American flags. By now the war was going in the new nation’s favor and much of the British Army had surrendered.

But the guards were not in a party mood. Using their bayonets, they forced the prisoners below decks and locked the hatches. When the singing continued, the guards flung open the hatches and “with lanterns in one hand and cutlasses in the other… cut and wounded all within their reach,” wrote George Taylor, author of an early history of prison ships, Martyrs to the Revolution (1855). “Then, to gratify their hellish feelings, they closed the hatches and left the wounded and dying, in darkness, without the least means of dressing their wounds or stopping the flow of blood.”

In the morning, Taylor wrote, 10 “mangled and lifeless bodies” were hauled up onto the deck for disposal.

Those would not be the last men to die aboard the Jersey. But the dark days of the prison ships were coming to an end. In April 1783, the remaining prisoners in New York were released. The Jersey was abandoned and left to rot away.

The men and boys of the prison ships are not as well remembered as most of the war’s other heroes. Many of their names are not known at all. But the few who survived testified to their sacrifice. As Coffin put it in an 1807 letter, “The patriotism in preferring such treatment, and even death in its most frightful shapes, to the serving [of] the British, and fighting against their own country, has seldom been equalled, certainly never excelled.”

from Stories - HISTORY https://ift.tt/38YAl2q January 31, 2020 at 10:07PM

[dwestfieldblog]

IT SEEMS TO BE NOW OR FOREVER/ A NEW DISORDER OF THE AGES

(Or is it only ancient and unjustified?) Hail Eris...I escaped England on the day Boris Johnson became the newest puppet of masters, vested interests, donors and manipulators. The evil of of two lessers. 23rd of July, Sirius day (The sun behind the sun). British people prefer characters these days more than actual character. Put it down to the Reality TV facebook twitter lifestyle. A loveable eccentric eh? Blonde and bumbling, good for a laugh huh? Despite the fact that he is a serial barefaced liar, was a very dubious lord mayor of London with highly expensive/ridiculous ideas and utter bollocks at being Foreign Secretary. Boris wrote in 1999 'I am a raving Euro federalist...a pro European of the most violent, dyspeptic and incurable disposition'. (That was until he saw 52 percent of Brits wanted to leave the EU and thought AHA! I smell a way to power.) We all forgive a rogue with boyish charm don't we? Let's see how long the United Kingdom survives. On the day I flew back The New York Times front page had a column: 'Is Johnson how Britain will end?' 

Depressing advert seen on the side of of red London bus...'Bucket Life (KFC) delivered'. Buckets of antibiotic pumped peculiar half 'chicken' type chemicals straight to your door. Good to have the empty bucket handy after one has consumed a feast fit for vomiting straight out again. Obesity well on the rise over there, he says, wolfing an entire packet of chocolate waffles with half a litre of cold milk.

Religion/politics...Nice quoted headline from a Taliban spokesman last month: 'We will not bomb schools or hospitals'. How very decent and noble of them after all these years, perhaps there aren't enough left to bother with. Today on the BBC news their spokesman said they 'never targeted civilians'. Well quite a lot seem to have been accidentally blown up by roadside and suicide bombs...Hard to imagine a decent future for the non fanatical people of Afghanistan, especially the females and shameful that the west is withdrawing because 'peace' is so near. Fnord. Perhaps they will get a cut in the opium profits/prophets. 'Mission accomplished'. Really? Saudi Arabia will now allow women to go out without permission or a guardian. In '2019'? Surely they will microchip them under the veil and have them followed by drones. How long did it take the sheiks just to accept female drivers? Nice folk who agreed to release a woman's rights activist only IF she said she hadn't been tortured. Swine.

'Can Christians in the US survive without bibles? The answer is probably not'. Thus spake the Global Times newspaper, run by the allegedly communist party of China. This, in response to hearing of new US tariffs on Chinese goods...guess where their bibles are made? That's right. 'The spiritual world of most American people is based on China's industrial capability'. Fascinating sentence on many levels. Take five seconds and think on the implications of that, if you will...

I watched several Trump debacles on CNN this summer. As usual, the 'fake news/liberal media' (etc etc) doesn't actually need to make any stories up, he provides a limitless supply of verbatim goodies with which to play. And then tries to deny he ever said them by using outright lies and obfustication (exactly the same as Boris's 'dead cat on the table' idea.) The four congresswomen of colour Trump ranted about...the chanting crowd 'Send her back'....'I didn't like that they did that and I started speaking very quickly'....Live TV coverage showed it took him 13 seconds before he spoke over them, while he turned left and right...and just for a second got that look of shiny eyed pride. His sentence that he had been 'down there' with the first responders on Nine Eleven. Surely his supporters (apart from QAnon who is either a moron, brilliant comedian or Kremlin sock puppet) must know he is lying in their faces..perhaps they really don't care. Like Melania's coat.

