#I lost control on word county

[whackk-kermitt]

Kisses & Bitmarks

Warning: Derek is secretly a softy, obliviously in love, mutual pinning, confessions, Stiles being a horny bitch (only a little), Scott being a dummy, Derek is still an Alpha, everyone is alive Summary: In a series of unfortunate events, Stiles finds himself with the bite of the wolf. After the shift, he needs an Alpha to coach his control. Scott is NO help AT ALL. NOT PROOFREAD

≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪ "Derek, I can help."

"No, stay here."

"Derek-" Stiles grumbles as the alpha turns to scowl at him. "Scott, will you tell him I can help?"

Scott squirms where he stands just a few feet away, "I think you should stay here, dude."

"Dude," Stiles gasps hands coming up in his exasperation to slap down on his sides. "Who's side are you on?"

"A feral alpha, who has already killed and eaten four hikers, is not something that involves defenses humans."

"First, ouch. How dare you, I'm not defenseless when all of you are there. Second, I'm the one who tracked his guy down and I want to help."

"First," Derek bites back getting in his face, frustration and annoyance coming off him in waves, making his betas cower a bit. "You are defenseless which is why me, Scott, or someone else is always with you to make sure you get out alive. If you're there, their focus isn't on the extremely dangerous alpha. Second, you've already helped, so shut up, sit in your jeep, and let us kill the damn thing without you being underfoot." Derek growled through fitted teeth.

To anyone who just met Derek, they'd be pissing their pants if they were in his shoes. Derek being angry for receiving lip and getting in his face, primal growls and glowing fire in his eyes. Hell, if this was a few years ago, Stiles would be pissing himself right now.

But this is Derek, and Stiles knows Derek well enough to say that half of Derek's attitude and threats are out of love and worry. As strange as that sounds. And it is probably not any surprise, to the wolves at least, that Stiles isn't scared by his fangs and claws anymore.

His body still reacts to it, just not the way it used to.

It's hot, okay, don't judge him!

Stiles gave in, not in the mood anymore to argue, and grumbled like a pouting child. Not that he wouldn't argue the hell out of Derek, it's his favorite pastime. But he didn't wanna be around Derek when he was just intimated into arousal by him. Kind of embarrassing.

Stiles knew Derek knew, but Derek never said anything, thank god. He'd rather keep what little friendship with Derek he had than ruin it by things getting awkward. If Derek gave him the mercy of pretending he couldn't hear his heartbeat when he came into the room, or smell the on his flesh when Derek gave him the attention that excited him(sexually or otherwise). As long as Derek didn't totally hate him, he was okay.

Without another word, the wolves followed Derek and Scott into the woods to hunt this guy down.

Somehow by the magic of Stile's research skills and limited knowledge about the attacks, Stiles was able to track down the name of the alpha. He was the alpha of a modest pack residing in a town a few counties north of Beacon Hills. The pack mainly consisted of family and close friends, who Stiles found recent death certificates for. Meaning hunters likely track them down, and well. . . you know. Somewhere along the way, the alpha lost his mind, going feral.

Stiles moped in the jeep, feeling useless to the pack. He hated feeling like a damsel that needed to be protected. Derek was right, even if he didn't want to admit it. Everyone always ends up sticking by him to keep him safe when shit hits the fan, always underfoot when pressures are high. He knows it is unnecessary guilt, that he can't help being human, and the others have never really complained. At least not to his face about it.

He still feels like he could be doing more. There are benefits to him being human, pushing mountain ash, and taking care of wolvesbane obstacles the wolves can't. He just had this pit in his stomach that left him wanting to feel a part of something. He's kept around for his useful research and the benefit of his humanity, and Scott. Nothing else, and he knows it. But it’s nice to play pretend every once in a while.

His train of thought was derailed by a nasty howl echoing over the treetops. Stiles, before even thinking about it, stepped out of the jeep onto the pavement. His heart began to pound and he said a silent prayer that nobody was hurt. Although, even in his human ears, that howl didn't sound like any of the pack. They must have caught up to the alpha.

Stiles took a moment to realize that the sun had set completely, meaning he's been sitting here for at least an hour. A second howl sounded, and his head turned towards it. It sounded closer. Way closer.

The alpha was moving, and fast. Probably running away from the pack. Stiles stomach twisted at the fruition that it was coming his way. He climbed back into the jeep and thought about starting it up and moving out of the way of danger.

He struggled to fish his keys out of his pocket, panting in sudden adrenalin.

As the keys set in the transmission and turned, the jeep sputtered to life and a groan reached his ears. That didn't sound like the metallic grind and grown the old girl made when she started up, it sounded animalistic.

Terrified, stiles turned his head. He was frozen, when just outside the driver-side door was a beast that could put Peter’s alpha form to shame. Snarling and drooling at the sight of him.

Its sight is based on movement, no sudden movements.

No wait that's Jurassic Park, shit!

Before Stiles could even think, even hope for a rescue, the door was ripped away, tugging the whole jeep a few inches with it.

Claws and fangs dug into his flesh, pulling him in from the vehicle and onto the hard pavement below. The iron-tight jaw around his leg pulled back and was suddenly ripping into his abdomen.

Stiles let out a blood-curling scream, pushing away at the rabid wolf. He heard a distant howl and prayed they didn't find him in pieces.

His life flashed before his eyes; the face of his mother, father, Scott, Derek, Lydia. He cried out fearing what would happen to them when he was in the alpha's stomach.

Like hell, he was gonna be an easy meal. The bit down on the pain and scratched and punched with all this strength.

The alpha was fed up and lifted Stiles from the ground, shaking him dizzy and tossing him aside. Stiles rolled on the pavement. Landing on his stomach, his head turned to the jeep. He saw the beast standing in a pool of blood, a trail leading the the blood that began to pool under him. His vision began to cloud, and his senses were fading. He heard the alpha sniff and growl, then heavy footsteps coming closer. He couldn't move.

His eyes grew heavy and everything went dark and numb.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

When Stiles woke up he was in his bed. His mind was foggy from sleep. The only thing he knew was he had to pee. He stumbled out of bed, shuffling to the door and into the hall.

He had only half a mind to notice the voices of this father and Scott downstairs. Groggy and still so unaware of the events last night.

After relieving himself, he turned to wash his hands. He felt his heart jump at the sight of blood under his nails, looking at himself in the mirror it all came flooding bad to him.

The monster alpha, the teeth, the claws.

He lifted his shirt looking down to where his life was bleeding out of him at one point. His eyes found his own again and they glowed a bright gold. He panted and collapsed against the wall.

No, no no no, this can't be happening. He didn't want this.

"Stiles," He heard Scott's voice. He zeroed in on the sounds and smells in the house. The fan in his dad's room buzzing softly, the coffee on the kitchen table where he was sure his father and Scott had just been, the heartbeats standing at the bottom of the stairs, the soft creak in the third step as someone began coming up.

The next thing that assaulted his senses was the revolting smell of Scott.

"Stay away!" Stiles panicked as he felt claws pushing out at his fingertips, and fangs drop into place in his mouth. He felt a wave of uncertainty, displeasure, and fear. The footsteps on the stairs stopped and he sighed looking around in panic.

He felt the instinct to run, run where he didn't know. The animalistic instinct in him told him to run just as it told him to breathe. Something in Scott's scent made him feel unsettled and afraid.

"Stiles, we've been through this before, remember? You taught me to control it." He hears Scott sigh and even his soft nervous gulp. "Find your anchor, tie yourself to it."

Stiles nodded, knowing Scott or his father couldn't see it. He focused on his father, his scent, and his heartbeat. He smelled his aftershave and cologne, the coffee on his breath, the gunpowder and detergent on his hands. He listened to his erratic heart and how it beat quickly with worry and fear.

"Stiles," Scott tested softly, bearly a whisper that Stiles could hear as clear as day. "You need to calm down."

"Not helping!" Stiles snapped, voice slurred through the fangs he wasn't used to having. Something in him pushed a defensive growl from his throat. Realizing what he was doing only a second later he let out an apologetic whimper.

Stiles wondered why it was his body, his wolf, that hated Scott's scent so much, and why it made him feel so sick. Why Scott's comforting voice in his ears made him feel so volatile and angry. He needed to get away from it, it made him feel scared.

