#i got called a felon for this drawing

[coughdropeater2]

Tumblr still fw Stucky right ??

[cckaisen]

୨ৎ˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 𝓑𝓡𝓞𝓣𝓗𝓔𝓡 𝓕𝓤𝓒𝓚𝓔𝓡, sukuna ryomen !

boyfriend’s older brother!sukuna. while little bro yuji spits up his liquor in the bathroom, sukuna takes care of his girl, finally fucking her like she deserves.

ಇ. summary. sukuna brother au, fem reader, infidelity, yuji throws up so emeto. warning, manipulation, pussy slapping, biting, some predator/prey elements, size kink, dumbification, squirting, reader is intoxicated but aware, rough kuna but he switches up:3, regret/moral conflict, angst towards the end cuz ‘m a certified yapper. wc, 4.6k.

ಇ. note. been a whore for sukuna lately but i fully blame gege for drawing him so majestic. if evil then why gorgeous, hm??? we’re onto u gege. we know u love a felon. confess already.

the door to the itadori household bursts open and in floods a typhoon of drunken chaos and laughter.

drowning in giggles, yuji has his arm thrown over your aching shoulders, humming along to some kind of song. without you, he wouldn't be upright—a jumbling, intoxicated mess.

you're mostly sober, fighting to get him to the bathroom since he was heaving in the taxi.

"whyyy do ya build me upp~" he slurs, a bumbling flurried version of himself, smothering your cheek in wet kisses that have you wriggling away. "butterrrcuppp baby, jus' t'let me downnn...!"

"yuji!" you shriek, the weight of him growing more unbearable as you try to keep him up. his breath is drenched with the heavy scent of liquor. "baby, y'gotta focus or we're not gonna make it to the—"

"—and mess m'rounddd!"

"yuji—'nuff!" you groan loudly as he drapes himself over. at this rate, you might just collapse into a heap on the floor, overcome by his weight as well as the lesser, still relevant amount of alcohol you consumed at the club.

suddenly, the patter of footsteps have you perking up. sukuna—yuji's big brother—rounds the corner, gaunt features sharp with agitation. he must've woken up when the two of you came barreling in.

"sukuna—hi," you can't help the relief that bursts through your chest, evident in the way you exhale.

sukuna notes the way your knees tremble, his brother blabbering embarrassingly on top of you. he puts aside the urge to laugh, figuring he'd spare you just this once.

"here. i got 'im." without any trouble, sukuna drags his little brother under his arm, putting your strength to shame. with the weight lifted, you finally have chance to relax, rolling your arm and letting out a loud sigh of relief.

"thank you. ow—pain."

you stumble, and the broader of the two brothers chuckles, crimson gaze soaking up your body in that dress while you're distracted. "you carried him all the way home?"

"mhm. practically sprawled out on my lap in the taxi. the driver and i had to team up to get him outta there," you whine as you kick off your heels. those stupid things had you wincing terribly most of the night. yuji said they were sexy. as much as you love him, you’re more than sure you will not be wearing them again anytime soon.

"you should've called me." sukuna's features scrunch in disgust as yuji keeps singing in his hold.

"i-i-i neeeeed youu~"

"fuckin' a, did he drink the whole bar?"

"pretty much," you reply, shrugging off your coat and following behind the pair of brothers. yuji looks so funny, almost small despite his lean stature, looking deceivingly short compared to sukuna. "he made a bet with todo and lost."

the sober man grunts as he knocks open the bathroom door, holding up yuji in his other arm. his muscles flex underneath his shirt, stretching the dark cotton, where your eyes briefly linger.

you avert your attention to yuji instead, amusement melting into concern for your boyfriend.

not sharing the same sentiment, sukuna drops him down by the toilet, putting up the lid with a smack and purposely shoving yuji's head into the bowl a little harder than necessary. "theree ya go, dumbass," sukuna grunts, slapping his back as he finally pukes up. "just barely made it."

and you're sure glad he did, thanking the gods your dress had been spared amidst the drama. with the way he'd been acting, you were never sure that you would be safe from the bile climbing his throat, cringing fearfully at times.

you feel much better now that sukuna has taken over. he's older, well-versed in trivial matters like this. yuji's already told you all about his university days, the drunken nights, the fighting—

you curse your thoughts for sprawling so suddenly, shooing off your rodent-like curiosity.

their relationship struggled at times. especially so back then, but things are different now. and as much as sukuna pretends not to care for his little brother, he clearly does, at least a little. after all, the pink tresses of your boyfriends hair are ruffled in his thick hand before he lets go fully.

then sukuna walks on in a rugged stride, leaving yuji to it. on the way out, he knocks your shoulder with his. you can't tell if the action was playful, but you’re sure it wasn't hostile, at least. a little smile creeps onto your lips as your gaze follows him into the kitchen.

sukuna is weird.

he's weird because he's not like yuji in most ways; it's not necessarily a bad thing, but he's much, much harder to see through. with your boyfriend, most things are crystal clear. you can tell what he wants, what he needs, how he needs it. he'll tell you all about it—unselfishly, of course.

however, sukuna, you find, never reads so easily. and it's weird. you can't tell if you prefer it that way, or if you'd rather know what he's thinking.

especially since you're certain you just caught his eyes slithering along your curves.

anyway.

wanting to give yuji some privacy, you pull the door shut, the sound of his gags growing muffled. you half-jog-half-limp to the kitchen, preparing a glass of cold water to ease his throat once it's all over.

unbothered, sukuna leans his back against the counter, scrolling on his phone like this is just another night to him. it's weird.

you start wondering, drawing up the conclusion that this might be first time you and him have ever been alone, in a way. yuji is there, but not really, if you know what i mean. not mentally, anyway.

before you can finish that thought, you deliver the glass to yuji, crouching down to his level and rubbing his back with careful affection. "got you some water, baby. right here, by your hand." you take it gently, guiding it towards the glass.

he's not throwing up so much now, just laying there, waiting for the next wave of nausea to crash over him. his fingers respond to the glass, wrapping around it. "thanks, hic—y're so good t'me..."

you smile warmly, pressing a kiss to his warm cheek. you couldn't care less that he reeks of all kinds of concoctions and puke all rolled up together, wanting to be there for him regardless as you know he would for you.

you whisper a few more reassuring words to him before taking your leave, giving him some time to recover by himself. the bathroom door clicks shut. forgetting all about the third party, you let your back press against it, head jilting as a sigh slips out.

"he worn ya down that much?" sukuna snorts at the display, looking up from his phone.

despite your initial surprise, you laugh too. "he doesn't usually. it's just... been a busy night, i guess. i think he'll pass out in there."

sukuna briefly dips his head into the fridge, getting out a chartreuse-tinted bottle of something. "one would hope. you want one?"

"you're being weirdly nice." you blurt suspiciously, smirking. oh god. maybe the alcohol was starting to work you over, too, because you definitely weren't supposed to say that. sometimes it's better not to ask, someone told you once.

sukuna pulls a face that makes you wish you could crawl out of your skin on command, even though there's technically logic behind your last words.

"am i usually mean?"

"n-no, i just mean—" fuck, stop talking. with growing embarrassment, you shake your head, "nothing. sorry. that was assumptive."

the way you initially scrambled to answer appealed to some wicked humor in him as he laughed. "yeah, it was. so yes or no?"

"yes," you sigh, shoulders slumping in admission, knowing you probably needed it. especially after whatever that was. your head is pounding—god, someone should put me down.

sukuna opens up your bottle with his teeth as you hop up on the counter, watching each other. all had gone quiet behind you. sukuna handed you the drink with the lid still between his teeth, venom swirling in his eyes when he saw the way yours lingered on the gesture.

slowly, you took the bottle, pressing the rim up to your lips before taking a sip. it bubbles in your mouth, sparkling on your tongue before you swallow it down. the burn is a little unpleasant, but you manage.

"any good?" sukuna asks.

"'s okay," you shrug, reading the bottle, pretending like any of it made sense. "a little bitter."

"you like 'em sweet?" the taller man frowns, sorting through the cupboards for something that you're too immersed to ask about.

"kinda. but too much makes me sick," you explain, scrunching your nose at the thought. "i like a balance."

"oh, really?" sukuna snorts as if you've just said the funniest thing in the world.

in one confused motion, you lower your brows. and jilt your head, wondering what's with the sudden jest. "yeah, uh... is that funny?"

sukuna raises his brows, shaking his head, some glasses clinking. "no, not funny. nothin's funny."

he really knows how to make a person feel small, you'd give him that much.

you avert your gaze, heart crawling up into your cheeks. "okay, well..."

"what about you?" he interjects, sparking up another tiny bit of annoyance in you again. not that you knew what you were gonna say anyways. it most likely would've been embarrassing anyway, making you shrink even more, wanting yuji to come out already—

"what about me?" you wonder, your voice meeker than before. curious and cautious, tip-toeing around his words. is there something you're hiding?

"are you the sticking-around or screwing-around type?"

"oh, right," you laugh, making sense of his question. it's big one, though. kind of sprung on you. still, you manage to respond, just telling him what you know while glowing with intoxication, "well, we've only been going out a couple months."

you're more focused on the way he's watching you than you are on actually answering. his eyes are sharp and torrid in comparison to his little brother's, and the way he gazes down rather than looks at you has something in you stirring, writihing hotly beneath your skin.

it's exciting. why is it exciting? there's a giddiness that gyres in the pit of your gut like a ballerina, pirouettes and grands jetés, heat cooking and simmering through your veins. it's terrible. it's weird.

"well, you can't blame me for being protective." sukuna shrugs. "he seems to really like you."

while what he's saying rings true, there's a chord slightly off-key, something askew that you can't place. is he closer than before?

you ignore it, trying on a smile. "well, feeling's mutual."

you take another sip from the bottle, the cool rim settling on your lips, sparks igniting on your tongue, the same routine replaying. you don't even think before adding gleefully, "and he's like, a jazillion times more sane than my last boyfriend, so i'm happy."

"are you?" sukuna asks, serious.

it was like flipping a switch. he was laughing, now he's earnest, and you were just entirely confused, his meaning lost on you, like you're the last in line in a game of chinese whispers. he caught you off guard with that one. and he knows it, too, carmine eyes feasting on your discomfort.

your smile falters slightly before you nod. "yeah."

"okay." he just says.

now you were really starting to get pissed off with him. whatever he's doing, it's stupid. he might as well have you cornered, except you've done nothing wrong, and yet he's prancing around you with a tone of prolific doubt. as if he knows something about you that you yourself don't.

"what?" you demand, equally serious now, smile wiped clean off. the air turns thick.

sukuna shrugs his shoulders again and you swear you have to fight off a sneer. "nothing."

is he casting doubt on your love for yuji? is that what this is? is he trying to tell you you're not good enough for him? that even though you trudged half a mile in those huge stupid heels just because he said they looked hot on you—carrying his dead weight, might i add, as he was screeching a song you'd never heard in your ear—that all of that was just for laughs, and there were no real feelings behind those actions? is that seriously what he's getting at?

sukuna wants to laugh so bad. your face is all screwed up, cheeks puffed out and burning a deep red. oh, how it fuels him. your stubbornness, that endearing naivety that clings to you like all your modest perfumes, the one that lingers in yuji's room, occasionally in his clothes, infecting every dark corner of his mind—and now you know how it feels to be tortured by him.

"you want some water?" the man asks casually. your mind is on fire, your thoughts more blaring than you would probably think. it's written all over you.

his question makes your shoulders drop, feeling stupid all over again. what are you getting so worked up for? you're secure in your feelings for yuji. as his brother, sukuna has every right to feel concern for him. there really is no need for you to be acting like this.

he's playing you like a damn flute.