One of the congresswomen (Born in Somalia and a naturalised citizen) had made a non racist comment that some congressmen appear to have received money from Israeli businesses to promote their interests. Well..seems likely and fair enough, that is how it usually works everywhere. Those with money pay politicians to dance and the dosh is gleefully accepted. Not just Israel. It looks as if Trump seized on this as a useful way of stirring up manure. Criticising the state of Israel and her government is not racist just because they are Jewish. Corruption is corruption, whatever the colour or creed. And a prostitute is a prostitute. How many of Trump's KKK followers and Republican Christian haters of abortion actually support Israel? Take a calm guess on the percentages of probability. How many 'acting' people has he around him now? (One way of keeping them on their toes...) 'Fat tangerine racist with the brains of a McNugget' indeed. Hopefully he will continue to take no unhealthy exercise and maintain his cheeseburger diet.  

And Yet Another mass slaughter by a man/boy with a gun. In protest at the 'Hispanic invasion'. In Texas. That's right Texas, which used to belong to the Mexicans before the old land grab in the name of oil. Trump rambling that bigotry, racism and white supremacy have no place in America. Well apparently they do and are not diminished by your former and continuing outright lack of total condemnation over the last few years. Although they have been strengthened by your petulant little blonde boy Hitler youth type attitudes towards blacks, Moslems, Native Americans and Mexicans. Germophobia because of colour? (unless the showers are golden) Does darker skin seem dirty to you? You approach black sportsmen and musicians with a type of benevolent fascination rather than actual friendship.  

Extinction Rebellion...Hmm..'And yes, some of us may die in the process', as one of the English leaders of the movement said. Unlikely the 52 year old with a PhD meant himself. However, a placard I saw held aloft by a young protester read; 'WHY AM I BEING EDUCATED IF YOU DON'T LISTEN TO THE EDUCATED' was a highly salient point (albeit without a question mark at the end.) Scientists amass careful evidence of global warming and the politicians, being paid regular large sums by oil, gas, precious metal companies etc, ignore long term survival for the sake of all following generations. Leave it for the kids to inherit a wasteland. However, in the XR handbook, it mentions the protests causing the 'necessary material disruption and economic cost'. Costs which will be mostly paid by those on average to minimum incomes...doesn't really square with XR also seeking the 'redistribution of wealth'. Marxist twats masturbating their egos. Personally, I am far more on the side of the rebellious, always have been and will be, just seems a shame XR seem so full of smugness, radical unbalanced vegans and hatred. (and I would like to know exactly where their funding comes from) Not possible to be a quiet, determined but peaceful fanatic. I have always liked Jaz Coleman's old quote that 'Fanaticism is the only way of dealing with a situation of overwhelming odds.' At last reason makes perfect sense! And speaking of those who love Mother Earth...

Who didn't love Putin's wonderful speech to a manufacturing and industrial forum in Yekaterinburg?....Hilarious stand up comedy as he asked 'How many birds are dying?' (By flying into wind farm turbines.) And followed that heartfelt classic up with 'This is no joke, the worms crawl right out of the ground' (due to the shaking...) 'This is the consequence of these modern forms of energy production'. In other words, keep buying oil and gas and sod clean solar and wind power because some worms and birds have a problem with it. How does the universe not laugh him into a Siberian gulag? Trump had said that wind turbines 'are killing all the eagles'. He didn't mention the worms. Don't mention the worms! It is lovely to know Mr Putin cares so much about our feathered and slimy friends. (Good to see Russia welcomed back into the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe after 5 years out in the howling wilderness for its invasion of Crimea. Well, the PCE were running very low on funding and Russia owed them a lot of well needed roubles. These assemblies cost money...and souls for Yog Sothoth)

Many hundreds of protesters have been arrested in Moscow over the last couple of weeks. They had been asking a fair question of where all the opposition parties and leaders had gone for the local elections. And the main opposition leader was moved from prison to hospital (and then back again) due to having had 'an allergic reaction'. Well, poison can do that to a man. Especially when he thwarts the Kremlin in any way. Whoever described Russia as a democracy? Not Solzhenitsyn. 11th August, one week after it told America that it is watching its missile programme VERY closely and will 'match every step with one of our own', Russia tells Google to stop advertising 'illegal demonstrations' or it will take action against it. Lovely news.