He remembered something Derek had said to the others about the instinct of a wolf always being in your best interest. Even if it is something you can't follow through with, acknowledge the instinct and consider it.

If his wolf needed to get away then he will. He stood quickly and dashed to his room, following the wolf's lead. He trusted it entirely.

"Stiles?" Scott cried coming up the stairs.

"Son?" The panic and confusion in his father's voice made him whime, but he couldn't control himself right now. His father's safety was always his top priority.

He let the wolf take him through the window, and jumped down into the side yard, b-linding the woods behind his house. He didn't know where he was going, but just needed to get away from Scott.

Fully shifted, he ran faster than he ever had before. Heart thumping and pounding in his ears. He smelled the woods, the dirt under his bare feet, the pine and oak, the musk of the animals that lingered, and the petricore like never before. He felt the wind on his face and smiled. If this is what he was missing out on this whole time maybe he should've asked for the bite sooner.

His feet slowed on their own, and he realized where he was. A few blocks from Derek's loft! He'd run that far that fast?

He picked his pace back up and ran like hell. If this is where his wolf wanted to be, this is where he would be.

Skipping a step at a time he made his way up, too much energy to sit around waiting for the elevator.

"What do you mean he's gone?" He hears Derek growl. There was a power in the growl that made his wolf purr. "You were supposed to talk to him, coach him through the shift!"

"Derek!" He called.

"He's here." He said, tone as though he didn't believe it. "No, stay there, if he's agitated, I'll deal with it. No one needs to get hurt.

Stiles flung open the door watching Derek strolling down the stairs and putting his phone away in his pocket. Derek slowly and cautiously approached, eyes concerned.

"I hated it." Stiles panted lightly. He felt a need for Derek to understand what was happening, to guide him on what to do.

"Hated what?"

"Scott," Stiles sighed stepping fully into the loft. "His scent, his voice telling me to calm down. It made me afraid and angry. The wolf just wanted to run away, and I tried to fight it and get control like Scott was telling me but it just made it worse. God, I wanted to rip his throat out with my teeth! Huh, I sound like you now. And I- I remembered you telling Erica and the guys about the wolf's instincts and how you should always trust it, so I jumped out of my window. Oh, god, wow, I jumped out a window! I didn't even think, I-nothing broke. Or maybe it healed? I don't know, but I started running, and I ended up here. Derek," He took a breath, eyes glossy. "What do I do?"

Derek just stared at him for a long moment.

"Derek?" Stiles's voice was soft now, his breathing slowing to normal.

Derek's heartbeat was fast, his eyes searched Stiles for a moment before he looked away with a thoughtful expression for a moment.

"I-" He huffed. "I thought Scott would be your alpha."

"He isn't?"

"Not if you wanted to rip his throat out when he asked you to calm down."

"Huh." Stiles nodded. "That makes sense."

Derek chuckled dryly.

"Wow," Stiles sighed taking a deep breath. "You smell good. You always smell this good? Is it the new nose?"

Derek sighed, face falling. Like Stiles had disappointed him somehow. His wolf whined in the back of his mind.

'Please the alpha.'

He gulped and frowned a little.

"Did I do something wrong? You can't get mad at me dude, I'm new to this."

"No, you just-" He cut himself off.

"Come on Derek, I'm kind of relying on you completely here." Stiles stepped closer and Derek stepped back. Stiles's eyes began to water and he didn't know why. He felt alone and pitiful all of a sudden.

Derek watched his reaction curiously.

"What are you feeling?" He asked hesitantly like he didn't really want to know the answer. "Your instincts, what do you want? What is your wolf telling you you need?" He clarified.

"I-" Stiles stubbled back and frowned, a tear running down his cheek. His wolf's howls in the back of his mind made him each with the feeling he just lost something. "To be close to you. But I feel cold, lonely, all of a sudden."

Derek blinked a couple times and tilted his head down, just slightly.

"I feel alone, I feel-" Stiles stopped, not knowing the words that could describe it.

"Stiles," He spoke gently like his voice could crack Stiles into a million pieces if he spoke loud enough. "Don't think about the works, just the feeling. The words will come to you, trust the wolf."

Stiles curled in on himself for a bit before letting his eyes fall to the floor. He stood still, focusing on the cold feeling in his chest. The wolf whined and whimpered like a dying animal in the face of a predator.

'Rejected. Omega.'

"Rejected and omega come to mind." His voice barely broke from his throat.

Derek's breath hitched in his throat, looking at Stiles with an indescribable intensity.

"Please the alpha."

"Stiles," Derek's voice was hoarse as he was willing it to say something it didn't want to. "You-" He stopped himself again.

"Derek, what do I do?" Stiles didn't understand why he started crying, he felt too senseless despite all the new strength in his body.

"I," Derek paused. "I don't want you to think this is anything more than an alpha and beta relationship. I think it's maybe best if you called Sc-"

"What?" Stiles looked up at him. He felt anger and confusion seep into him. "You want to reject me as your beta be-because I like you?"

Derek shuddered for a moment. "I didn't say that, I-"

"Said we're only alpha and beta, yeah I got that," Stiles growled. "I figured you never said anything 'cause you didn't want things to be awkward between us, I get it- I'm not the most appealing candidate, but this is so much fucking worse, Derek. This is fucking petty."

"Stiles." Derek warned.

"I don't know what I'm doing!"Stiles cried. "I'm scared, I need you to guide me-help me! I know you don't care the way I care, I'm fine with that," He ignored the blip in his heart. "I can be just your friend, I have been and it was fine, but I need you-"

"Stiles," Derek's eyes widened as he looked him over, drinking in the confession. "What is it you want from me?"

"Help!" Stiles snapped like it was obvious because he thought it was. "I-"

"No," Derek shook his head, daring a few steps forward. "Not what I meant. Forget the wolves, just you and me. What do you want with me?"

Stiles gulped, nervous and scared of more rejection.

"You." He shrugged, he was tired all of a sudden.

"Stiles," Derek pleased, a look in his eye that made him swoon. "Please, don't beat around the bush."

"I want-" He hesitated, afraid. "I want to be with you."

Derek, stepped closer, a look in his eye that made Stiles twitchy.

"I want to, sit and talk about stupid shit that doesn't matter. I want to argue over Batman versus Superman. I want to argue over what movie to watch. I want you to meet my dad- like actually. Not just talking to him about how to deal with the monster of the week. I want you to hold me as we fall asleep. I want you-"

Derek was kissing him.

His hands cupped his cheeks and drew him closer, breathing him in. Stiles melted into it, calming all his nerves in a single second.

His wolf purred as it took in the scent and feel of his alpha's body against his.

Stiles pawed and his chest and followed his lips and he pulled away.

Derek chuckled, low and happy watching him. Stiles opened his eyes and looked up into Dereks.

"Wh-"

"I thought it was just sexual." Derek frowns for a moment. "If I had known you wanted more I-" He sighed. "Still probably wouldn't have done anything."

"Why not?" Stiles grumbled in slight offense. Although part of him, knowing how Derek had been used in the past, made him feel guilty for it having seemed that way. Even though he thought everything was blatantly obvious and that was never his intention.

" You're seventeen, and your fathers the sheriff." He blinked plainly.

"Oh," Stiles chuckled awkwardly. "Right."

"I'm sorry," Derek wavered.

"So you'll be my alpha?"

"Yeah."

"And. . maybe my mate."

Derek gave him a pointed stare.

"What?" Stiles frowned. "Isn't that just wolfie talk for dating?"

"No," Derek laughed, honest to god laughed. Stile thought he would faint. "No, It's more like marriage- with a lot of sex."

"Well, in that case," Stiles smirked, earning an eye-roll. "All that's can wait a year."

Derek laughed again.

"Yeah, sure." He nodded. "We'll see how it goes."

Stiles broke into a wide grin, jumped up flinging his arms around Derek and breathing in his scent. Stiles took note of the woodsy smell, the lavender, dirt, leather, and rich cologne pressed into his flesh. He decided it was his new favorite, and the wolf agreed.

"You're never getting rid of me now!"

"Wouldn't dream of it." Derek held tighter.