"yes, please." you answer a lot more softly, pulling your hair around to one side. you'd been bratty without cause, assumptive, again. you really need to stop mischaracterizing him. after all, he's no monster. "i think all the drinks are finally getting to my head a little."

he starts filling up a glass, grinning at you over his shoulder, mischief playing in his slanted-eyes. "oh, don't tell me you were expecting anything bottled. tap's the best y're gonna get from us. hope you can handle it."

a smile works onto your lips as you finally start to loosen up again, legs swinging gently off the side of the counter. playing along, you wince. "oh yeah, well, i usually only drink expensive, you know, mineral-rich—"

"yeah."

he's suddenly between your legs, his mouth devouring your own, swallowing the terrified noise that begs to escape. for a moment, you're frozen in shock, eyes widening as you palms meet his chest in a forceful attempt at creating space.

sukuna juts back, forced away from you. his eyes crack open but are still like slits, dark, crawling with lust you hadn't previously noticed—no, acknowledged, because the choice has always been there.

he relishes in the terror that brims in your eyes at his visceral kiss. it feels natural, but not in the tender, motherly sense. like predator devouring prey. the natural order of life.

his hands are hot, gripping onto your thighs, digging into the tights he could easily rip to shreds, giving him full access to your warm cunt, to ruin you.

and yet he doesn't.

he waits for your eyes to droop, for you to lunge at him, accepting this twisted spiral of events, indulging his darkness. teeth clicking, tongues meeting messily in a sloppy kiss, drool gathering between you both as you crash together all at once, a train wreck of carnality. sukuna's hands are all over you, groping, slashing at the crotch of your tights. you gasp into his mouth as cold air meets the sobbing wetness of your cunt, followed by a slap to it.

"f-fuck! hey, who said you could—hmff!" you yelp as his hand clamps over your mouth suddenly, his scarlet eyes narrowing.

"brat, watch ya fuckin' mouth." sukuna warns as you grapple with him. his tattoos look especially menacing then, chiseling his features. "he's drunk. not deaf."

you nod, trying to tell him you understand. he releases your lips in an instant only to seize them again in his so forcefully.

yuji would never—could never take you like this, and you fucking know it. you know it with every gnaw, every squash of your tits that leaves you whining like a bitch in heat, every bite against your neck where you can feel the outline of his brother's teeth and a short gush of crimson.

rationality is lost on you as you mindlessly rut against him, your hands running up and down his back until you start tugging on his pants, eager to rid him of them.

meanwhile, sukuna's making a meal out of you—you make up half of his size, giving him complete control to do as ever he pleases.

every whine is met with a grunt. his cock must have been freed at some point as you feel his greedy hands lift you against him, your chests meeting, the sharp cold of the counter leaving your ass and feeling his palms spread you apart instead.

nothing could prepare you for the suddenness of which he fills you—you scream, half openly, half having shoved your face into his shoulder—aware his brother, your lover, is passed out over the toilet in the other room.

"shh, shh—fuckin' shit!" sukuna groans, features curling in erotic bliss.

he gluts you in ways yuji never has, the ways he'll never dare—with such cruel, carnal demand, to the brim, unkind, violent, and so, so fucking good.

as he breaches your womb, you claw his back raw through his shirt. a sob rips through you. sukuna does his best to keep you quiet. "shh... fuck. yer so fuckin' tight, girl. relax."

"t-tryin'... 'm so full..." you whine, eyes misting over with tears. it feels too good, you think...

"i know—" sukuna chokes, barely lifting you up on his cock, feeling your walls spasm around him. "fuck, what ya cryin' for?"

he feels too good.

"d-don't move yet, i'll cum," you gasp, and he hasn't even tried—sukuna's expression blanches.

"already?" he bursts out laughing in his brutish way, the side that yuji lacked entirely as the nicest person you've ever known; fuck. the humiliation makes your cunt squeeze again.

he lifts you up, your knees draped over his thick arms, foreheads meeting. your breaths intertwine, hot and treacherous, caressing each other's faces.

"ya know, i've fuckin' heard you, all those times."

"wh-what?" you stammer cluelessly, only half there, clinging to sukuna as he dangles you on his cock, your eyes crossing when he starts to bounce you on him.

"said i fuckin' heard you, you 'n yuji—'n shit, ya never got this loud, huh?" he smirks wickedly, feeling your body collapse hopelessly against him. he fucks you up and down on him, swallowing up your pathetic moans and whines like they were the last noise he'd ever hear. "been wanting to take ya like this, stretch yer dumb little cunt on me, fuckk—ya got no fuckin' idea, princess."

rocking up and down, you wail, head bobbing. sukuna can just see your little maw dangling open—it takes everything in him not to jam his fucking fingers in your throat until you drool and splutter around him.

"y—you wanted—this?" you struggle, feeling too good to make sense of anything, to think straight, to do anything other than take every rough kiss to your cervix, feeling your insides bruise and swell with lucid excitements.

"lemme guess, the brat cums too soon—never quite gets ya there, hm?" sukuna guesses correctly, making you whine and nod and babble.

"h-how did y—ah, fuck—!" he snapped his hips, picking up the speed as you wept on him. you'd never been fucked like this in your life, and your world was getting flipped on its head. when did your dress come down? you weren't sure—but now your tits were bouncing and sukuna wasn't gonna pass up the opportunity to tear into them.

"cuz, 's just obvious," sukuna rasps, teeth clamping down on your raised nipple, "can tell this sloppy pussy ain't gettin' treated right. not when she's—shit—creamin' all over me jus' from stickin' it in."

"'k—kuna, don't—ahh! fuck!"

"that's it girl, shit, c'mon," sukuna keeps picking you back up only to drop all your weight on his fat cock, his balls slapping against your ass, the slick you're gushing causing them to stick together.

your head is empty, devoid of anything except the chaos, the suddenness of it all, the shock, he's fucking you. your boyfriend's older brother is fucking you, and you've never felt so goddamn good.

there's this sudden wave. a wetness. an explosive feeling that crashes over you in one swift, predatory pounce. like when a deer gets suddenly ripped apart. your head straight up drops on sukuna's shoulder, and you're sobbing loudly, babbling words that can't be defined.

then all of a sudden, sukuna outright cackles; the sound bleeds into your ringing ears, head picking up off of his shoulder.

"no fuckin' way!" he roars with laughter. you wanna shush him, but you can't move—your nerve ends are all bursting to life, like fruitful grapes popping between two fingers. it's happening again, whatever that feeling is, whelming you; this time you his fingers rub back and forth harshly across your clit, but wait—

"dumb lil pussy's squirtin' already, hahh, shit—fuckin' christ, girl—" he's enamored, watching you cum in adorable little spurts, soaking his clothes, your tights, and the kitchen floor, covering everything in your stupid juices.

"you wanted this, goddamn—look at you."

your eyes are rolled back as he kisses you again, fingers tearing into your scalp, the lewd sound of your lips smacking together filling the air.

never in your fucking life. you'd never came like that, so violently, so carelessly, not without really, really trying. all sukuna had to do was pump you up and down on his cock, say a few words and you were spraying like a tap. how fucking pathetic.

and then he does it again. drags another one out of you, laughing.

you barely catch his next words.

"'m gonna fuckin' cum in ya."

"n—no—" you stumble out, barely coming to at the words, but their enough to fill you with at least some urgency. your ass is bruised at the back from being repeatedly slammed against the counter, the wind knocked out of you entirely. "d-don't, wait, you can't—"

"why the fuck not, hah?" sukuna rumbles. "don't tell me it's cuz'a—"

"—yuji," you sob.

it hits you. it hits you then, hard, at the worst time. a gut-punch, one that makes you heave. in less than half a second, a guilt strong enough to set your skin alight cultivates and wrecks each single sense. his cologne invades your nostrils, an imaginary sensation, forced to breathe its natural, tender nature as opposed to sukuna's harsh and crude and brooding one, the one you're drowning in. the one sticking to your skin.

your hand—finally letting go of sukuna's shoulder, where you were keeping yourself stable—slaps over your mouth, tears springing into your eyes.

"f—fuck, fuck, fuck!" sukuna chants, eyes scrunching as he gets lost in the pleasure. he's pounding you, knocking your eyes back still, not slowing his pace for anything. your leg flails once, but how can you fight when he's holding you up like this?

"'s—'kuna," you choke out brokenly, slapping his chest with whatever strength you can muster. your lip quivers, heart aching in your chest as you plead tearfully, "don't."

he'd never been considerate. he'd never 'made love'. not even now. he fucked. he lied, he slipped off condoms, he 'forgot' to pull out, all so many times before. it was clockwork to him. he could've easily done it again. lied. been selfish. blurred the lines. cheated consent.

put a baby in his little brother's whore girlfriend.

and yet sukuna weirdly found himself pulling out of you last second, one hand holding you up while the other jerked his cock until thick ropes of cum splattered up your dress with a strained grunt. his orgasm spoils at it hits, a rough ecstasy that's tattered along the edges and ultimately, ultimately unsatisfying. it barely scratches the surface. the heat of it hasn't even started leaving his body before he wants more, regrets not filling you up, every cell inside him clawing for it, starved and fucking addicted.

sukuna almost, almost crushes you against the island, dropping you on the counter again where your drenched cunt feels like it's been electrocuted when met with the cold so suddenly. you gasp, arching into him, searching for any kind of warmth.

but he rips away from you, turning his back. his touch is gone as soon as it came. any desire flatlines, ringing loudly, blaring in your sensitive ears. alarm bells.

what is this?

both your chests are heaving. there's no afterglow. it's messy, dirty, frantic. cheap. depraved.

and it seems like you aren't the only one.

"s-sukuna, i—"

CLICK.

lips snapping shut, you sit right up, head whipping around in the most deafeningly guilty sense ever. heart in your throat, your expression echoes one of pure horror, one you expect will reflect your boyfriend's when he realizes what's going on here.

yuji stumbles out of the bathroom, his mop of pink hair tousled and eyelids low. he hangs by the doorframe for several seconds, his head dropped, not even looking up. it takes only a few steps. they're slow, clumsy, lead him to the bedroom door. he doesn't notice. he doesn't notice.

his older brother and his girlfriend are feet away, covered in squirt and sperm and other dirty secrets. shame. guilt. some more than others.

and he just blunders into the bedroom, a loud 'thump', telling you that he made it to bed.

all you do is stare. your jaw stays slack.

you hear a zipper and, frazzled, quickly flit your head at sukuna. he's fixing his clothes, not paying you any mind.

you stare at his back, despairing.

"wh—you're just gonna...?" you stammer incredulously, trying to do the same but there's no fixing the gaping hole in your tights that reaches down to your mid thighs.

away from his gaze, him cum settles against the fabric of your torn up dress, pooling slowly in its place.

his cock, hardly soft, twitches again, urging his need. he ends up frozen for a moment, simply staring, before he numbly moves forward.

he leaves, leaving you sat on the counter as he storms out into the night, slamming the front door behind him.

you're alone there, stunned, cum up your dress that is almost but not quite your boyfriend's, the floor below you soaked, and a heartbeat in every part of your body.

trembling, you push yourself off of the counter.

vaguely aware of the layout of the house, you scramble to find some wipes and clean up the mess on the floor. after that, it takes at least 10 minutes to get the semen out of your dress, but even then, you feel filthy.

you sniffle over the sink, scrubbing soapy suds into your tainted skin. wanting to throw up.

what the fuck had you done?

you'd cheated. that's it. you cheated on the sweetest angel, your angel, yuji. the one entirely too gentle and trusting for this world. you betrayed him. a sob rips through you, shattering your core.

stupid, stupid, stupid.

as you sneak back into bed, fingers still shaking as they turn the handle to yuji's room, you don't even have the energy to change your clothes. you simply crawl into bed, too crushed to face him, not garnering the strength, knowing what you'd done. a tear slips down your cheek.

because you can't even regret it.

and before you know it, yuji's draping himself over you, his arms, pulling you against the haven of his chest, sighing against your neck.

"you made it..." he mumbles.

oh, how you want to sob when he says such a thing. "yeah," you nod, trying to suppress the break in your voice, "yeah, i'm here."

yuji grunts happily, snuggling you closer. "mmh, good."

you don't think you will ever forgive yourself.

"i love you." yuji says, blind to the truth.

but you swear it's not one-sided. "i love you," you admit, beginning to cry softly in his arms, wondering if it will be the last time you ever get the liberty of doing so again.

[yvesssssssss]

hiii! love your writing sm!! wondering if i can request headcanons or a scenario, whichever you prefer! Of Shin and Nagumo’s reaction to their child telling them in the middle of the night that they have an art project due tomorrow >< kyaahh tysm!!!

Art attack at 2am

HIII you're the sweetest—thank you sm!! I hope you like it!!

Shin Asakura

It’s 2:37 a.m.

You’re sound asleep beside Shin when you hear light tapping on the door. Before you can sit up, a tiny voice calls out:

“Dad…? I have an art project due tomorrow.”

Shin jolts upright like he’s just heard a gunshot.

“Tomorrow TOMORROW or tomorrow today!?” he whispers frantically, already fumbling for his glasses.

“Today-tomorrow,” the kid replies with the guilt of a felon caught red-handed.