Meanwhile in Hong Kong...How long before the veritable Mrs Lam 'invites' the tanks in to help? Good luck with freedom people, be careful. At least Li Pcheng is dead. (one of the minds behind the June 1989 massacre of students in Peking) As one newspaper over here said 'One butcher is gone, others remain.' Detention Centres/'Vocational Schools' have been set up in Tibet where lucky students 10-20 years old can 'learn law (!) language and employable skills' and renounce the Dalai Lama. The latter is non optional. And the former. China has said the camps are 'all expenses paid humane boarding schools'. Humane is not a word for semantic realists to associate with their regime. One more time, Tibet is NOT China in any way whatsoever and certainly not spiritually. A fair number of Huawei workers were educated at and worked with and for China's varied military agencies. Enough to be worrying that Britain has yet to refuse them contracts involved in building the 5G mobile network. Smart phones for foolish people. Are these really the folk to have linked up to a telecommunications network in a democratic country?

Speaking of which...Seems that most folk in Britain have not got the smallest idea how much they have been manipulated. Direct links between Boris, (still in close touch with Steve Bannon) Farage and Trump. The well interwoven threads of populists pandering to the lowest common denominator in the name of self gain. The democracies of the western world are being turned against themselves in the name of foul hearted demagogues. Lack of balanced education has made a deep mass unawareness of actual facts. Human emotions are being weaponised to make choices based on wrong information.  It has always been so but it is far easier now due to false twitter accounts/facebook et al. Trump's entire vision is based exactly on genuine false news and what he and the other similar familiars are promoting is a virus of illusion and outright lies.  

Psyops..(psychological operations) have been used for centuries. There is much wrong with the EU, but they are way closer to us (Britain) in spirit and democratic culture than Russia and China. Those voting for more control of borders will eventually be gifted with less and less freedom but at least it will have been their democratic choice. Arf. The majority of Britons believe they are making patriotic choices. They are not. They are assisting in the break up and destabilising of friendships based on level headed, pragmatical agreements. And into this weakness will move those whose only interest is mass control. We are serving our enemies.

But that said, it is good to be aware that 'Opinions result from perceptions and perceptions reinforce opinions which then further control perceptions, in a repeating loop that logic can never penetrate.' Stasis and decay result unless a little shock of the new is introduced one way or the other to 'startle the brain enough to re-frame its experiences'. So there you have it. Or as Buddha said, 'We are the result of everything we have thought.' Makes you think, doesn't it? Ha. How do you know you are thinking? So...You knew that would happen but you did it anyway...

Back to normality....

While in London, I played with my band and after we had played a fast song called Natural Chaos, (a classic) the bass player told me I had shape shifted and looked like a reptile. No drugs involved. Very disturbing to be told this as I have various theories about those who look reptilian. Oh well, perhaps cold rage and evil are still within. Shame. I spent three and a half hours one afternoon freeing a bumble bee from a large black spider's web in the garden. Got it out, gave it a couple of flowers to suck from and get energy, some rain drops of water to help clean itself, tiny tiny bits of hedge twig to gently attempt to get the web off like a careful brain surgeon. Got two legs free, very gently helped clean one half of the head (it didn't fight or try to sting me) Put it in sunshine for some seconds to power it up, then back into cooler shade and back to work. Absolute focus of three hours. Web is VERY difficult to get off. I left it alone with some more rain drops from a flower tray to drink from. Went back, tried again until darkness fell. Had to leave it by side of flower bed, still half covered by binding web. In the morning found the bee was dead but had managed to remove the rest of the web itself and die clean. The energy it must have spent would have been massive. Wondered about attempting to mess with nature and whether it is justified but I could not have left it wrapped up and trapped. So, I am a hippy reptile. And according to someone in my family I am also a Socialist and cynical. Cynical I can live with (having checked the exact meaning and origin) but bollocks to Socialism. Labels are truly ridiculous...Libertarian anarchist is closer to a useful definition. Or failed mystic. Arf arf arf. The wizard without any whizz. Maybe.

'Whatever is done for love is beyond good and evil.' Hmmm...First, try define Love.  What do you seek? Happiness and learning, Freedom and magick...Balance?   Between the I and the AM, there sparks the relay of Will and vision and so, creation. 'Not until the male become female and the female becomes male shall ye enter the kingdom of Heaven, Jesus (Yeshua ben Yosif) in the Gospel of Thomas....So, All together now..Yod-He-Vau-He...(To couples too withdrawn to truly open their hearts, fearing pain or too guilty to express their inner nature to their partner or themselves.) Sex without true passion leads to orgasm but without connection by those who have been taught or who have learned to be afraid of love. Chasing orgasms is a fraction of the colossal energy and brain change possible. When Earth blends with Heaven, the astral is born and all take on aspects of the other, empowering all. Merge the fields, unify the forces and don't rush before the fields are charged. Open and focus.

I read in the New York Times today about various problems with tumblr...would be a pity if it vanished. All I have seen in the years I have been on, has been of far more heart and good spirited humour and care than other sources of individual expression on line for free.  All the best back to school...All Hail Discordia and see you with Love at Halloween. Keep expanding your reality labyrinths until now or forever....