Stiles smelled something sour all of a sudden, "What's wrong?"

"You're quick to pick up on things, aren't you." Derek hummed on his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" Stiles asked more firmly as the scent became stronger.

"When I heard you scream, I thought- I found you," Derek paused to take a breath. Move his hand to his shoulder to feel his heart beating. "I thought we were too late."

"You could hear my heart beating though, right?"

"Didn't mean you'd make it through the night. You bled so much." Derek sniffled. "I thought it would be safer for you to stay behind and wait for us, but-"

"You couldn't have known."

"Doesn't matter." He mumbled, "I thought I lost you.

"Der,"

"Safe to say you're sticking with me from now on."

Stiles chuckled at that. He held tighter and literally purred. Which made Derek shudder closer humming in contentment.

"You're a tough son of a bitch though. Even as a human, you made it easy for us to kill the bastard."

"What?" Stiles pulled back to look him in the eye.

"How much do you remember?" Stiles shrugged trying to think, It was all kind of a blur to him now. "You scratched the hell out of his face. Eyes, ears. The only thing that wasn't fucked up by the time we got there was his nose."

"He didn't heal?"

"Didn't have time before I ripped his throat out." Stiles laughed, the irony of it all made his wolf preen for the man who lost his shit to protect him. "You had his eyeball in your hand when we got to you. Scratched it out."

"Holy shit!"

"If you weren't actively dying at the time I would've had time to feel proud," Derek smirked, and Stiles felt weak in the knees.

Derek chuckled pressing closer.

"So no sex obviously no sex for a while- taking things slow and all," He mused. "But, like, how about another smooch?"

Derek grins leaning in to oblige.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

"You and Derek what?" Scott cried, eyes wide as if he honestly;y had no fucking clue.

"Finally." The rest of the room groaned in unison.

"I was gonna hit you if you didn't make a move soon." Lydia rolled her eyes at him.

Stiles just smiled, looking over at Derek who smiled back with a wink. ≫ ────── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ────── ≪

•Kermitts Masterlist•

[escapistpainter]

So since batman has flooded my Tumblr, I'm making fics based off of scenarios I've seen. Thanks to @everwalldigan for the idea, I hope I do you justice🙏🏻

The air of the warehouse was thick and muggy in the late summer evening. The sound of muffled conversations, grunts, and the sound of rope rubbing against metal filled the area. "You really got connections, huh boss?" A gruff voice boomed through the empty building, belonging to a large man with a cocky grin plastered on his lips, a syringe in hand. The man a bit further away responds, albeit, quite unintelligibly. Squatting down in front of the man they had tied to a pole who's looking at them with with a deadpanned, almost annoyed expression. "Y'know, since we got you here, why don't we have some fun, eh bats?" A snarky chuckle rang through the room before he takes the syringe and stabs it into Batman's arm. The man let's out a groan through gritted teeth while it sinks deeper into his flesh before the man before him injects the unknown substance into his body.

"Let's start it simple...are you and red hood connected?" It was a random question for sure, though it would clear some things up. Before he can stop himself, Batman speaks. "Yes." Shit, truth serum, of course it is. He shouldn't be surprised at this, so many others have done this before. It's just a nuisance. The tall man's smirk only grows. "This is gonna be fun. I could get you to reveal yourself, but what fun is that?" He flashes a cocky smirk, "Well, since you have SOOOOO many of these 'sidekicks', who's your favorite bat-vigilante?" The man was just acting childish now and Batman couldn't help but roll his eyes but he still couldn't control his words. "I don't have a favorite. At least not currently."

The man readjusts his position, staring at the hero bound in front of him with a raised brow. "And what does that mean?" "Well, it depends on the circumstances. So if red hood doesn't kill someone this week, he gets placed higher on the list, he steals the batmobile and crashes it, least favorite until he makes up for it. Usually Orphan is in the lead, she doesn't talk back, she finished her duties in a timely manner and sometimes makes me origami cranes that I arrange on a shelf to display." The man looks at him, confused and surprised at his response. "That's a lot more indepth than I thou-" His sentence is cut short by Batman beginning to speak again. "Nightwing gets off pretty easy with just coming over to visit every now and then to have dinner, but those points get lost when he has a sling." The man found it hard to look away or cut him off as he was explaining, only motioning for the others to come closer, as if wanting to show them something.

"Red Robin gets the silent treatment if hacks into the county servers and decides to Rick roll everyone and only starts being spoken to if he helps me wrangle Robin and stop him from strangling Super boy. That gets Robin to need to go on longer patrols and doesn't get to go on missions with me as a punishment but I take that back if he prepares dinner, which he almost never does. I can't do anything to control spoiler, she just does what she does and I can only hope it's not a war crime, the less awful it is, the less she gets punished, though if she decides to spray pepper spray all over the inside of my mask one more time, I'm taking her girlfriend privileges away." *No one knows when but he's now holding a white board to display the charts of his favorites and everyone just assumes he has it just in case? It's Batman, who knows.

A voice blares over his comm system and into his ear. "B, we've tracked your location, we're almost there, do you copy?" Several minutes of silence went by as he shouts again, "B, do you copy?!" And a groan ring out before his comms beeped off. "The signal," Batman continued, "is similar to orphan in the sense, he doesn't get into trouble so he's always very high, but it hurts when he ignores me so I put him just a tad lower for hurting my feelings. And Oracle, well, she's not good, but she's not bad, she kinda just... Exists outside of missions, sometimes she sends me cat videos and I like that so she gets a few points ahead. And if all of my kids suck, then super boy gets the title of favorite, he's so much better than what I have to put up with. But if he runs away and has Superman start riding my ass more than normal, straight to the bottom and either bathound or batcow take that title."

Once he finishes speaking, the room is filled with eery silence while the criminals look at each other like he just gave birth. No one had expected that to be the outcome of the simple question but they're all brought out of their contemplations when a loud crash echoes through the warehouse, causing the men to spring to their feet. "What was that!?" One of the men shouts as the other see a dark figure appear behind him. "Me bitch." As soon as the man turns around, hard knuckles crash against his face and he falls to the ground. It didn't take long for the others to start getting picked off as well until the last guy is collapsed on the floor unconscious.

"You could've taken them down yourself B." Jason remarks, hauling the men into a pile. "They asked a question." Bruce exhales, feeling slightly disappointed in himself for just staying there. "And you know I don't like when you swear, further down you go." "What?! Not fair!"

[decayical]

@ — you might be a sinner . . . !

❛ being wriothesley's assistant ❜

01 notes: 💥💥💥

02 tws/tags: vibrator, oral (m receiving), pet names (dear, darling, love), wriothesley is lowkey a little shit, afab reader

03 mdni blogs do not interact!

you sat on the ground uncomfortably, your hands digging into his thighs as you moved your hips against nothing.

"sir... i don't see how this is supposed to help you with your work."

ever since you moved to fontaine, you were mesmerized by how much technology had advanced in the county compared to others. even the fortress of meropide, which was buried under the sea, had technology you had never seen before. it was brimming to the edge with potential, every single machine catching your attention before you were whisked away to your duties again.

"well you'll have to trust me darling, because it will."

even this small thing, located inside of your pussy, was something you had never considered before.

a whimper escaped from your mouth as wriothesley turned up the settings just a smidge, you heard him scoff as you gasped and teared up.

he chuckles. "my my, can my pet not even handle a bit of pleasure? seems we might have to stop now before it gets too much," he hummed, resting his head on his knuckles.

"mister wriothesley," you whine. you press your lips together in an attempt to stay quiet as you struggle to keep your eyes open and your head up.

the tent in his pants moved and caught your eye. nervously, you brought up your hands to his hips, looking up at him as you bit your trembling lip.

he stares down at you with a blank expression, only leaning down to wipe a tear—or maybe a drop of sweat—off your cheek. "are you enjoying yourself?" he asks simply, his thumb rolling up the settings of the thing inside of you even higher.

you gasp and jolt, rocking your hips into thin air as you throw your head back. "ahh—mister wriothesley—y-your turn."

his voice is slightly mocking. "hmm? what was that? i can't hear you." he brushed a stray strand of hair away from your forehead, watching carefully as you lost your composure.

it was only when you managed to lift a shaky hand to his bulge did he suck in a breath, his grip on his chair and the remote getting tighter. you felt his dick jump in its confines, and tugged on his zipper as much as you could while your brain struggled to think about anything but the sweet feeling inside your walls.