Shin’s brain immediately spirals.

“What kind of project? Do we need paint? Paper mache? Glue? GLITTER?!”

You groggily mumble, “Shin… go back to sleep, it’s just art.”

But it’s not just art. It’s a grade, a reflection of his parenting, the beginning of a domino effect that could potentially affect college applications 15 years from now—

He’s already dragging out every supply box in the house.

By 3:30 a.m., your dining table looks like an arts and crafts tornado hit it. Shin’s stress-level is at DEFCON 1.

The child is peacefully coloring. Shin is cutting construction paper with military precision.

You return from the kitchen with snacks and see Shin muttering, “This is due today. It has to be perfect. We will not be the reason this kid gets a C.”

You lean over and kiss his head. “You’re insane.”

He smiles. “Insane about our kid’s future.”

Nagumk yoichi

It’s pitch dark and you hear little footsteps approaching.

“Dad…? I have an art project due tomorrow.”

Nagumo lifts one eyelid.

“Tomorrow, huh? Sounds like Future Nagumo’s problem.”

He flops back down.

Your kid hovers at the bedside. “It’s a diorama. About the rainforest. I forgot.”

Nagumo sighs loudly, sits up, and gives your child a deadpan look.

“…You waited until now? You’re totally your mother’s child.”

You throw a pillow at him.

Five minutes later, he’s strutting around the kitchen in pajama pants, swiping bits of tinfoil, toilet paper rolls, food wrappers—improvising like MacGyver on a budget. No scissors? He uses a butter knife. No string? Dental floss.

You hear him whisper to the kid: “Alright, I’ll be real with you. This jaguar might look like a blob, but if you say it’s abstract, your teacher can’t question it.”

He even draws a tiny frog with googly eyes and glues it to a stick of gum.

By 4 a.m., they’ve got a full rainforest scene made of recycled materials and spite.

“Boom,” he says, arms crossed, admiring their chaotic masterpiece. “Tell your teacher we believe in eco-art.”

You stare at him, sipping coffee. “You’re actually kind of terrifying.”

He grins. “Thanks, sweetheart. Parenting’s all about improvising under pressure.”

[luveline]

Could I request stripper reader and post prison Spencer being all domestic? I just think Spencer deserved to have someone take care of him after that

thank you for requesting! ♡ fem

cw spencer makes a weight related joke about reader but he is one hundred percent kidding/is talking about carrying the reader and not her actual body weight, pls don't read if it will upset you

“How's it feel now?” you ask. 

Spencer glances down at you from the TV. If he had his way since being released from prison, you would spend the majority of time in his lap, and the TV would not be on, but you're trying not to smother him and he's content to let you do what you want, so long as you're in arm's reach. 

“How does what feel?” he asks, frowning. 

“Your leg? You know, the one you stabbed yourself in?” 

“Fine. Surface wound. Hey, are you almost done?” 

“No. I'm making you a mug cosy.” 

“Could you not come up here and make me cosy?” 

You put your little crochet hook and yarn ball on the floor near the paper pattern you're following. “That's way too cheesy a thing to say for a felon.” You grin at him. “Good for you, I'm awful at this,” —you climb onto your knees, arms out to him as he grabs you and pulls you onto the couch— “and I don't want to do it anymore.” 

“Then don't.” He smiles as you settle against him, half on top of him, your pyjamas soft against his bare arms and legs. “I'm not a felon.” 

“I'm kidding,” you say gently. 

He puts his hand against the top of your head and forces you backwards a touch to meet his eyes. “I know.” 

You glare at him. He decides he'd like to play too and glares back. 

“Crochet is very difficult.” 

Spencer lets you drop back into his chest. “You're good at enough things already,” he says. “Like not going to prison, and being heavy.” 

You bear down on him with more weight, a laugh slipping from you unbidden. He loves how startled you sound to have laughed, and how nice you smell as you push your arm under his back to hug him. “That's sick,” you mumble, your free hand toying with the soft neck of his shirt. You pull it down, kissing the skin between his collarbone. “You can't call me heavy. That's so mean.” 

“I love you,” he says. 

You smile into his chest. “I love you too, even though you said I'm heavy.” 

“Relatively, when you're making me carry you to bed at night–” 

“I don't do that,” you laugh guiltily. “No, you've got me mixed up with someone else.” 

“Well, let's just stay here tonight.” Your phone beeps. “Or not.” 

You press yourself into his neck and talk warmth into the curve. “I'm not going anywhere, Spencer. I'm staying right here, forever. And in ten years you'll have huge muscles from carrying me to bed.” 

“And your thigh muscles will have atrophied.” 

“Like those, do you?” 

“As much as I like every part of you. You're the most beautiful girl in the world.” 

You snore. Spencer laughs, jostling you on his chest, and you drop the facade to kiss his throat in slow, meandering presses of the lips, no one place in mind, just warm half moons turned a little wider as you go. He breathes out slowly. Kisses like this are the ones that plagued him late at night, when the mind ran out of worry and turned to missing you instead. He would've given anything two weeks ago to have you laying on him like this, and now he has it for nothing. Just ‘cos you love him. 

“Are you gonna go back?” he asks quietly. 

“To the club?” You draw a short line into his neck with your nose. “Sure, once you're feeling better.” 

“I'm alright. I am.” 

“Until I'm feeling better, then,” you say, putting your hand on his cheek. You have slightly longer nails than when he went away, and the tips of them tickle his freshly shaven cheek as you turn his face to yours. “I'll go back just as soon as I stop missing you when you're in the bathroom. Or I run out of money.” 

“Don't be childish,” he says.

“I'm not, I'm being realistic.” 

“Realistically, I'll take care of you.” 

You sigh happily and kiss him. That happiness passes between you in shivers, until Spencer's hot under the collar and you're giggling. “What's funny?” he asks. 

“Maybe I'll get a job at the grocery store.” 

Spencer doesn't know what you'll do, but he'll be there for you like you were there for him. “Good idea. You can be a checkout girl and I'll stay home, looking at pictures of you and crying while you're gone.” 

You nudge him. “Don't make fun of me for that! It was a long month and a half without you, Spencer.” 

He closes his eyes and rests his forehead on yours. “I'm not making fun of you. It was the same for me, you know? Just didn't have a picture of you.” 

[qqueenofhades]

I am FULLY ONBOARD the Harris/Waltz train, tho before this i was leaning towards Mark Kelly (AZ is a swing state! He's an ASTRONAUT!) If you want or have time, no pressure, but any thoughts on what makes Waltz a better pick?

I like Mark Kelly too, and since he's married to Gabby Giffords (having run for public office after she got shot and could no longer do so) he would have been an amazing pick in terms of supporting the first female POTUS. But he is a less charismatic public speaker than Walz (for whatever that's worth, but politics is a mess of Aesthetics and Vibes that matter as much and/or more than actual facts) and more moderate/conservative. He's been a great senator and picking him would defuse some of the BORDER IMMIGRATION BLAH BLAH!!! scaremongering that Republicans love to run on, but it would also leave open the possibility of losing a special election and other dangers with the Democratic senate that we really need to minimize. So Walz is a better choice for that alone, but also:

He really has serious progressive credentials as governor, even if he was a fairly mainstream Democrat (who flipped a rural red House district in Minnesota that Democrats have not been able to win again after he left) during his 12 years in the House. This is an INCOMPLETE LIST of what he was able to do in two years with a one-seat Democratic majority in Minnesota:

A Climate Action Plan that included:

Investing in energy infrastructure

100% carbon-free electricity by 2040 goal

Transition off of fossil fuels and onto clean energy resources

Building more electric vehicle charging stations

Providing funding to help workers acquire new skills through apprenticeship programs in clean energy fields

Direct state funding for transit

Money for rail

Tax credit for e-bikes

Permitting form to fast-track clean energy projects

And that was in addition to:

Codified abortion access in Minnesota

Guaranteed paid sick time and paid family and medical leave

Funded replacing ALL LEAD PIPES IN THE STATE

Free school breakfasts and lunches for all

Made public college free

Stronger labor protections

Drivers’ Licenses for All

Voting Rights Act to reverse recent court rulings that make voting harder, including restored voting rights to convicted felons

Banning medical debt from credit bureaus

The "Taylor Swift Bill" requiring all ticket "junk fees" be shown up front

Banning most "junk fees"

No book bans

Protection for tipped workers

Banned non-competes

Legalized recreational cannabis

Gun control, including increased penalties for straw purchases of firearms, expanded background checks and enacted red-flag laws, passing gun safety measures that the GOP has thwarted for years

Made MN a Trans Refuge State, and required health plans to cover “medically necessary gender-affirming care.”

Pay increase for Uber and Lyft drivers

Elimination of the so-called “gay panic defense”

A ban on “doxxing” election workers

A prohibition on “swatting” elected officials

In March, during the height of the Gaza/uncommitted primary protests against Biden, Walz said that young people should be listened to and they had a right to be speaking up and the situation in Gaza was horrible and intolerable, without directly slamming Biden or getting involved in the issue in a way to draw negative headlines. Regardless of what you think about any of it, that is a very deft way to handle it and pairs well with Kamala's better responsiveness on the Gaza issue overall. That was a big part of the reason why Gen Z/younger voters were very excited about Walz despite him being an "old" (actually the same age as Kamala but he has joked that teaching high school for 20 years will do that to a guy) white guy. If half the battle in politics is making the right pick to excite your core voters and reach out to new ones, then Harris nailed it. As I have said in earlier posts, there was just too much energy with young voters FINALLY checking in when Harris became the candidate, to risk introducing a big ideological split with Shapiro.

Aside from that: the most insufferable Smart White-Bro Political Pundits (TM) are big mad about Walz, many Never Trumper Republicans thought they were entitled to a "moderate" in exchange for oh-so-generously lending us their vote against Trump and not run the risk that we might end up with someone *gasp* progressive, and the regular MAGA Republicans are hysterical, which means they're terrified. It's also incredibly hard to paint Literal Midwestern Stereotype Dad (football coach, social studies high school teacher, military veteran, etc) as THE EVIL END OF AMERICA in the way they desperately want to do, though the fact that they're trying shows that they've got literally nothing. The fact that Kamala picked Walz against the PREVAILING WISDOM!!! that she had to take Shapiro (for whatever reason that might have been) is also a good sign, because by far the most genuine and extensive enthusiasm that I have seen from Democratic voters, especially those feeling burned out or disillusioned or angry with specific policy choices of the current administration, was for Walz. Having everyone excited for the pick beforehand, effectively using the "weird" line, and rallying behind the guy, only for her to actually go for him, is inspiring. It makes people feel like they're being heard and the Democrats have decided to win by being progressive, and not just endlessly Catering To The (Imaginary) Middle as they have always been told to do (and often done). That alone is MASSIVE.

Walz is tremendously funny, personable, has Democrats from AOC to Joe Manchin praising it (again, shocking), was right out the gate supporting Kamala, has already been majorly successful on TV, was by far the most progressive-on-policy picks of the VP finalists, is incredibly, hilariously wholesome and small-town Midwestern (he's the JD Vance that they wish JD Vance was), and is already sending ActBlue gangbusters with donations again. And when you're getting this kind of response on the Cursed Bird Hellsite, just:

Just. I don't know what's happening either. But let's enjoy it, and then work hard, because we gotta fucking do this and for possibly the first time this entire year, I really think we might. Heck yeah.

[saltandburnheathens]

Good morning Miss Winnie. (Part II)

Part I

Pairing: Dean Winchester X Reader.

Rating: Gen.

Summary:

Two weeks after Dean became a father, it's time to jump back on the hunting horse. But he's hesitant.

Notes: Non-canon, no time line. And I don't ever want kids. But I just became an aunt and I sort of need to get this out of my system! Short and I'm not promising that I won't continue this. Who knows really. Finally this was written after I'd taken my usual nightly gummy.

“Bonnie?” 

You shot Dean a look across the kitchen. He was cooking eggs on the stove while you were nursing. Castiel was the only other member of the bunker awake at six a.m. and, fortunately, occupied the library. It wasn’t that you cared about the other men seeing you breastfeeding, it was how they reacted to it. Both became very awkward and outwardly attempted to look anywhere but at your breasts.

“You can’t accept Winnie, but you pick Bonnie?” 

Dean shrugged. 

“I was just thinking if we had a boy we could call him Clyde. We’d have our own little gang.” 

“Firstly, I’m not doing this again. And secondly, Bonnie and Clyde were felons.”

“What do you mean ‘you’re not doing this again?’ Don’t most women go crazy for more kids? They smell the baby's head and some hoo-doo helps them forget about the pain and bodily fluids.” 

“Yeah, well. You try being in labour for damn near forty eight hours and shitting yourself in a room full of people. Including the man you love. Then come back and tell me you’ve forgotten about it and wanna do it all over again.” 

“Point taken.” Dean laughed, plating up eggs and bacon for them both, “And you didn’t shit yourself by the way.”

“I didn’t?”

“I think I’d remember.”

You smiled at the plate of food and carefully lifted the baby from your breast. She’d long since stopped feeding and was instead squirming, ready to be winded. 

“I can take it from here.” Dean reached down and lifted the little girl up into his arms. He held her upright against his chest and began rubbing circles into her small back, “There we go kiddo. Get it up.” 

“Be careful.” You warned. 

“I’m not taking any chances.” Dean gestured to the polka-dot muslin cloth on his shoulder. 

You watched as he gently walked your daughter around the kitchen, her little body squirming while he cooed into her ear. She made several little squeaking noises, threatening to cry, only to be brought back to earth by her father’s tender voice. 

“Come on now, no tears. I’ve got you.” 

Your eyes locked with Dean’s for a moment, both reflecting a soft smile. He was proving to be an excellent father, not that you’d doubted him for a second. But Sam had. He’d been very vocal about Dean knowing nothing about babies and how, despite the fact that he was happy for you both, he thought this whole ‘raising a family thing’ was a bad idea.

“You guys are great together! But I don’t think this is the right environment for a kid.”  Or something along the same bullshit. 

Dean had been adamant about her though. He damn near refused to speak to Sam until he stopped with his questions and logical answers. Sure you both had been sceptical about bringing a child into this life, but neither of you had actively prevented it. If it happened, it happened. 

Speaking of the devil. Sam groaned and stretched his arms above his head, stumbling into the kitchen. He dug the palm of his hands into his eyes, drawing them down his face afterwards. 

“Morning. Coffee’s in the pot.” Dean said, his voice shifting from Dad to brother by just an octave. 

Sam poured himself a hefty mug before offering more to the kitchen. You declined but insisted that he fill up Deans. 

“He’ll need the caffeine for your hunt.” 

“Oh so you’re back on the job then?” Sam questioned, his eyebrows rising. 

Dean’s brow furrowed as he shifted the little one on his chest. He searched her face, the cogs visibly turning in his head. 

“I’ll get back to you on that one.” 

“What? I thought you’d be happy to get back on the horse.” You’d assumed that after being out of work for almost two weeks that Dean would be craving a hunt, but his face said otherwise. 

“Yeah. I mean I am. But she - “ 

“She’ll be right here when you get back.” You interrupted, “It’s a simple in and out job. Right Sam?” 

“Sure. Run of the mill ghost in the attic for some old friend’s of Bobby’s.” Sam took a lengthy sip of his coffee, “And it pays too.” 

“See? And we could use the cash for Winnie.” 

Sam scoffed, barely holding onto the coffee in his mouth. He looked between you both and then to his niece. 

“Winnie?”

“Short for Winchester but not her name. Just a placeholder until we find the perfect one.” You inform, “But what’s so wrong with Winnie anyway? It’s a perfectly acceptable name.” 

“Nothing wrong with it at all. It’s just not what I pictured you both to come up with.” 

“Fortunately it’s not.” Dean added, shifting the baby from one arm to the other as she reached up with her little hands, “As for the hunt, I’m not sure.”

He offered a finger for her hand to close around, eyes never leaving her. the features on his face softened, lips almost pulling downwards into a frown. 

You exchanged a knowing look with Sam. 

“If this is about Win- her- you don’t need to worry. I can cope fine on my own for one night.” You offered

“Yeah but what if it isn’t just one evening?” Dean answered, his voice doing nothing to disguise the concern he was feeling. 

“It’s only a few towns over. We’ll be home by four am - ” 

“But what if something goes wrong? Huh? Then what? I’ve left my wife without a husband, my little girl without a father. And -” 

You jumped to your feet at the distress in his voice and rushed to loop an arm around his middle.  

“Don’t say that. It’s a run of the mill job, something you guys have done one thousand times over. Nothin’ bad is gonna happen other than a few bruises.” You laid your head on his shoulder, eyes coming to settle on the little lady in his arms, “I can deal with those. And she’ll not know any different.” 

With a deep sigh, Dean kissed you gently on the head. It was an uncharacteristic display of affection, especially in front of his brother, but you hadn’t the heart to react. You knew he was feeling vulnerable, that much was clear in his reaction, and to draw attention to it would only make things worse. Instead you settled against him and allowed his warmth and the soothing sounds of your baby to still your own anxiety. 

You’d be lying if you didn’t admit that some part of you was fearful of your husband walking out of the bunker and never coming home. Hunting was a dire job, one which had claimed the life of many of your comrades. Dean may be an experienced hunter, renowned in his own right, but he certainly wasn’t immune to unfortunate outcomes. That much had been proven time and time again. 

Lost in thought, the only sounds in the kitchen were the gentle fussing of your daughter and the whirring of the circulation fans. 

Finally Castiel broke the silence with his sudden entrance. He appeared in a flurry of feathers, one coming to land on the table top by your abandoned coffee cup. 

“We have doors, Cas. Use ‘em.” Dean warned, pulling your daughter closer to his chest as she began to fuss. 

“I’m sorry, Dean. It’s a force of habit.” Castiel answered, taking a seat next to Sam, “I startled her.” 

“You think?!” 

You moved to take the baby from Dean but he shook his head, whispering a small ‘I got this’ back to you as he started to rock her from side to side. But it was no good, her cries grew louder and more furious. You began to wonder how those big sounds could even come from such a small creature. 

Before you could offer your help again Castiel brushed past you. 

“I didn’t mean to scare her.” He said, coming to stand in front of Dean “Is there anything I can do?” 

“Here” to your surprise, Dean held your daughter out towards the angel, “You can settle her down while I grab her diaper bag.” 

You lean in and quickly sniff.  

“I don’t think she needs changed, D.”

“Well I don’t know what else to do. She -” 

Castiel reached forward and lifted the infant from Dean. He brought her to settle in the crook of his arm, offering up his fingers for her to grab at. Gradually she began to quiet, her hands reaching up for Castiel’s and her eyes wide, staring into his face. 

You and Dean watched on in outward confusion. Castiel, to your knowledge, had never handled a baby before. At least not in recent years. 

“How did you do that?” Dean asked almost aggressively, “She was cryin’ up a storm seconds ago and you just took her and nothing.”

“Did you use your grace?” Sam suggested. 

“She’s much too small to handle my grace in any capacity. It would kill her.” 

You considered jumping in and taking her from Castiel but stopped yourself. She was settled and happily holding onto the angel's fingers. No sense in ruining it. Beside you Dean was tense, clearly struggling with something along the same lines. His face was etched in hard lines and you could see his brows furrowing. 

Gently you looped your arm through his and guided him to his long forgotten coffee cup. He moved but his eyes never left you daughter in the angel’s arms. 

“So,” Sam cleared his throat, “About this hunt.” 

“What about it?” Dean glared at him over the rim of his cup. 

“Are you in or -” 

“He’s in.” You answer before the question could even be finished. 

“Wha - I -” 

“Oh come on. You got this. I can handle her and Cas will be here if I need any help. Right Cas?” The angel gave something akin to a positive response, “You have to get back out there at some point.”

Dean’s gaze flickered from Sam to you, finally coming to land on Castiel. He watched the angel gently swaying the little girl in his arms and the lines on his face began to soften. 

“Hmmm. You’re sure about this?” He asked. 

“Positive.” 

“If there’s any trouble, anything at all, you call me.” 

“Sure.” You smiled, “But I doubt Winnie will be as much of an issue as your malevolent spirit.” 

Dean chuckled, accompanied by Sam. 

“God, we’re really going to have to talk about her name when I get back.” 

[momentomori24]

Nah, what do you MEAN they charged the alleged assassin of a corrupt rich business guy with terrorism and are keeping him in the same detention centre as fucking Diddy? Why didn't the CEO ever get charged with murder for denying countless of his clients, who had to fork over their hard earned money to his company, life saving treatment? Why didn't the goddamn rapist, predator and convicted felon proven guilty on 34 charges face any consequences and got to not only run for but win presidency? You're keeping this dude in the same detention centre as the serial abuser and rapist who ran a sex trafficking ring? Did I get that right? Bro, he only allegedly smoked ONE guy--

Like, literally Boeing very not-so-subtly assassinated not one, but TWO whistleblowers with ZERO repercussions not even that long ago (and that's not even bringing up all the other shady shit they've done that's killed hundreds of people before e.g The Boeing 737 MAX crashes), but assassinating a single CEO is where you draw the line and start relentlessly hunting down culprits? It really do be "when the rich kill poor people it's called business, but when the average joe kills one rich guy it's called terrorism". What even is the legal system, man.

[freak-went-void]

hello I think its important that everyone hears about my dream i had last night.

So I was at my school, and it was like last block, and I was roaming around and I found one of my teachers and I realized it was her class I was supposed to be in. So I go and sit down and can you guess which mf walked into the classroom? TRUMP. GODDAMN TRUMP. WALKED INTO MY CLASSROOM.

I was, understandably distraut by this, but the teacher (who was no longer the teacher i actually know) was like "yes hello he is here to watch ms. (Other teacher's name) christen this baby" because suddenly she was holding a baby all wrapped up and I was like ???? what is happening!!! So naturally I started insulting trump. I was laying into him, just shouting and stuff and the teacher was trying to get me stop and he was just kinda staring dumbly. I started throwing shit at him and calling him out for assaulting women and being a felon and all that fun stuff.

He also grabbed my notebook of art and doodles at one point and kinda flipped through it and got distracted by a drawing of a chicken but I was like "nuh uh bastard" and took it back and just kept yelling at him.

And I woke up. It was actually pretty cathartic to get to yell at him about how much I hate him.

[swifty-fox]

2, 7, 13, 15, 18, 25 for the fic asks!

2.Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

Pirates!!! I have some stuff in the severe backburner but idk when I will get to it

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

honestly this whole fic but this snippet from Bright Lights (my non canon little beasts overdose fic) was really fun and challenging to write. The nuance of John's addiction and status as a felon is so....idk it just feels so important to get right and treat with respect while also exploring it in a way that is satisfactory. I think I did an awesome job here

“Have you heard anything?” John asks, leaning tiredly against the glass.

“What the hell are we doing here, John? You been fucking your priest ?”

“He’s not mine,” John says, closing his eyes, “It wasn’t your business.” 

Chicks finger jabs against the glass, voice low and rumbling, “It sure fucking is if your giving him fucking opiates. Did Brady know this?”

John blinks at him, going cold, “I didn’t give him shit Neil. He took Frannie’s stuff I wouldn’t– I’m clean .” 

“Does Brady. Know.”

“Yeah – fuck – he fuckin’ knew. He knew I was messing around with him because that’s all that happened. Neil, I have my two-year chip . I was almost done with this whole thing in six more months why would I fuck that up?” 

Chick just stares at him, and John stares back, feeling every thread holding him up slowly be snipped one by one. It was one thing to have the police assume the worst, and it wasn’t quite like it looked anything but really fucking bad . But Chick had been the one to see every step of the fought for progress John has made. He knew, knew the work John had put in. 

“This is why it’s a fucking bad idea to have a sober coach be someone who you’re friends with, I never should have signed off on that, I should have known he wouldn’t be able to be objective–”

“ ‘M fuckin’ sober! ” John shouts, slamming his knuckles against the wall and then closes his eyes with a slow inhale.

“I’m sober,” his voice cracks, “He was staying with me after we got caught and left to take a shower. I got a bad fucking feeling and busted open the door to find him passed out next to the toilet.”

He’s talking slowly as he can, calm as he can manage because he knows rage will get him exactly squat. 

“I saw he’d taken a buncha’ pills and I called the EMT’s.”

“The only person who can corroborate it is in the hospital right now, unconscious. My hands are tied until he wakes up.” 

John squeezes his brows together, twists his mouth against the sharp flicker of fear and then looks back up at Chick, “You believe me though, right?”

Chick kisses his teeth, hands settling on his hips. There’s a purpling bite mark above his sweatshirt collar and John wonders who he’d been pulled out of bed with.

“I’ll see about getting those cuffs off you, John.”