"wriothesley, wriothesley, wriothesley—ahn!" your vision momentarily blurred out and you could barely make out the expression on wriothesley's face—one that seemed bored. or at least, he would seem unaffected if it weren't for the drops of sweat falling from his temple and the way he tried so hard to control his labored breathing.

he stared as your cum fell down from your sticky thighs and onto the floor and he frowned. he'd have to get a human janitor to clean this mess up; surely monsieur neuvillette wouldn't appreciate it if his dear melusines discovered what he was doing with all this time in the prison.

your nails dug into his thigh as you bunched up your shirt in your other hand, breathing heavily as you came down from your high.

with half lidded eyes you look up and smile clumsily when wriothesley finally unzips his pants and lets his cock spring out. greedy hands make their way to the base of it and despite your delirium, you can't wait to choke on it just like you did the last time you were here.

wriothesley lets out a low groan as you lick a stripe up his dick, a gloved hand falling on top of your head with a thump.

"fuck, yeah just like that—"

he doesn't mean to, and you know he doesn't, but he thrusts his hips and the tip of his dick reaches the back of your mouth. you jolt, sucking in air through your nose as the tip nudges your throat.

despite his boring and simple exterior, despite his one word answers to questions and the way he goes about his day with no complexities, somehow when he's with you he loses his entire demeanor and turns into a puddle of mush. every word he doesn't say out suddenly spills out of his lips as soon as he manages to get his dick inside of you—why, you must be magic.

his hand leaves your hair to caress your cheek, the back of his finger lingering on your cheekbone. "shit—shit. sorry, love, i…" he runs his hand across his face as he sighs. hurting his plaything wouldn't be good at all, now would it?

you take the opportunity to envelop his dick in your mouth again, taking as much as you can before moving to leave only his thick tip in your mouth. with a pop, you look up at him with fluttering eyes.

carding a hand through your hair, he asks breathlessly, "what a good toy you are… everything about you, from your mouth to your holes were made for me, weren't they?" you bend down to continue sucking him off and he moans loudly. he groans, throwing his head back. "fuck… you're amazing."

he hides his bleary eyes with an arm, allowing himself to become fully vulnerable towards you as he lets out pretty moans and soft breaths. somehow his free hand wanders back to the control of your (your) vibrator, even as he thrusts weakly into your warm and wet mouth.

your overeager hands and mouth make him nearly drop it, but he gets to turn the vibrator back on and get back to fixing on your pretty face.

as you feel the toy turn on again, you gasp and whine around his dick. a hand that had wandered to one of his balls drags its nails across his thigh, and you have to force yourself to focus on the length in your mouth to stop yourself from becoming weak as jelly again.

wriothesley, of course, notices your struggling. "don't—don't tell me i'll have to pull you jo by your… your um, hair to get you to suck me off properly," he jokes weakly, tugging on your hair lightly. his words got sloppy and rough as his brain began fogging up.

your lips glaze over his tip again, your tongue following right behind it. you rub small circles into his inner thigh as you start sucking on small, specific parts of his cock to make his hips jerk up into you.

a hand races up to your head. "ah, haah, ahhn—love, please, i'm so close, fuck, please, please, i—"

he gasps, and at the last second you swallow his dick again and he's pushed over the edge, his load spilling into your mouth and just a bit falling off your lips.

you catch the drop of cum before it falls onto the floor and stick your finger into your mouth happily. "you taste good," you hum, closing your eyes and smiling.

wriothesley sighs and rests his head on his knuckles again, looking down at your disheveled form. his expression has returned to serious, stoic, and unreadable.

seems like you won't be getting demoted anytime soon.

[p3ndeja6]

⋆¸*ೃ☼ ⋆¸*ೃ

band au! Stan marsh x y/n

AGED UP! AGED UP! AGED UP!

summary: you were part of Stan’s band, crimson dawn as one of the lead singers, you and Stan had an established relationship but ended things badly due to lack of communication (on his part) everything he did or you did annoyed each other, but how can you guys continue playing together if you guys hate each other

warnings: swearing, arguing, marijuana usage, alcohol consumption, implied sex, angsty, jealous Stan!, maybe smut (probably)

2.6K words

not proof read (my bad)

(idk how many words this got so.. my bad pt 2)

you were currently on Wendy’s bed groaning and whining. you were so fed up and annoyed you could literally punch the next person that breathes next to you.

“Cmon y/n, it can’t be that bad anymore!” Wendy said. Wendy has been trying to cheer you up for over an hour making you forget about what happened at the crimson dawn meeting.

“no Wendy you don’t understand, Stan tries to always take control on everything the band does, we literally can’t fucking breathe anymore, all he does is nag and nag and nag, I can’t fucking stand him” you got up in anger clutching your hair in distress trying not to pull your hair apart, you might be getting grey hairs over this whole thing

“you’re only saying that because you guys broke up on bad terms and you still have to play alongside him y/n”

you and Stan dated for almost over a year before calling it quits. You truly did love that boy but he never tried to put any effort in the relationship anymore after the fourth month of dating. It’s like he lost complete feelings. That wasn’t the case though, he just had a hard time trying to distinguish if your feelings were as true as his but because of all the trying to decipher he lost complete focus on your relationship, resulting in never ending arguments and constant degradation

you loved him so much it hurt you physically after the break up, it took you a while to get yourself together.. for the band. Crimson dawn was getting recognition around South Park county and neighboring counties as well. You guys were getting paid for each gig. You had to continue even if it meant you had to play alongside your ex boyfriend, who you secretly still are in love with but won’t admit to anyone.

You didn’t notice but Wendy brought a box of tissues to you, you hadn’t realized but you were crying. You didn’t know how it happened. But you willing accepted the tissue, wiping your eyes and covering the pure white tissues with black eyeliner and black mascara

“I know it’s not easy, but the band is something you love, don’t let Stan ruin it for you this much.”

She was right, you loved the band, jimmy, butters and Kenny made being in the band fun and bearable

“yeah I guess you’re right-” as soon as you finished your sentence you got a phone call, you looked at the caller ID and it was Stan. You waited a few seconds before answering. “what’s up?” You spoke

“uh hey we just got a gig at some guys party, so come meet at my house in 20 minutes, don’t be late” he replied

“yeah sure whatever, I’ll be on my way” you hanged up in annoyance

“We just got a gig, Wendy by any chance did I leave any extra clothes here?”

You turned around in hopes she did have something you can wear. “Do you mean this?” She held your favorite outfit you forgot about months ago, when you slept over. it was your favorite dress, the flowy ,lacy black dress that made you feel and look so good on your body. God bless, you were already wearing your doc martens. All you had to do was add some finishing touches to your hair and face.

“how do I look?” You asked in worry

“fucking hot, honestly, like I literally could bang right now”

“oh my god! Wendy!!” You laughed at the explicit comment she made

you arrived at Stan’s house in a hurry hoping no one will noticed you were slightly late, you were dreading this but you just couldn’t wait to perform beside Stan

“You’re late y/n” Stan spat

“yeah by a fucking minute, what’s the big deal” you nonchalantly responded, finding your seat next to Kenny.

“the big deal is I told you to not be fucking late and that’s the first thing you do, gosh can’t you understand simply directions?”

“here we go again” Kenny said in humor while taking a sip of his beer

you angrily got up to his face, “You know what jack-ass fuck you, who gives a shit, it was just one fucking minute, why are you bitching about 60 seconds?”

“no fuck you-”

Butters went in between you and Stan who were standing so close to each another

“okay guys! we’re all here Stan cmon tell us what we’re doing” butters shakily said

he took one long second to stare down at you, clearly still pissed off

“okay fine.. I was going to say, that we got a call from one of Clyde’s cousins who’s having a party up in Jefferson county. Just 25 minutes from here. So let’s get ready to head up there”

you all agreed and started gathering your equipment and putting it in the van (that said tegridy farms). It was quiet but not an uncomfortable quiet. You were trying to put all the equipment in the van , fixing the boxes, and the instruments, when stan came up to you.