“Fuck the cuffs,” he rasps, “Just promise you’ll tell me how Gale is the moment you hear anything.”

He’s never wanted pity, not once in his life and not even in his worst moments. He bares his teeth at the emotion baldly present in Chick’s eyes.

“Depends how the cards fall, kid.”

13.What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

it's actually drawing/painting advice but it really works for writing to and it's literally just. fuck it up as many times as you need to to get it right. Something not turning out? fuck it up. Paint over it. delete it. just Keep Going.

15. If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

Outlaws au!!! I think it's the most concise strong story and also I think visually I had such a strong image it would be so fun to develop both parts.

18.Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines?

Not really! I outline for my collabs but that's about it. Sometimes I throw snippets or quotes or notes at the bottom of a doc

25.What do you look for in a beta?

answered this one already a bit but I like them to be a writer as well too!

[kiillmeromantically]

I know I said I wasn't going to start new things until I was caught up. Yetttt I was looking at my drafts and I realized I don't have many things going for my men. So this is a starter call for the muses listed below. Please comment with the one(s) you want a starter from!

TOBIAS DALTON. twenty four. he/him. heterosexual. college student. the golden boy who can do no wrong in the eyes of his family. little did they know he has plenty of his secrets involving drugs, sex and just overall debauchery. FELIX MALLARD FC.

ROMAN WEBB. thirty two. he/him. heterosexual. convicted felon. he grew up in a rough neighborhood and always had to fight to survive. one day things took a turn and he found himself behind bars. now he’s out and struggling to try to live an honest life or return to his old ways. JACK O CONNELL FC.

ZACHARIAH WILLIAMS. twenty five. heterosexual. bar tender. he was the former golden boy and his parents meal ticket due to his talent with football. he was expected to go professional and had a full ride yet dropped out when the pressure became too much. he got himself a job working as a bar tender, the first choice he made for himself. JACOB ELORDI FC.

ALEXANDER MOORE. fifty five. architect. former military man who never entirely knew what to do with his life. he attended college after he was out and realized he wanted to design buildings. he made a successful career for himself but that was all he ever focused on. JEFFREY DEAN MORGAN FC.

LUCA HAVILI. forty four. heterosexual. logger. a solitary man who prefers to be alone over company. opts to live alone with no one around him after his wife left him for another man. if he dares to venture out it’s rare. JASON MOMOA FC.

ANTON GALLO. thirty three. he/him. heterosexual. assassin. grew up in the gutter so to speak. had to fight for everything before working his way up in the world by drawing blood and ending lives. MICHELE MORRONE FC.

[eyrieofsynapses]

Okay, fact-check: first, it's not a post-conviction meeting, it's a pre-sentencing interview. This has been covered by both USA Today and Politifact. Second, as shitty as Trump is, I can't find any information stating that the drug test is mandatory. This particular claim also isn't substantiated by any fully credible news outlets; it was initially started, as far as I can tell, by Newsweek, which isn't known for reliability. It looks like Stephen Colbert cracked a joke about it on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, at least according to a New York Times article (I know not everyone has access, sorry! But I can't find it anywhere else right now):

"“Unlike the vast majority of felons out there, Trump was allowed to do his interview at Mar-a-Lago over a video conference call. Must make the mandatory drug test kind of difficult — hard to get the pee right into the USB port.” — STEPHEN COLBERT"

But, well--comedian. I respect Colbert, but that doesn't mean he fact-checks all his jokes.

However: credible sources (including Reuters, Axios, CBS) are reporting that Trump's pre-sentencing interview occurred via Zoom last Monday on June 10th, which means that if you believe that a drug test is mandatory, you could could draw the conclusion that Trump got around it by not having to attend in person. This is probably how Newsweek came up with it. The actual sentencing isn't until July 11th, by the way.

Re: pre-sentencing interviews:

"A Judge uses a pre-sentence report to help decide the defendant’s punishment for the crime. The pre-sentence report is made by probation officers. The report is made after the conviction and before the date for Sentencing in felony and serious misdemeanor cases. A probation officer (or a social worker or psychologist working for the probation department) interviews the defendant and checks the defendant’s criminal record."

(Source: "Pre-Sentencing Report" from nycourts.gov; there's some more info worth reading too)

I can't find any government websites that cover requirements for drug testing in pre-sentence reports, but I did find an article from a law firm:

"Since the judge can request additional information, they may order a presentence investigation drug test. It’s especially likely when the crime was a drug-related offense."

(Source: "What Is a PSI Report? – Who Writes a Federal PSI & How Is It Used?" from kretzerfirm.com)

As far as I can tell, drug testing can be mandatory in a pre-sentence report, but the judge has to order it specifically. Trump's case doesn't deal with drugs directly or indirectly.

This does not mean that the power to request drug tests isn't abused by judges, nor does it mean that it isn't used to discriminate against defendants. Stay angry about that, because it's fucking wrong and we need to raise awareness to fix the system.

The spread of this claim means that some people on the left are starting to twist the facts, though, which hurts credibility and gives the right-wingers ammo.

What we need to be talking about in regards to Trump's trials is that he hasn't even been sentenced yet. Convicted, yes, but his sentencing isn't due until July 11th. And remember, this is only the Stormy Daniels case--it's not the two election interference cases (one federal, one from Georgia) or the classified documents case. (The Supreme Court gets to decide on whether he can be prosecuted for federal election interference, by the way.) None of them have set trial dates. They may not even go to trial until just before, if not long after, the November election. This case is a black mark on his reputation, but he's also using it to claim martyrdom to his base, and it's not that big in the grand scheme of things.

Look: this sentencing isn't going to do much when it comes to keeping Trump out of office, if anything at all. We can still keep him out, but we're gonna have to work for it. Keep talking about the other cases. Keep voting blue. And don't spread misinformation, because you can't fight effectively when you don't know the facts.

Everyone needs to bring this up. Every TV appearance needs this question answered.

Why is Trump allowed to skip a mandated drug test?

[chesters-ocs]

Felon!Stone would never leave the kids to play outside alone. He stands on the porch every day, no matter how exhausted he is from working, and he makes sure the kids are safe.

I bet he gets a ton of stares simply because of his height and his scars. Something something he gets self-conscious and sometimes apologizes to Sylvester because he draws so much attention to himself simply for existing.

But at least none of the troublemaker kids come around the house when they see Stone on the porch. To Sammy’s dismay, probably. (I bet he’s ((secretly)) friends with those kids.)

sylvester would make it his mission to just make sure felon!stone feels better and more confident about himself via love and affection basically 24/7

something something hes calling the kids back himself and is just being so soft and lovey dovey to stone. outside or back home. hes not afraid to let the world know that hes in love

something something if anyones got a problem with stone, they better be ready for sylvester to just glare at them as they pass. excuse him, stone is literally baby, so what the fuck??

(imagine maybe some "concerned" neighbors talk to him about stone and how he must be a horrible partner and father. just based on vibes. anyways they got a cane to the head and the door slammed on them)

also sammy would totally befriend all the other troublemakers.

i see him trying to leave late in the evening to hang out with them, and when stone blocks the door he'll get soooo pouty. whats he supposed to do now??? tell his friends that dad said no???? oh woe is him and all that.

(imagining him trying more and more elaborate ways at sneaking out and every time stone just picks him up before he can like idfk, crawl out the windows)

[itsalwayswellattheworldsend]

Book 2 Chapter 31 - The Beginning of the Road To Utterbol

Text Audio

Synopsis:

Ralph and Bull part ways as he sets out from Goldburg—and Ralph gets to know his guide.

Summary:

"Nay, nay, draw thy let-pass, not thy sword. This knight shalt bid thee to a courteous joust; but do thou nay-say it, for he is a mere felon, and shalt set his men-at-arms on thee, and then will rob thee and slay thee after, or cast thee into his prison."

Early the next morning, Ralph got up and met with Bull Shockhead, and said: “Bull, you are my servant, taken in war.”

Bull nodded, but frowned.

Ralph continued: “If I ask you to do something reasonable, you’ll do it, won’t you?”

“Yes,” Bull said roughly.

“Well, I am going eastward and I can’t take you with me, therefore I ask that you take this gold and go free, with my blessing.”

Bull brightened at that, his eyes shining, but he said: “Yes, king’s son, but why won’t you take me with you?

“It is a dangerous journey, and you being with me would put you in danger, and make mine worse. Also, I have an errand—as you know—which is mine alone to carry out.”

Bull thought about this a little and said: “King’s son, at first I thought that our errands were entwined—and that is the case—but you are probably right about things being less-dangerous for both of us if we part ways at this time. But now I’ll say this to you: from this day forward, you will be like my brother, if you will accept that. So, if you are ever among my people, you will not be in danger from them—no, they will give you all the help they can.”

 Then he took Ralph by the hand and kissed him, and reached into his gear and brought out a little purse made from the skin of some small creature, embroidered in the front with a set of bull’s horns. Then he bent down and plucked a long, tough piece of grass (they were in the courtyard of the inn) and he twisted it quickly into a strange, complex knot, then opened the purse and put it inside.

“King’s son, this is the sign by which it shall be known among our folk that I have made you my brother. Even if there are flames roaring about you, or swords clashing over your head, if you cry out ‘I am the brother of Bull Shockhead!’ all those of my people who are nearby will be your friends and helpers. And now I say farewell to you: but it is not entirely unlikely that you would hear of me in the distant East.”[1] 

So Ralph left him and went with Clement to the Gate of Goldburg, and said goodbye to him there: “It seems to me that I may have some of my wife’s talent for seeing the future,[2] and I think that I’ll see you again at Wulstead and Upmeads, with you seeing better days than these. This is my goodbye to you.”

Then they parted, and Ralph rode away.

He found his guide a ways off from the gate,[3] and they greeted each other. He was dressed the same as he had been the day before; he had saddle-bags on his horse, which was a strong, black animal. He wasn’t armed, but his bag had a set of knives on it, and on the other side there was a fiddle in its case.

Ralph smiled at him and said: “You’re not bringing any weapons?”[4]

“What do I need weapons for?” he answered, “Since we won’t be strong enough to fight, anyway. This is my weapon,” he said, touching his fiddle. “And it is also my garden and pasture, for it gives me meat and bread—and sometimes even a bit of drink.”

So they rode together and the man was cheerful and happy. Raph said to him: “Since we are to be companions for some time, I think, what should I call you?”

He said, “Morfinn the Minstrel, I am called as your servant, fair lord. Or some call me Morfinn the Unmanned.[5] Now are you going to ask me about the news I had for you?”

“Yes,” said Ralph, reddening, “does it have to do with a woman?”[6]

“Of course,” said Morfinn. “I heard you asking many questions on that topic in Goldburg, and I said to myself that I—who am going to Utterness—might do something good for this young lord, who wears his heart on his sleeve,[7] and tell everyone that he is kind and rich, so that he will no doubt reward me well for the help I give. And also, it may be that he will do some good thing for me in the future.”[8]

“Just tell me, all right?” said Ralph. “Have you seen the woman? I will reward your help.”

“Patience, fair sir,” said Morfinn; “I have seen a captive woman brought to the House of Utterbol. Let’s see if she is the one you are looking for.”

He smiled, but Ralph thought he didn’t seem as charming as he had at first, since there was an edge of mocking in that smile. He grew angry, but held back and said: “Sir Minstrel, I don’t know why you have come to me with a story to tell and won’t spit it out. Look, will this loosen your tongue?” He held out his hand with two pieces of gold in it. “Or how about this?” and then he half-drew his sword from its sheath.

Morfinn said, grinning again: “No, I’m not afraid of a sword in your hands, Knight, since you don’t have ‘fool’ written across your forehead and therefore won’t kill your guide—or even anger him too much. As for your gold, pay me when we reach our destination. I was just thinking about how best to tell you the story so that you will believe its truth. It goes like this: “As I left Utterbol a month ago, I saw a young woman brought there as a captive, and she seemed so very pretty that I looked carefully and asked one of the armed men who is a friend of mine about where she had been bought. He told me that she hadn’t been bought, but taken from the wildmen from the far mountains. Does that sound right to you, lord?”

“Yes,” said Ralph, growing eager.