"y/n... look im sorry i yelled at you..... but seriously dont be late"

" stan i wasnt even that late... i dont know why you are making a big deal out of this... but i accept your apology" "lets just go.. okay?"

"yeah... okay"

As you went inside the van, you sat in between kenny and butters, while stan drove and jimmy sat in the passenger seat. As you were heading towards Jefferson, kenny lit up a joint, taking one huge puff. exhaling and coughing, kenny passing it to you. You received it by taking it in between you thumb and index finger. taking a big puff, you exhaled and then quickly inhaled it all back. Kenny laughed, "oh wow, didn't know you knew how to do that" you giggled and give him a small slap on his shoulder. "please kenny, you were the one who taught me"

The van started to fog up and the herby, skunk smell started to flow around the van, almost disgusting you in a way, creating a bit of a headache due to the "skunk" smell. As you were laughing it up with kenny and butters you had a feeling you were being stared down. You were, Stan was looking at you guys through the rear-view mirror, clenching his jaw and hands, created white marks on his knuckles as he gripped the steering wheel.

Once you guys arrived at clyde's cousins place, you could see all the people outside on the porch laughing, drinking, and smoking. Speaker music faintly coming out through the doors and windows. Colorful lights spinning all around, like a rave almost.

"alright guys, we're here.. we are going to do our best and make everyone know our name... couple ground rules before we go inside... Kenny dont try hooking up with anyone, please we seriously dont have time for that.. actually that goes for everyone. thats it lets go"

"please dude, i'm not gonna have sex... i didn't bring any condoms, plus cartman thought it would be funny how hard he can kick me in my fucking nuts. wasn't fucking funny"

You chuckled giving him a reassuring pat on his back and walked inside with him cursing out cartman and how hes a fat fuck who gets no bitches whatsoever.

You walked in and saw how everyone was dancing and singing and having a great time. you then saw a couple that kind of reminded you of you and stan, they looked so in love and so happy to be in each other's arms. you missed stan and you missed being with him, you didnt realize you were staring until jimmy kicked you with his crutch. "cmon on y-y-y/n" you snapped out of it and proceeded to help the rest of the guys set up. making final adjustments and being ready to perform.

"alright guys, you guys ready?"

"ready!"

"alright.. 1 .. 2 .. 3.."

the jimmy started to bang his drumsticks, and then kenny started with his bass.

you were their lead singer, as you were ready to begin singing you tried to get into the mindset, you know what song was first and it was a song you composed for stan. nobody really knows what the real reason was for the song, you just lied to them saying its based on a scene from a movie you saw.

you took one last deep breath, looking to your left you saw stan, smiling at you and nodding to you, signifying you'll do great. stan knew whenever you were scared or nervous... and knew what to do to calm you down.

you started singing, keeping in the rhythm by tapping your foot, you started to gain confidence as the chorus began to start. you took the microphone off the stand

send you my love on a wire

lift you up everytime

everyone, ooh

pulls away, ooh

from you

you were dancing and whipping your hair to the beat, staining the microphone with your red lipstick, moving your body to the beat and feeling the confidence rise up, when you saw everyone in a big pile, you did the unthinkable, you dived into them, crowd surfing the decent sized group of people, you were laughing and thanked the people who brought you back onto stage.

stan couldn't believe you just did that, he knew you were extroverted but didnt know it to this extent. he fell in love with you all over again. it almost pained him that you were no longer his, because of him, because of how stupid he was with words, how he lost the most important person in his life, the person that made life bearable. he wish he would fix it, could fix your guy's relationship.

the song was ending and you made sure to dance to the every end. as you guys were wrapping up, you had a 30 minute intermission before the last song. You got out to find yourself a drink, heading into the kitchen, it was a really big kitchen, marble countertops and porcelain walls. you found yourself the jungle juice they had, a bit strong for your liking so you only pour yourself a little bit. stan saw you and as he was about to go over and hopefully have a genuine conversation, some prep looking guy came up to you instead. he stood there observing, almost like a creep, but he means well

"hey! im clyde's cousin derek!' he semi shouted

"oh hey!, great party you have here"

"thank you, hey you were really great up there, you have such a great voice, and your performance skills is amazing, that crowd surf has everyone talking about it!"

you were a bit embarrassed that you actually did that. "yeahh sorry about that, i dont know what got into me. i dont usually do that, i just sing and dance really" you chuckled shamelessly

"nah nah you're good!" he looked at you with lustful eyes, he was getting close to you... like really close. you didnt really want to but he were craving the lips of somebody's. Stan was watching this all unravel and he started clenching his jaws. He immediately swooped in and grabbed you by your arm.

"hey whats your problem?!" he ignored your shouts, until he took you in a coat closet. he was intensely looking at you. unfortunatley he was a couple inches taller then you so you had to look up at him. there was this energy that made the temperature in the closet hotter.

"y/n"

"'y-yeah stan"

"im sorry..."

"for what?"

"im sorry for being a horrible boyfriend, i should've never shut you out, nor ignore you when you needed me the most. im so so sorry y/n.. and- and i cant stand you being with other guys, i cnat stand the fact they get to kiss you instead of me- i want to be the only guy holding you, kissing you, caressing you, everything, i want you to me mine... and only mine.. no one else's."

you were in a sort of shock, you didn't know what to say. the thing that you could say was, "stan i-"

you kissed him so passionately, he reacted a second late until he started to kiss you back.

"jump"

he said. you oblied to what he said and jumped. you wrapped you legs around his torso gripping him tight into your embrace, he started to kiss you down to your neck, making you lean your head back into the wall, moaning at the sensatiuon he gave once he found your sweet spot

"oh god, how i missed those noises that come out that pretty mouth of yours"

this made you even more wet then you were before. in a swift motion he took off your dress to reveal your through lace bra, your harden nipples poking out. He pinched them through the fabric, making you moan out in pleasure. You were loud since there was music playing, so no one could hear you scream in pleasure.

you were left in your underwear and bra, stan removed your underwear and started to rub circles in between your lips, using your wetness to lube up his fingers to slowly glide them in. making quenching noises as he pumped in and out of you at very slow pace. His thick fingers making it hurt to fully consume him. He moaned to the feeling of your warm spongy walls trying so hard to take him fully, and this was just his fingers.

"fuck stan, please go faster please.. please" you were begging for more, this drives stan crazy but he wanted to take his time with you, he wanted to make you feel good, make you only scream his name.

"yeah? you want me to go faster? cmon.. y/n enjoy this moment with me"

he started to pump even faster, catching you off guard. you gripped on his shoulders, trying to calm your breathing.

"yeah like that, yes!"

"i just remembered you were gonna kiss that douche out there"

he stopped his movements, and quickly pulled out his fingers

"fuck stan!" you exclaimed

he unbuckled his pants and pulled both his pants and boxers down, revealing his long, red, needy, tip. You smiled at his leaky tip, shakily rubbing all the precum all over his sensitive tip.

he moaned and bit his lip, "you like that?"

you kissed him one last time, "fuck stan, please- please just-just shove it in me"

he wasted no time, and roughly pounded in you. you held a tight grip around his waist and shoulders. he held onto your waist, watching himself disappear into you wet cunt. you had moved your head to the side moaning and winning at the pleasure you were enduring.

you were so close and so was he. he grunting became whinning and whimpers. you held onto his face looking at his beautiful eyes

he breifly looked down and back up you

"y/n im gonna-im gonna cum"

"me-me too"

"i love you"

he pounded one last time into you and let his seed fill you up to the brim. your cum and his began to drip down to the floor, he stood there a moment. both of you trying to regain energy and steading your breath.

you got off of him and leaned back onto the wall. Trying to process everything that went down.

“I love you too”

you both smiled, and cleaned yourselves up. Until both of you heard a loud knock.

“Cmon you fucking weirdos, we have to do our last song!” Kenny shouted from the other side.. "also stan your a hypocrite, you said no hoo-"

"yeah yeah i know what i said"

you both laughed and continued cleaning the closet of any unwanted substance

“y/n I do really love you”

“I know stan… I love you too”

[gallifreyriver]

Update to this post because a year later they're still trying it.

They vote again tomorrow, March 13th, to try and ban TikTok- only this time they're doing all they can to claim it's not a TikTik ban.

They claim it's to "protect Americans from 'Foreign Adversary Controlled Applications'" despite singling out ByteDance/TikTok specifically, and mentioning TikTok in literally the first sentence.

They also claim it's not a "ban," they're just giving TikTok the "opportunity" to divest from ByteDance and sell it's company, algorithms and source code to a non-communist county (the US) within 180 days or the US will take action and make the app inaccessible to USA Americans, which make up 150 million of TikTok's user base, the largest TikTok audience by country so far.

One could call this a shakedown, that effectively the US is trying to steal a popular and profitable company. "That's a nice company you got there, be a shame if you... I don't know... lost 150 million users- Wouldn't it?"

[Edit: Forgot to add that even though the US has 150 million TikTok users, that's still only like 8%-ish of TikTiks total userbase- making this "shakedown" an example of how Congress is embarrassingly USA-centric. TikTok will not sell just to avoid losing just 7%-8% of it's userbase, and Congress must know that- if not, that just proves the point even more. This bill is for all intents and purposes a BAN, regardless how they try to spin it, and they're being very USA-centric and Xenophobic about it]

Anyway-

This is the second vote. A House committee voted unanimously on Mar. 7th to advance the bill, and it will be voted on again by a Republican controlled House.

Please call or email your representatives and tell them to vote "No" on bill H.R. 7521.

This isn't about just losing an app. TikTok is unique in that it is currently the easiest place to organize and spread information that otherwise doesn't get as much coverage. It allows for real time coverage and updates by those living through major events going on around the word, and has allowed for increased awareness for such events that we likely wouldn't hear about otherwise. (i.e: the genocide in Palestine, Cop City, any of the bills trying to take trans rights/abortion rights away, etc)

If you don't know your representatives, just google "who are my representatives" and the first results should be links that will help you find them based on your zip code

And if you don't know what to write I can help you there too.

You can write something as simple as just:

Vote "No" on bill H.R. 7521.

Seriously, that's all you need.

Or, if you want something a little more in depth, here's a script that you can either copy and paste or reword to your liking. I just re-worded the script from the ACLU link above to fit more specifically about the current bill (Though let's be honest, for all intents and purposes Congress is pulling the same shit in a different hat)

Dear Representative, I’m writing today to strongly urge you to protect our constitutional rights to free expression and to receive information, and to vote no on any bill that would give the federal government the power to ban entire social media platforms. Bill H.R. 7521 is designed to allow the government to ban TikTok in the US and would likely result in bans of other businesses and applications as well. Given what we know about TikTok, it’s clear that a ban would violate the First Amendment rights of millions of Americans who use the app to communicate and express themselves daily. Should these bills move to a vote, I urge you to vote “No.” In a purported attempt to protect the data of US persons from the Chinese government, these bills will instead block Americans from engaging in political discussions, artistic expression, and the free exchange of ideas. We have a First Amendment right to use TikTok and other platforms to exchange our thoughts, ideas, and opinions with people around the country and around the world. Please oppose any bill designed to limit our right to express ourselves — both online and off. Thank you.

Reminder, they vote tomorrow, Wednesday March 13th.

So please reblog this to spread the word and contact your representatives to tell them to vote "No" on this bill.

Do not be mistaken in thinking your opinion doesn't matter- it does matter so much. Do not let yourself be silenced!

[racheyace]

Lightning Ridge - Part Two

A young Shifter wanders into a town crawling with hunters, Hendrix plans on laying low but when he catches wind of one particular hunter who is after the same Shifter that he’s been tracking himself, his curiosity gets the better of him. Offering to join the man on his quest he can only hope he can track down the dangerous shifter, saving the lives of innocents all the while keeping his secret hidden.

TW: mentions of murder/eating people, giant spiders, some swearing, mentions of death, mentions of drug use

Approx 3.1k words

Part One

Part Two - You are here

Part Three

Part Two

We’d been walking for near on two days now, thankfully Ryder hadn’t questioned my height again and I’d managed to keep that part more or less under control. We also hadn’t come across any more giant arachnids, but we were approaching the last village before reaching Lightning Ridge, or at least that’s what Ryder had said near on two hours ago!

“Are we there yet?” I asked for the hundredth time, my legs were killing me, it wasn’t often that I had to cover this much ground while holding my human form.

“You’re like a whining child, I told you we were nearly there didn’t I?” He growled.

I sighed, falling behind him and stretching my aching muscles, I’d never stayed in my human form for longer than a day and I was starting to feel…cramped.

“It’s hard to believe you’ve travelled all around the county on foot with all this complaining, honestly.” He scoffed and I glared at his back.

‘Yeah well, you’re not the one trapped inside a body too small for you’ I hissed in my head. Normally this sort of walking would be fine, I’d usually be ten times this size, covering more ground faster than he could ever imagine and I’d be able to stretch out whenever I needed to. The concentration and energy it took for me to remain this size was becoming increasingly more difficult and exhausting.

The sooner we got to the village, the sooner I could make an excuse to explore on my own without his watchful eye and stretch myself out for a few hours.

“I don’t normally cover so much ground in a day.” I admit. “I take my time and rest when I feel like it.” I explained, he just scoffed again.

“When we get to town, we’ll find a smithy and see if we can’t get you a new sword seeing as you lost your old one.” He turned his head and gave me a calculating look, I looked away nervously.

“I hadn’t expected to need one so soon.” I said defensively.

We got to a rise in the trail and I noticed the forest around us start to become less dense and more spread out, as we got to the peak we were looking down onto a town.

“Thank the Gods.” I sighed, Ryder merely grunted in response and kept on going at his usual pace, I wanted to sprint down the incline.

From atop the rise the village had looked like a fairly large one, with many houses and streets, a few larger buildings made for holding many people but when we entered city limits there was scarcely a soul around.

“Not good.” Ryder muttered, he headed down a street, following a sign that read ‘Armarand Smithy’ and pushed the door open, ignoring the ‘closed’ notice plastered onto the window.

A small bell announced our arrival, and though the notice had said the place was closed, the workstations were hot and fresh working materials and metal projects lay littering the benches.

“Sorry folks, we’re closed.” Came a gruff voice, I glanced around and spotted a burly man sitting at a forge, spinning a large rod of iron within it.

“We’re hoping to purchase a sword, preferably a longsword made of silver.” Ryder said ignoring the man and looking around the blacksmiths wears to see if he could spot what he was looking for.

I shivered, silver was a weakness to shifters, and I wondered if I’d even be able to wield a sword made of the wretched stuff. Perhaps if the hilt was made of leather it would work, but I’ve never tested the theory.

“Fresh out of silver, I do have a few iron long swords…you looking to take down the beast?” He glanced up from his workstation, eyeing us carefully.

I tried not to sigh in relief too obviously, iron would be fine, I’d face the dilemma of not actually knowing how to wield a sword later. Ryder nodded and the man shook his head in disbelief.

“You’ll need more than a sword, good luck gentlemen.” He stood, his large body towering half a foot taller than us, he picked up a long sword off of the bench next to us and held it out. “Take it, you need it more than I do.”

Ryder took the sword giving it a thorough inspection before nodding in approval and digging for his coin purse.

“Not necessary, many have tried and failed to do what you set out to do, take this and I’ll pray for your souls.” He turned away, sitting back at the forge, getting on with his projects as though no exchange had been made at all. I shared a look with Ryder and after expressing our gratitude we headed back out into the street.

“You think the… Giant, has cleared out this town?” I asked, Ryder only grunted in response, he seemed to be deep in thought as he headed toward the Inn.

We secured two rooms for the night, the Innkeeper told us, that many men had tried to slay the beast, but none had returned thus far, with frequent raids on the village, the other townsfolk had all fled town or moved away, leaving a desolate shell of a village behind. He also wished us luck and told us he’d pray for our souls upon hearing our intentions.

“Well, I’m gonna go for a walk, don’t wait up, we’ll need a good night’s rest before we head into Lightning Ridge tomorrow.” I said offhandedly, hoping Ryder was planning on staying in his room for the evening and getting an early night’s sleep, while I could take the opportunity to stretch out. I’d need to regain my strength if we were to take down Blade.