“Well,” Morfinn continued, “there is more than one beautiful woman in the world, so this one probably isn’t the one you’re looking for.[9] But I’ll tell you what she looked like, and if it doesn’t match up with your friend, you can give me those two gold coins and turn back to town. She was tall rather than short, and slim rather than broad. But lots of women look like that, and she undoubtedly had been worn down by her traveling, since she at least came from beyond the mountains. But you can’t really tell who she is just from those details. Her hands and feet (she was barefoot and on horseback) were better-shaped than most women’s, though that does not make her truly identifiable. But few women like that work in fields—as I believe this one did, for her face was sun-tanned, her natural color shining through—her hair was brown, but there was a bright color in it as well, and a lot of it. Her cheeks were smooth, round, and as well-made as any artisan could craft. Her chin was round and dimpled, her lips full and pink, but held together firmly, as if she were both brave and angry. Her eyes were wide apart, grey and deep, and her whole face had a sweet look to it, as though she might be very kind to someone she liked; yet there was also a high, proud air to it, as though she came from some great bloodline. Does this sound like your friend?”[10]

He said all of this slowly and smoothly, and that mocking smile flickered back now and again. Ralph grew pale as he spoke and furrowed his brow in anger and grief. He was slow to answer, but at last he said “Yes,” shortly and sharply.

Then Morfinn continued: “And yet despite all that, it may not be her, since there may be one or two other women in these parts who meet such a description. But now I’ll tell you about her clothes, though that may not be much help, as she may have changed outfits many times since you last saw her. It was like this: she wore a green gown with a short skirt for walking;[11] The sleeves were straight like someone who does housework, and there was multi-colored embroidery on their seams, and a border of needlework flowers at the hem. I also saw that a piece of the skirt had been torn off at some point in the journey. Now what do you say, fair lord? Have I done well to bring this news to you?”

 “Oh yes, yes,” said Ralph, and he could not contain his emotions and so spurred his horse to gallop ahead a long way. There, he dismounted and pretended to check his saddle, because he could not stop himself from crying sweet and bitter tears of fear and desire, as stirred up as his soul was.[12]

Morfinn continued to ride quietly, and by the time he caught up, Ralph was mounting again. When he was in the saddle, he turned his face away from his traveling partner and said in a husky voice: “Morfinn, I command you—or if you’d prefer, ask you—to not speak to me about this woman again, for it affects my heart too much.”

“That’s fine, lord,” said Morfinn, “I will do as you command, and there are many other things we can discuss aside from one beautiful woman.”

Then they rode quietly for a while, and Ralph kept silent as he was thinking about many things. But the minstrel hummed bits of songs as they rode along.

But at last Ralph turned to him suddenly and said, “Tell me, guide, how did they seem to be treating that woman?”

The minstrel chuckled and said: “Fair lord, if I felt like mocking you I’d say you change directions like a weathervane, since just half an hour ago you asked me to say nothing about her: but I think I understand your reasoning. So I will tell you that they seemed to be treating her well, which is no surprise, since only a fool would damage such a beauty. Oh, she will do well. I noted that the Lord of Utterbol seemed to enjoy riding beside her, so that he could look her over. Yes, she will have a happy life, even if she barely listens to her Lord’s instructions.

Ralph glared at him from the corner of his eye, but Morfinn did not seem to notice. Then Ralph said: “And what if she doesn’t listen at all?”

Morfinn smiled and answered: “Then my Lord has many servants who do listen to him.”

Ralph stayed quiet for a long while, then at last turned fully to Morfinn and said: “Are you saying that the Lord of Utterbol is a good master and kind to his people and servants?”

“Fair sir,” said the minstrel; “you have told me to not speak to you about one woman, now I will ask that you not speak to me about one man, that being my Lord of Utterbol.”

Ralph’s heart sank at this, but he did not question it.

Then they both rode in silence for a time, but the day was beautiful and the sun was shining, the wind blowing, and sweet, fresh air floated about them, and Ralph’s heart grew lighter and he started talking again. The minstrel responded cheerfully, pointing out things as they rode along, like one who appreciated the countryside.

It was a fresh, bright morning in early autumn,[13] the wheat was still in the fields, the grapes were ripening, and the animals and birds  were happy. But there was little happiness in the farmers they met, both men and women, and they were poorly-dressed, with sullen faces, possibly starving.

If they found anyone who was happy, it was a scattering of vagrant folk resting on the grass by the road, or coming out of the woods and other places of shelters in groups of two or three, sometimes with children. These looked like the gypsies of our time and region, and they were all armed, and mostly well-dressed in their fashion.[14] Sometimes when there were four or five men together, they would draw up close to the highway, but then would turn back either at seeing Ralph’s weapons and armor, or at seeing the minstrel’s clothing. Indeed, some of them seemed to know Mofrinn, and nodded at him in a friendly way as they passed by, but he did not respond.

They had now ridden out of the lands of Goldburg, which were mostly to the west of the city, and the day was passing quickly. To the east, the land was pretty and bountiful, and without any hills. They crossed a big river twice using bridges, and often forded small streams.[15]

About two hours before sunset, they came to a place where a side-road joined the highway, and there was a little stone chapel at the intersection (though Ralph could not tell if it was Christian or heathen from its strange design). In a grassy place by the door of the chapel, a well-armed knight sat with his head uncovered, and next to him his squire saw to his war horse, and five other armed men stood nearby with odd halberds and axes. The knight stood up when he saw the travelers coming up the road, and Ralph put his hand on the hilt of his sword, but the minstrel spoke up before they reached the other group.

“No, no, draw your letter of protection, not your sword. This knight is going to challenge you to a friendly joust, but you should decline. He’s a thief, and will send his armed men to grab you. Then you’ll be robbed or killed, or thrown into his prison.”

So Ralph got out the parchment that Morfinn had given him and held it out and unrolled in his hand. When the knight called to him in a rough voice as they got near, Ralph said: “No, sir, I can’t stop now, I have business to see to.”

The knight’s face relaxed and said: “Fair sir, since you are a friend of our lord, won’t you come home to my house—which is nearby—and rest a while, eat a bite, drink a cup, and then sleep in a nice bed?”

“No, sir,” said Ralph, “I’m short on time,” and he passed by, and the knight did not stop him, only laughed a short laugh like the snorting of a pig, and sat back down on the grass again. Ralph ignored him, but was glad that the letter of protection had been tested and proved useful. But he could see that the minstrel was sick with fear and shaking like a leaf, and it was a long time before he started speaking again.

They kept riding until dusk, when the minstrel stopped Ralph at a place where a group of huts gathered around a larger, better-looking house, which Ralph took to be an inn, though it had no sign.[16] They entered that building, where there was an old woman that the minstrel spoke to for a bit in a language Ralph didn’t know, and she quickly went and got them food and drink, and afterwards showed them to their beds.[17]

In spite of the food and drink, the minstrel was silent and moody. It may have been from tiredness, Ralph thought, and he himself did not really feel too much like talking, so he went to bed.

Notes:

[1] And so Ralph and Bull part ways. Ralph has many temporary traveling companions over the course of the story (Roger, the Lady, Richard, Clement), and Bull may be my favorite among them. He’s not around all that much, but he shows himself to be loyal and intelligent (and better than Ralph at talking to people, despite Ralph’s charm). We may be seeing more of him (and some of Ralph’s other companions) later, though.

[2] See the Book 1 Chapter 3

[3] “About a bowshot from the gate” is the original. “Bowshot” is what it sounds like—a nonspecific distance equal to how far a bow can fire an arrow. Continuing to assume that “bow” is (unless otherwise indicated) an English longbow, this is a pretty long way, though definitely within eyesight of the gate (disregarding terrain blocking line of sight).

[4a] Not sure why Morfinn’s selection of knives don’t count as weapons, but my guess is that the knives are not the type used for stabbing people. In fantasy, all weapons are generally considered relatively equal: longsword, shortsword, dagger, spear—what matters is a person’s skill and fighting style and a tricky fighter with a knife is just as dangerous as a big man with a sword. In reality, the reach and weight of a weapon has the habit of outstripping the usefulness of speed and maneuverability (to a point). Swords are romantic, but spears were more widely used for many reasons: extended reach, less metal needed, easier to repair. A knife might be good in a pinch, but if that’s all you got you won’t really be considered “armed” for the purposes of traveling on dangerous roads.

[4b] I came back to this after like a week of being busy and had “[4a]” marked so I assume I had a [4b] planned, but I don’t remember what it was.

[5] See 2:30’s note about Morfinn being a eunuch.

[6] My first thought was “of course it has to do with a woman, what else would he have to tell you?” but then I remembered that he’s also looking for the Well. I’m very tired.

[7] Originally “whose face bewrayeth his heart,” which is to say that Ralph is pretty guileless and everyone knows exactly what he’s thinking because he’s a heartbroken young man with big boy emotions. I’m just excited to have a relevant idiom at hand.

[8] “Yeah I heard you were looking for a woman and I had some info so I figured I’d help you out and get on your good side since you look pretty rich and it’s always nice to have someone owe you a favor.” Morfinn is not intimidated by Ralph’s status or wealth, and knows he can get away with flaunting that fact. In the battle of wits, Ralph showed up unarmed. People love him because he’s sincere and—at his core—noble, but he’s proved time and again that he’s not great at interacting with other people.

[9] Morfinn likes being a dick.

[10] Is this the first description of Dorothea? I’ve commented before about how few character descriptions we get—I don’t think we knew Ralph was blonde until the Midmountain House—so the ones we do get stand out to me. I should do a comparison of the Lady and Dorothea’s descriptions, though Dorothea’s is colored by Morfinn’s re-telling.

[11] Mentioned in some previous note, I think, but describing a skirt as “short” in this time period means that she wouldn’t have to hold it up when she was walking around (hence the comment).

[12] Reminds me of when Ralph was traveling with the priest in the woods back in the Land of Abundance. The priest got all emotional and Ralph was awkward, and now the tables have turned.

[13] According to my calendar (the accuracy of which is admittedly dubious, as I’ve stated before) says that this day is September 2nd. Astronomically, this is late Summer, with the Autumnal Equinox being September 22nd, however the Meteorological Equinox (which uses temperature as measurement, not the position of the sun), is September 1st. Until I was verifying whether or not this was an error, I didn’t realize Meteorological and Astronomical seasons did not align. Oh well, looks like Morris beat me, this time. 

[14a] This stands out to me not just because of the mention of Travelers (which I’ll get into shortly), but because it addresses something outside of the story. “Our time and nation,” ​(as the original reads) gives both the narrator and the reader personhood and perspective in relation to the story.

[14b] As for the “gipsies” (as the original puts it), I don’t have too much to say other than that there are many cultures and people groups who are lumped together under similar terms (with varying accuracy) due to their lifestyles. Not all are Romani, with these sorts of communities existing natively in many cultures. Still, from the outside, the lines are not so carefully drawn.

[14c] If I had to guess based on the rest of the story, I would say these are likely analogous to Scottish Travellers, which comprises a number of indigenous Scottish communities (though Scottish Romani are also a thing). I make this guess based on our previous example of the Wildmen (who were also a non-conforming people group of Scotland), and the fact that a lot of the old terminology I look up tends to be Scottish in origin.

[15] “They crossed a big river twice by bridges,” is the original text, and it’s ambiguous about whether or not this was one river that they crossed twice, or two separate rivers. “Same river twice” seems like the clearest interpretation, but replace “crossed a big river” with traversing other landmarks and you can see how it could be interpreted otherwise. Because that interpretation would require a U shaped river, which seems less plausible than two separate rivers.

[16] The original says “it had no sign nor bush.” “Bush” in this context refers to ivy which would be hung like a sign at the door of a wine-seller (ivy being sacred to Bacchus, god of wine). This sort of symbolic sign (or a sign that showed images but not words) was common for signaling to bypassers in times when literacy was not wide-spread.

[17a] “Wherein was an old woman to whom the minstrel spake a word or two in a tongue that Ralph knew not.” This is the first (and only, maybe) reference to other languages, I think. I doubt Morris had Tolkien’s heart for linguistic detail, and so the language the characters are speaking in-world is likely English or an unnamed equivalent with no meaningful differences.

[17b] The Lord of the Rings is told from the Hobbits’ perspectives, and the “translation” of names reflects that. The appendices tell us that “Frodo” and “Sam”  are not actually their names, just an English equivalent (I believe “Sam” is stated to be something like “Ram,” originally), but Hobbit names are changed to be more familiar to English readers (if one ignores the Hobbit tradition of naming males after goofy sounds). Sam, Merry, Rosie, Baggins, Brandybuck, Took—some of these are a little odd, but they are English-enough to align with the reader’s sense of normality. And let’s not forget Bill the Pony.

[17c] Now compare those to the names of people and places from places far away: Denethor, Boromir, Celeborn, Galadriel, Eowyn, Theoden—these names sound strange and foreign to us because Tolkien left them as their originals, which were strange and foreign to the Hobbits.

[17d] (This has all mostly been a tangent for my own benefit.)

[17e] If we apply a similar reasoning to The Well, we see much more consistency in personal and (more commonly) place names. Upmeads, Goldburg, and Wulstead all seem pretty consistent. It’s not until we reach Utterness and Utterbol that things start to sound foreign (and I’ve already talked about their naming). “Morfinn” and “Gandolf” are the strangest personal names yet, but some research shows “Morfinn” might be Scottish in origin, though I haven’t really found a trusted source or any corroboration.

[17f] Basically, I’m unsure of the implications of Morfinn being bilingual, since we’ve only ever seen evidence of one language (not counting Greek and Latin being referenced as non-local languages). We’re not done encountering side-characters from increasingly remote areas, so if there’s anything else to say about how people talk, I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

Map:

[springbonk]

packgod roast copypasta

BOY YOU WANNA GET LOUD IN THIS BITCH?! SHUT UP BOY, YOU LOOK LIKE A VELOCIRAPTOR IN A CLOGGED TOILET BOWL. BRUH, YOU LIKE AN OFF BRAND BEN 10 CHARACTER NAH, YOU AIN'T BEN 10 YOU STEVEN 9! GET YO ASS BACK BOY! YOU LOOK LIKE YOU GOT EXPELLED FOR BARKING AT YO LUNCH LADY, SHUT YO ASS UP BOY! YOU AIN'T FROM THE JURASSIC PARK, YOU CAME FROM THE PREHISTORIC PLAYGROUND! GET YO ASS OUT BOY, YOU LIKE CLIFFORD THE BIG RED DOG'D FOSSIL! BOY, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT WITH YO NASTY ASS?! BOY, YOU BETTER GET YO AUTUMN WAS AN AVERAGE KID THAT NOONE UNDERSTANDS WOAH!!! MOM AND DAD AND GRANDPA ALWAYS GIVING HIM COMMANDS LOOKIN ASS BOY! BRUH, YOUR BALLS DROPPED AND THEN CLIMBED BACK UP BOY! STOP PLAYING WITH ME BOY YOU SEXUALLY IDENTIFY AS AN UNSOLVED RUBIK'S CUBE, YOU MADE AN NFT OUT OF YOUR GRANDMA TWERKING ON A PICKLE, YOU TRIED TURNING YOUR DISHWASHER *inhale* INTO A BITCOIN MINING RIG, YOUR BEST FRIEND IS A LITTLE MOUSE WHO LIVES UNDER YOUR BED IN A PRINGLES CAN, YOUR MOM USES A JUMP ROPE AS A BELT, YOUR GRANDPA GOT AN EMERGENCY HEART TRANSPLANT WITH A CAPRISUN POUCH, YOUR BARBER LINED YOU UP WITH A WEEDWACKER, YOU HAD ESEX WITH MOBY FROM BRAIN POP IN AN ENCRYPED HTML FILE, UNCLE GOT ARRESTED FOR EATING A BLUEBERRY OUT OF A ORANGUTAN'S ASSHOLE, YOUR SISTER'S CURRENTLY ENGAGED TO A ANTHROMORPHIC DUNG BEETLE NAMED "STEFAN", GRANDPA GOT HELD UP BY A PIGEON WTIH A MOHAWK ON THE SUBWAY, YOU POSTED A INSTAGRAM STORY OF A JAMAICAN CRICKET GIVING YOU A LAP DANCE IN THE BACK OF TOYS R US, YOUR DAD WAS TRYING TO FLIP PATRICK THE STAR'S BELLY BUTTON LINT ON THE DARK WEB TO PAY OFF YOUR HOUSE'S MORTGAGE, YOUR MOTHER BOUGHT YOU A PS5 FOR SUCCESSFULLY DRAWING A TRIANGLE, YOUR GRANDPA'S BUILT LIKE AN EXPIRED CHUG JUG AND YOUR LEGAL NAME IS FANG CLAW FUZZLE WUZZLES! GET YO ASS ON BOY IM NOT DONE WITH YOU BRUH, IM NOT DONE WITH YOU BRUH YOU BETTER GET YO HIPPOPOTAMUS SMELLING, COCOMELON, REGISTERED INTERNET FELON, NASTY AND NEED A CLEANSE, FOSTER HOME FOR IMAGINARY FRIENDS, "EXCUSE ME, I ONLY DATE 10S" LOOKIN ASS OUT OF MY FACE BRUH STOP PLAYIN BRUH. ANTS BE USING YOUR GRANDMA'S BUTTCRACK AS A SLIP N SLIDE! IN FACT, YOU FINNA PULL UP TO YO GRANDMOTHER'S FUNERAL DRESSED UP AS A RABID ORANGUTAN! YO FURRY ASS BOY YOU GONNA "OOH! OOH! OOH! OOH! IM SORRY GRANDMA *inhale* OOH! OOH! OOH! OOH! STOP PLAYING WITH ME BRUH, YOU BOUT NASTY AS HELL BRUH, YOU BE HITTING ON THE GIRLS AT LUNCH TIME WITH YO SACRED MATING CALL, YOU BE STANDING ON THE TABLE GOING "WAAHH! WAAHH! WAAHH!" STOP PLAYING BOY YOU BOUT NASTY AS HELL BRUH. BOY YOU BETTER GET YO PTERODACTYL, GOOD AT SCRABBLE, SHRIVELED APPLE, ATTRACTED TO BEEF CATTLE, CONCEIVED ON A HORSE SADDLE, YOU DON'T RUN YOU SKEDADDLE, PASTOR DID QUESTIONABLE THINGS TO YOU IN THE MIDDLE OF A CHURCH CHAPEL LOOKIN ASS BACK BOY YOU BOUTR DIRTY AS HELL! BETTER GET YO "ALL OF YOU HOES~ ALL OF YOU HOES~ YOU DONT REMEMBER WHO YALL TALKIN TO ITS THE DISCORD CEO!" LOOKIN ASS BACK OUT OF MY FACE, BOY YOU BOUT DIRTY AS HELL! GET YO LIL DIGGITY DIGGITY ASS ON BOYYYY!Alright now lemme get back in ya head. You look like a discombobulated philosophical butt-flake disabled Crip-walking crawfish half-eaten autistic autobot doin’ the cha-cha slide with seventeen naked mole rats in your basement, your grandmother got raped by a crouton with a Gucci belt in northern Idaho boy. Shut your dirty ass up boy, I swear to God I’m really gonna get to the slackin' and rackin' and dickita-dackin and flippin' and rippin' and dippin' and slippin' and pippin and dippin' and rippin' and tippin' in ya fat ass, your name is DJ Trunks, more like DJ Skunks cause you smell like poop, you ugly ass bitch, you are dirty like shit. I caught you at picture day dressed up like a clown with no hair, said [singing some song that I don’t know mockingly], started singing Japanese songs to your girlfriend saying “Oaku, amanatai, amanakinasai-ya”. And then she bitch slapped you with a frying pan and licked your testicles and said “anuminum OKRRRR”. DUMBASS BOY, run that shit back.

Listen to me right now, Trunks. Tell me why you and your family did a GTA 5 heist on the T grizzly’s diamond-fuckin’-encrusted testicle, my boy, you look like a double-dipped, chocolate chip, cleft-lip, charcoal slim jim with a gargamel nose, a Mr. Crocker hunch back, no fuckin’ feet, nine-arm, seven-stomachs, two ball fades, your stepdad beat you with a whiffle ball bat. You’re curled up into a ball like an autistic bakugan. You live in a sophisticated mud hut, your washing machine is a bucket of water that you shake, and you brush your teeth with your grandpa’s back scratcher and you floss your teeth with zipline cables. I caught you jerking off in a porta potty with a Thanos gauntlet on while your grandmother got **simultaneously** buttfucked by a clan of chimpanzees dressed up as The Wiggles while she was snorting cott- fucking, Keemstar’s cotton candy Gfuel off of the back of a dirty toilet seat my boy, you are really ugly like shit. You are a walking glitch, “dJ tRuNkS”. Every time your Dad asks you a question at dinner, you say “okay, DRRRRRRRR”, and start fuckin’ lagging, you fuckin ugly ass boy, you breathe like shit boy, ugly ass boy. And I caught you giving a reverse cow rimjob to your tickle-me Elmo doll, and that bitch was like “Elmo! AUListen, listen, tell me why your math teacher made a diss track on you, he said “Yuh! DJ Trunks’ mom smellin’ like a skunk! I slipped the D-D-D-D-D, J, in his mama’s trunks!” Dumb ass boy! Now I’m really gonna get to the rippin, dippin, slippin and flippin. You look like a level 37 fucking Garchomp with an extendo-clip overbite. Your grandmother’s casket is a cheesesteak wrapper, and your grandfather got cremated in an easy-bake oven. NYYYYOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMM. You are weird like shit, boy, now I’m really gonna get back in ya head. You live in a fuckin ostentatious orange, and your grandfather looks like a fuckin, uh, butt flake with Alzheimer’s that can’t remember his butt flake children. You are weird like shit, boy, run that shit back.