“Excellent idea, let’s head out back and see how well you do with a sword.” Ryder smiled, pulling out the iron sword and handing it to me, I couldn’t hide my deflation, a training session with Ryder sounded exhausting and the Giant within me cried wishing to be let go.

Following Ryder, we found a clearing in the nearby forest, right on the edge of town to the west.

“Is this really safe to do, when we are so close to the Giant’s dwelling?” I asked holding my sword with both hands and mimicking Ryder’s fighting stance, a nervous sweat building on my forehead.

“If the brute chooses to attack us now then so be it, better to get it over with, besides I need to know what sort of fighter you are, now, show me what you’ve got.” He took on a defensive stance and I had no choice but to swing my sword, aiming for his chest, he easily deflected my attack and with an embarrassing amount of ease, he disarmed me, my sword clattering to the forest floor uselessly and his sword nicking my shoulder.

Where his silver sword had cut along my skin it burned and I covered the wound with my hand, hiding the obvious reaction I was having to the silver. Bad idea, this was a very bad idea, my body shook with the effort to remain human, I closed my eyes taking a breath and reaching for my sword again.

“Your stance is all wrong, and your eyes are stuck on my sword where they should be looking at my feet and at my eyes, you can always see you opponents next move that way.” He explained.

“Actually, I’m uh not feeling great, I might just turn in for the night, big day tomorrow and all.” I fumbled for an excuse to leave now before my identity was revealed, one more slash of his sword and I was sure to be discovered.

He blocked my path. “No.”

“We need to get this down now if you want to have any chance of surviving against the Giant.” He took on a fighting stance again, and I steeled myself, there would be no getting out of this.

This time with my life at stake, my swings were heavier, though Ryder continued to block my attacks, he didn’t disarm me this time and I kept a firm hold of my sword. My eyes darted between his feet and his eyes and I was able to predict a few of his movements but as he switched from defense to offensive maneuvers I found it increasingly difficult to predict his swings and defend myself accordingly, but I did, at least for a little while.

Feeling proud of lasting longer than thirty seconds this time, I used that confidence to counterattack. His body moved with the gracefulness of a cat as he avoided my strike to his ribs and thrust his sword at my neck, using a boot to knock me to the ground and knocking the air from my lungs.

My heart rate skyrocketed, looking into his fierce eyes, the sharpness of the many different hues of green and brown reflective and flashing in the evening sun, his sword dug into my neck. The wound sizzling and his gaze remained stern watching with suspicion.

“What are you?” He growled, I put my hands above my head in surrender and dropped my sword, but it was too late. My heart rate increased, and that cramped feeling in my bones only became worse until I could no longer hold it back anymore.

My body began to expand underneath him, knocking him off his feet as he scrambled off of my chest and backed further away into the forest, watching on in horror. I got to my feet, not wanting my neck to be anywhere near him as I continued to stretch up into the sky, my shoulders just reaching the tops of the immense pine trees surrounding us when I reached my full height of about sixty feet.

It felt amazing, like a really good back crack after a rough nights sleep, only ten times more relieving and the feeling spread all over me. I suppressed the urge to stretch my arms out completely and instead braced myself for the onslaught that was bound to come from the hunter at my feet.

Looking down at him felt strange, having spent the last few days seeing him from my human height, it felt wrong to see him so small, I kept my hands above my head in a sign of surrender as I crouched before him. “I can explain.” I said, keeping my voice low and being aware of how much louder I could be at this size.

“Y-you… you’re a-“ He stuttered unable to finish his sentence, I filled in the blanks for him.

“I’m a shifter.” I said carefully. “And I mean you no harm, my intention is as it always has been, to slay the monster in these woods.”

His breathing became heavy as rage consumed him.

“You are the monster!” He shouted. “You are the one I’ve been tracking all along! And you’ve been hiding right under my nose!” I flinched at his words, I should have been expecting that, of course he’d think I was the shifter he was after; it’d make sense to hide in plain sight.

He gave a war cry and lunged for my ankles. “Ooop!” I shuffled my feet away and then wrapped my fingers around his body, I pinched his sword between my finger and thumb wincing as the silver burned my flesh before flinging it into the nearby shrubbery.

With his hands free of a weapon, I held him before my face, his legs kicked at my fingers and his hands scratched furiously at my skin, but I didn’t relent my grip, it hurt my heart not to trust him enough to let him go.

He needed to cool off first.

“Ryder please listen to me, I am not the one you’re after, I swear to you I’ve never harmed a human soul in my life…at least not intentionally.” I added as an afterthought.

“Bullshit!” He fumed. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time, what makes you think I should believe anything you have to say!”

I sighed heavily, sitting myself down on the forest floor, deciding whether or not to wait out his anger or to let him go and make a run for it myself. I landed on the idea that perhaps he would see reason if he heard my story, my real story, it was worth a try at any rate.

“I was ten years old when I turned.” I said quietly.

“What?”

“I didn’t have a choice, I was born this way, as all shifters are.” I explained patiently, ignoring his confusion.  

“I was deemed too dangerous to be around my family or my village anymore and I was cast away.” I continued, watching him carefully as he began to lose the gusto in which he was scratching at me.

“I became a nomad, spending a lot of my time in hiding and gaining control over my ability to shift. Once I’d gained that control I re-entered society, living among humans for the most part.” He glared at me then.

“However, I began to hear stories of a Giant who would raid villages, killing innocent people.” I loosened my grip on Ryder somewhat, wanting to appear as less of a monster in his eyes and praying to whatever Gods there might be, for him to listen to what I was saying.

“It was rare for me to come across other shifters, and the ones I did find, preferred to remain on their own and in hiding, like I had been doing. Staying out of trouble and living their lives in peace. But Blade…” I shook my head, still astounded to this day.

“When I found him, he was consumed with a hunger I’d never seen before and told me fantastical stories about how wonderful it felt to crush a living soul in his hands.” I flinched inwardly, realizing I wasn’t making the man currently in my grasp feel any more comfortable than he had felt before, I continued on anyway.

“When I expressed my disgust in his way of life, he attacked me, he left me there within an inch of my life, it took me weeks to recover but when I did, I vowed to myself that I would put a stop to him. That no more innocents would die at his hands.”

I met his eyes then, holding them in my gaze. “Please believe me Ryder, please help me to kill him.”

He remained quiet for some time, his face void of all emotion and stony as he thought over everything I had said.

“Will you release me?” He asked so quietly I almost didn’t hear him. “Of course.” I said and probably a little too quickly I lowered him to the ground and released my grip from him, watching him clumsily regain his footing.

“I suppose it all makes sense now” He mumbled.

“Why you travelled with only a dagger, why you seemed a little taller occasionally and why you had the strength to move the spider’s body off of me.” He began to pace the forest floor in front of me, one time almost running into my boot before he stared at it in disbelief and gave it a wide berth.

I remained quiet, letting him take in all the information I had just dumped on him, all the while keeping my hands firmly in my lap and trying to appear as un-intimidating as I could at this size.

“How do I know you’re not just trying to lure me into a false sense of security?” He mumbled, more to himself than to me, but I answered anyway.

“If I had wanted to kill you, don’t you think I would have done it by now? Why would I have saved you from the spider when I very well could have squished the spider and been done with you.” My answer came out harsher than intended, he looked up at me calculating whether or not I was telling the truth.

“Is your name even Hendrix?” He asked accusing.

“It is actually yeah, normally I give a fake name though I don’t know why I didn’t with you.” I petered off in thought, I had never in my life given my real name to anyone, even when crossing paths with other shifters.

“Can you like shrink back down or something, I can’t talk to you when you’re the size of a fucking building.” He growled, rubbing his sore neck from craning to look up at me.

I chuckled nervously. “Not for a little while I’m sorry.”

“I thought you said you had control of this…’ability’.” He said gesturing to my form up and down.

“Well, I do.” I insisted. “It’s difficult to explain but this is my natural form, holding my human size is actually quite exhausting, especially when I have to hold it in for a long time, two days is my new record.” I said smiling, when he didn’t match my elation, I deflated again. “So um it will take a little bit for me to regain enough energy to uh ‘shrink’ back down again.” I mumbled.