HH”, DUMBASS BOY run that shit back. Say something.SHUT YO FUCKING ASS UP BRO GOT A VELOCIRAPTOR FOR FREE BECAUSE YO MAMA IS SO NASTY THAT SHE BOUGHT A FUCKING COMMERCIAL TO LISTEN TO IT FOR 10 YEARS. *inhales* SHUT YO UGLY ASS UP BRO YO MOM AND DAD WERE SO DUMB THAT THEY FALL INTO A SUGAR PICK ME BRO AINT YO REFLECTION WENT OFF BECAUSE YOU GOT DIARRHEA FOR 10 MONTHS *Ohio sounds* SHUT YO UGLY ASS UP BRO YO MAMA WAS SO FAT THAT SHE USED A DISHWASHER INSTEAD OF A MOTHERFUCKING CRINGE TOILET TO WASH THEIR NASTY BOOGER ROCKETING NOSE *dishwasher sounds* SHUT YO MOTHERFUCKING UGLY ASS UP BRO YO MAMA WAS SO CRINGE THST SHE WENT TO OHIO BUT IT WAS 3 AM AND GOT A SWIRLY BY A STEGOSAURUS AND THEN GOT YEETED TO AMERICAN'S WHO DIED IN 1987 *inhales again* SHUT YO UGLY ASS UP BOY YO MAMA WAS SO OVERPOWERED AND CRINGIEST THAT SHE WENT INTO HERSELF AND THEN EDITED HER BRAIN FOR FUN BECAUSE WANTED TO BE DUMB FOR 19 HOURS BECAUSE OF THERMATOLOGISTS*inhales one more time* SHUT YO BUNKO ASS UP BRO YO BROTHER GOT YEETED INTO A MOTHERFUCKING ASSHOLE CRINGE OHIO LIKE GOOFY AHHH SKIBIDI TOILET ASS YO BOIIIIIII BRRRRRR SHUT YO UGLY ASS BRO UP UP UP DOWN DOWN DOWN FNF OHIO CRINGE HOOVER LIKE A BOOGER BRO WTF, WTFFFFF SHUT YO UGLY ASS IP BRO GOT YO MOTHERFUCKING ASSHOLE CRINGE WATAKA LIKE AAAAAA SHUT YO UGLY ASS UP BRO GOT A MINECRAFT DIRT BLOCK FROM OHIO SO YOU CAN MAKE A DIRT BLOCK FROM REAL LIFE BUT YO FRIEND SAID. FRIEND: IS THAT ALL'VE YOU GOT BROTHA? SHUT YO UGLY ASS UP BRO YO MAMA WAS A MAALIIIIIICOOOUSSSSSSSS BABY THAT SHE WENT CRAZY LIKE MOM: mamaaa I'm hungryyy gimme some milkkkk SHUT YO UGLY ASS BRO BRO DEADASS, DEADASS I WANT TK LOOK AT YOUR ENTIRE LIFE RIGHT NOW, TELL ME WHATS WRONG?! SPEAK, SPEAK, ALRIGHT NOW BRO THIS IS GETTING SERIOUS BRO SHUT YO UGLY ASS UP BRO GOT INTO THE MOVIE OF BITE OF 83 BECAUSE WANTED TO HOLD YOUR BALLS AND YEET EVAN WHO DIED IN BITE OF 83 bro shut up BOIIIIIIIII OMG YOUR A DIARRHEA POOP GRIMACE SHAKE LIKE BROOOO WTFFF SHUT YO UGLY ASS UP BRO GOT YO MINECRSFT RADIATING RAGE QUIT AS HELL BRO YO MAMA AND DAD AND YO BROTHER SND YO WHOLE FAMILY JUST GOT DIARRHEA BECAUSE YOU PUT FAKE NUTELLA ON THEIR TOILET LIKE MOM: WHAT DID YOU JUST DO SON?! DAD: WE KNOW YOU DID THIS TO OUR TOILET BUCKO. SHUT YO UGLY ASS UP BRO YO GRANDMA DIED IN A 198 OLD CHAIR BECAUSE WAS TOO HEAVY LIKE AAAAA SHUT YO UGLY ASS UP BRO GOT FAKE HACKS IN SLAP BATTLES IN ROBLOX JUST TO GET BEATDOWN GLOVE LIKE WUD DA HEIIIIIIIII OHHH MA GOD NOWAYYYIEHHHHHHH SHUT YO UGLY ASS UP BRO YO MAMA HAD A DIAPER ON HER HEAD BECAUSE YO MAMA WANTED TO BE A CHEF FOR 10 YEARS MOM: I NEED A DIAPER ON MY HEAD BECAUSE I NEEDED TO BE A CHEF. SHUT YO UGLY ASS UP BRO GOT A SHIT AROUND YOUR UKULELE BECAUSE OF BACTERIA AND MUCUS FROM THE THERMATOLOGISTS *Ohio sounds* SHUT YO UGLY ASS UP BRO YO MINECRAFT DID NOT LOAD BECAUSE YOU GOT MCDONALDS WIFI FOR OVER A YEAR. WORKER: HELLO WHAT CAN I HELP YOU SIR. CUSTOMER: CAN I GET MCDONALDS WIFI?! WORKER: UMM SIR WE DO NOT HAVE WIFI but we got you a new McDonald wifi which costs 100 dollars. SHUT YO UGLY ASS UP LIKE OMGG OMGGGGG SHUT YO FUCKING ASS UP BRO GOT NO COTTON PICKER BRO TRYING TO DING DONG DITCH YOUR FRIENDS AT 3AM BUT GOT A SWIRLY WITH THE GHOST AND THE GHOST KISSED YOUR BUTT BECAUSE SHE/HE WAS A FAN GIRL. BRRRRR SKIBIDI DOP DOP DOP DOP DOP DOP YES YES YES YES YES YES SKIBDIDHWIDNWJJDNWJDIWMNDIWJNE YES YES YES YES YES, SHUT YO UGLY ASS JP BRO CHILL CHILL DEADASS SHIT. BOIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII SHUT YO UGLY ASS UP BRO GOT A BRAND NEW IPHONE 15 BUT YOU THOUGHT ITS AN ACTUAL PHONE BECAUSE IT WAS A LEGENDARY BEN 10 TOY WITH SHIT AROUND IT, BRRRRRRRR SHUT YO UGLY ASS SHIT UP BRO YO MAMA BUYED YOU A NINETEEN YEAR OLD GRANDPA TO JUST YEET HER TO THE MOON AND GRT NO CLIPPED IN THE BACKROOMS BOI.

[qqueenofhades]

Having seen what's currently happening in Venezuela, I feel so terrible for everyone to tried to vote Maduro out, and I worry about the US election. Will Trump and the GOP be able to do the same thing??

I agree that what's happening in Venezuela is bad and scary, but it's also not unexpected (unfortunately), and it doesn't correlate to the US election. It is very much a cautionary tale for us, but in the case of what could happen, not what has happened yet (and which we could and MUST still avoid). Here's why I think that.

First, Maduro is the heir of 25+ years of dictatorship (first the Chavez regime and then his), and that political machine has had a full generation to fix/control everything in Venezuela just as they want it. They've collapsed the economy, driven mass emigration/purges/brain drains, installed corrupt systems and destroyed civil society, staffed the government with cronies who will only ever do what Maduro personally says -- etc. In other words, exactly what Trump and the Republicans aspire to do here in America, but with 25 years' head start, so all those fixes are well entrenched. Outside observers were also warning well ahead of the Venezuelan vote that even an overwhelming majority for the opposition candidate might not be enough, because Maduro and co. can just fix the result however they want with imaginary fantasy numbers. (See Putin's "win" in the Russian presidential "election.") Because dictators all draw from the same playbook regardless of their professed ideological temperament, they always use the same tools.

Next, voting in Venezuela is all-electronic, which is obviously the easiest kind of voting to jigger, and which means that whatever the people actually select has little to no relevance to what gets published, recorded, or proclaimed. Now, despite the Republicans' constant screaming about ELECTION FRAUD, the 2020 elections in America were widely hailed as the safest, most accurate, and fraud-free in the nation's history. (For that matter, multiple investigations afterward have re-confirmed this, and the tiny handful of cases of election fraud that were found were committed by, you guessed it, Republicans.) This did not happen because of the Orange Fuhrer and co., who were busy trying to commit election fraud on their own behalves, but because America, however flawed, is still a participatory liberal democracy and citizens have the right to engage and to do so in a meaningful fashion. We had the entire investigation about how Russia meddled with the election in 2016, and changes were made. Cybersecurity experts were brought in; redundancies and failsafes were introduced; etc., and even the Russian campaign focused on psychological influence rather than actually, physically changing already-cast votes, because that is very, very hard to do in America. We are not an all e-voting nation; there are paper trails, hard-copy ballots, hand recounts, poll observers, election lawyers, and multiple other safeguards that exist. The Republicans have been attacking them as hard as they can, but they're still there.

Thirdly, the Evil Orange tried to fix the elections when he was the sitting president (don't forget the infamous "find me 11,780 votes" phone call to the Georgia Secretary of State that got him slapped with felony charges), but he couldn't do it even then. He also tried a coup as the sitting president, with full discretion as to whether, for example, the National Guard should be deployed to the Capitol on January 6, and that didn't succeed. As such, when he's a disgraced jobless felon who is not the commander-in-chief of the American military and holds no official or political role, he's definitely not getting it done now. There were reforms made to the Electoral Count Act to prevent another January 6, Biden and not Trump would be the president at any other attempted attack on the counting of electoral votes, and I can guarantee Biden would not sit around for three hours watching Fox News and cheering the rioters on if such a thing happened again. Trump has been threatening violence again because that's the only move in his playbook, and he wants to intimidate people into voting for him out of fear that he'll attack them if they don't give him what he wants, like any other psychopathic bully. But that does not mean he actually has the tools to successfully carry it off, and honestly, motherfucker? Try it one more fucking time. I double fucking dog dare you. Biden has 6 months left in his term and total immunity, according to your own SCOTUS. So.

Basically, Venezuela has already been a banana republic for 20+ years, the dictator has had a full generation to destroy it/remake it/turn it into his personal fiefdom, he allows elections only because he already knows they won't change anything or actually remove him from power, and that is precisely what Trump wants to do in the US -- but, and this is crucial, has not done yet. Which is why it is so, so important to Orange-Proof America and get rid of him once and for fucking all on November 5th. We can do it. So yes.

[juicy-baldi]

my reaction: OY YOU WANNA GET LOUD IN THIS BITCH?! SHUT UP BOY, YOU LOOK LIKE A VELOCIRAPTOR IN A CLOGGED TOILET BOWL. BRUH, YOU LIKE AN OFF BRAND BEN 10 CHARACTER NAH, YOU AIN'T BEN 10 YOU STEVEN 9! GET YO ASS BACK BOY! YOU LOOK LIKE YOU GOT EXPELLED FOR BARKING AT YO LUNCH LADY, SHUT YO ASS UP BOY! YOU AIN'T FROM THE JURASSIC PARK, YOU CAME FROM THE PREHISTORIC PLAYGROUND! GET YO ASS OUT BOY, YOU LIKE CLIFFORD THE BIG RED DOG'D FOSSIL! BOY, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT WITH YO NASTY ASS?! BOY, YOU BETTER GET YO AUTUMN WAS AN AVERAGE KID THAT NOONE UNDERSTANDS WOAH!!! MOM AND DAD AND GRANDPA ALWAYS GIVING HIM COMMANDS LOOKIN ASS BOY! BRUH, YOUR BALLS DROPPED AND THEN CLIMBED BACK UP BOY! STOP PLAYING WITH ME BOY YOU SEXUALLY IDENTIFY AS AN UNSOLVED RUBIK'S CUBE, YOU MADE AN NFT OUT OF YOUR GRANDMA TWERKING ON A PICKLE, YOU TRIED TURNING YOUR DISHWASHER *inhale* INTO A BITCOIN MINING RIG, YOUR BEST FRIEND IS A LITTLE MOUSE WHO LIVES UNDER YOUR BED IN A PRINGLES CAN, YOUR MOM USES A JUMP ROPE AS A BELT, YOUR GRANDPA GOT AN EMERGENCY HEART TRANSPLANT WITH A CAPRISUN POUCH, YOUR BARBER LINED YOU UP WITH A WEEDWACKER, YOU HAD ESEX WITH MOBY FROM BRAIN POP IN AN ENCRYPED HTML FILE, UNCLE GOT ARRESTED FOR EATING A BLUEBERRY OUT OF A ORANGUTAN'S ASSHOLE, YOUR SISTER'S CURRENTLY ENGAGED TO A ANTHROMORPHIC DUNG BEETLE NAMED "STEFAN", GRANDPA GOT HELD UP BY A PIGEON WTIH A MOHAWK ON THE SUBWAY, YOU POSTED A INSTAGRAM STORY OF A JAMAICAN CRICKET GIVING YOU A LAP DANCE IN THE BACK OF TOYS R US, YOUR DAD WAS TRYING TO FLIP PATRICK THE STAR'S BELLY BUTTON LINT ON THE DARK WEB TO PAY OFF YOUR HOUSE'S MORTGAGE, YOUR MOTHER BOUGHT YOU A PS5 FOR SUCCESSFULLY DRAWING A TRIANGLE, YOUR GRANDPA'S BUILT LIKE AN EXPIRED CHUG JUG AND YOUR LEGAL NAME IS FANG CLAW FUZZLE WUZZLES! GET YO ASS ON BOY IM NOT DONE WITH YOU BRUH, IM NOT DONE WITH YOU BRUH YOU BETTER GET YO HIPPOPOTAMUS SMELLING, COCOMELON, REGISTERED INTERNET FELON, NASTY AND NEED A CLEANSE, FOSTER HOME FOR IMAGINARY FRIENDS, "EXCUSE ME, I ONLY DATE 10S" LOOKIN ASS OUT OF MY FACE BRUH STOP PLAYIN BRUH. ANTS BE USING YOUR GRANDMA'S BUTTCRACK AS A SLIP N SLIDE! IN FACT, YOU FINNA PULL UP TO YO GRANDMOTHER'S FUNERAL DRESSED UP AS A RABID ORANGUTAN! YO FURRY ASS BOY YOU GONNA "OOH! OOH! OOH! OOH! IM SORRY GRANDMA *inhale* OOH! OOH! OOH! OOH! STOP PLAYING WITH ME BRUH, YOU BOUT NASTY AS HELL BRUH, YOU BE HITTING ON THE GIRLS AT LUNCH TIME WITH YO SACRED MATING CALL, YOU BE STANDING ON THE TABLE GOING "WAAHH! WAAHH! WAAHH!" STOP PLAYING BOY YOU BOUT NASTY AS HELL BRUH. BOY YOU BETTER GET YO PTERODACTYL, GOOD AT SCRABBLE, SHRIVELED APPLE, ATTRACTED TO BEEF CATTLE, CONCEIVED ON A HORSE SADDLE, YOU DON'T RUN YOU SKEDADDLE, PASTOR DID QUESTIONABLE THINGS TO YOU IN THE MIDDLE OF A CHURCH CHAPEL LOOKIN ASS BACK BOY YOU BOUTR DIRTY AS HELL! BETTER GET YO "ALL OF YOU HOES~ ALL OF YOU HOES~ YOU DONT REMEMBER WHO YALL TALKIN TO ITS THE DISCORD CEO!" LOOKIN ASS BACK OUT OF MY FACE, BOY YOU BOUT DIRTY AS HELL! GET YO LIL DIGGITY DIGGITY ASS ON BOYYYY!