“I see.” He said thoughtfully.

As slowly as I could manage, I maneuvered my body so that I was laying on my stomach with my head resting on my arms in front of me, that way we could talk on a more equal level, and he wouldn’t have to strain himself.

He watched me the entire time I was moving, backing up a few steps to give me space and keeping his balance as my body vibrated the floor beneath him. It was an uncomfortable feeling, knowing a small movement on my part had such a huge impact on humans.

“Thank you.” He said slowly, almost as though it were a question, he still seemed awfully wary of me, but the murderous rage seemed to have left him for now.

“So ah, now that the cats out of the bag, we should talk game plan on how to take Blade down, yeah?” I suggested hopefully.

He crossed his arms over his chest. His shaggy dark brown hair moved with the breeze my breaths caused and I couldn’t help but find him somewhat adorable at this size, though I’d never say that out loud to him, that was a sure-fire way of getting my head chopped off.

“Does everything that you have on your person grow with you?” He asked.

“Oh, um yeah, my bag, clothes, everything that I have on my person at the time of the change, it’s kind of a package deal, and one I’m grateful for otherwise I’d go through a hell of a lot of clothes.” I rambled with a nervous chuckle.

“Shut up.” He said sternly and then met my eyes with a mischievous smile that finally reached his eyes as something seemed to click within his mind.

“I have an idea.”

Part Three

[zeeverseconfession]

hello. it's me. (no, this is not fantasy au stuff.. i wish it was 🙁)

its just about the serious topics in zeeverse from the top of my head.. some of my stuff here might be wrong

Death & Grief: Seen when Box had died — their death affecting Globe, sending her into a sense of grief. From what we saw (or what i remember), it was like she had lost a piece of herself, and found it difficult to do certain things

Alcoholism: Debit Card. Recently just introduced, but we can see that Debit Card is a heavy drinker, supposedly due to stress? To get away from any memories of her (purse). It's used as a coping mechanism.

Stalking & Obsession: As much as you may like Globe, she's a stalker. Yeah, hate to break it to you — she's got an unhealthy obsession with a married man, and has stalked him.. creepy.

Depression: I think multiple characters have this, but the one that comes to mind in specific is Box (also because it's on their wiki). Depression can lead to things like suicidal tendencies, and that's been seen once before in them (when Azriel had offered for them to sell their soul, they agreed in a heartbeat.)

Along with her backstory, which could be part of the reason why he's depressed. Box is probably one of the.. few? many? characters who have depression.

Anxiety & Panic Attacks: .. not sure, possibly Grenade? When stressed, they seem to feel like their losing control over the situation, along with a tremble (voice or body, can differ). These two examples can be linked as symptoms of a panic attack.

From what we see, they struggle to put their thoughts into words. Making it hard to express what exactly they're feelings at the moment.

Crime: Literally, almost everyone in New County has committed some sort of crime.. I think. Can't think of any from the top of my head, but the only person I can think of who went to jail was Mug.. (pot & globe, almost)

ill do the rest when i FEEL like it

what about dynamite for crime…. :(

i feel personally attacked by grenades, not because it happens to me all the time, but because it never happens to me ever. yeah contrary to popular bwlief i have never had a panic or anxiety attack i think. im just a really nervous guy lol. i tend to exaggerate grenades nervousness a lot, its something i did in the beginning before the roleplay got more serious, and then i realize i didnt exactly characterize grenade right at all. or atleast not to my liking. whatever. :(

i feel personally attacked by the last part tho again not because it doesnt happen to me at all but because it happens to me all the time. okay giys class dismissed /j also anxiety like ACTUAL anxiety rapier i think bcuz it was in his bio…though its kinda puzzling cuz rapiers shown to be very nervous at times and then also really nonchalant and calm at others???? man. idk.

stalking and obsession is obviously globe shes basically the mascot of it all. mollie too but tbh compared to globe you could call mollies just an interest, or something. augh globes just like me fr i hate it

ive said this before but i NEVER ever couldve seen DC as an alcoholic coming. out of every unhealthy coping mechanism ever…drinking? it just doesnt seem so debit card-y. infact DC striked me as the type to be against this kind of stuff. so it just baffles me a lot.

ill tag this later im @ the beach and used my phone too much for this

[v1nsmoke]

𝑮𝑼𝑵𝑺 𝑵' 𝑹𝑶𝑺𝑬𝑺 // 𝑪𝑼𝑳𝑻 𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹!𝑳𝑨𝑾 𝑿 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹

spooktober week 3 - cult leader law part 3

tw: blood, guns, explosives/explosion, depiction of violence, murder

summary: there's far more beyond the dimly lit interrogation room, and now it's up to you to escape the underground base filled with armed cultists, but unbeknownst to you, somebody is watching - meanwhile, a group enters the county

a/n: i didnt expect this story to go this far, it was supposed to be just a quick oneshot for his birthday, but here i am, ill make a part 4 soon

tags: @lawsmommymilkerwife

wc: 2.1k

you are now reading... chapter one chapter two CHAPTER THREE

"There's no escape for you." Law's deep voice rings from a loudspeaker that you tried to locate as soon as you heard it. "You thought I'd just let you murder and injure all my men? Even if you do manage to get out, I'll always find you. Didn't you notice what I did on your chest? You're marked. You are cult property now."

Your eyes widen at his statement. You quickly look down to see a pattern under your collarbone, etched into your skin by his blade. It was a circle, straight lines branch off from it in several directions. It was the same logo you saw sewn into the clothes of the cultists you came across. It was likely the logo of Law's cult, and now it was on you, and there was no way of getting rid of it.

But that didn't matter to you, because you will get out of this place and escape either way. You still didn't know anything about your sister's location, but it looked like she had to wait. You were this close to escaping, you won't turn back. You had to inform everybody about this cult, get the authorities involved instead of fighting it off all alone.

~●~

The van is bumping along the road, which no one seems to have taken care of renovating ever since it was built. The landscape is relatively empty, one or two trees on the lawn next to the road, the grass of which began to dry more and more as the team gradually approached their destination.

They had been traveling for several days, but luckily none of them were too fussy. The driver would have liked to give up, but he drove tirelessly for the pleasure and request of his captain. The navigator in the mother-in-law seat also held his will up.

There was chaos in the back seats, if there was noise, you could bet it was coming from there. This is exactly how the driver lost thirty thousand Berries to the navigator. Maybe they should have come up with a different seating arrangement before they set off on the multi-day trip, but the navigator is better off sitting in the front, and no one else in the group was qualified to drive except the tired man sitting in front of the wheel right now.

They have already wondered several times whether it was really a good idea to listen to their captain and come here. However, the boy was determined and stubborn, nothing could stop him from this adventure. Calling his grandfather to see what's going on in this small town because it's his job? Oh, no. He wanted to see it himself, with his own eyes, and if the news was true, he wanted to act himself.

And there was no turning back now as the van passes by the sign on the side of the road, the words "Welcome to Dressrosa" written on it.

~●~

You can feel your heart pounding faster, placing the remote explosives around the base as you head towards the exit. The plan? Once you're outside, you just push the button, activate the explosives, and hopefully destroy the base. Your sister was likely elsewhere, this was closer military base, you could bet the interrogation room was the only place that wasn't a control room or a weapon storage room.

When a cultist appears, you're quick to react, sending a bullet to their chest. You rush to the stairs, leading to an upper floor, but still not outside. By now all the alarms were ringing, the red light flashing like crazy.

Law can hear the sounds outside the security room, footsteps, sound of boots, gunshots, and piercing screams in anguish. He was spectating the situation from this room, able to see most hallways and access all loudspeakers around the base. He didn't expect you to actually escape, people usually just accept that they are now part of his cult. You didn't.

He was surprised at how you had built yourself up to this point from nothing, armed and all in less than an hour. However, it really bothered him that a nobody, a lady from another town who only came for her sister, was currently fleeing and murdering his people. You may not have realized this, but you can cause huge damage to his forces with this operation.

Through the security cameras, he saw you sprinkle the corridors of the base with explosives, but no matter how many people he sent to defuse them, none of them succeeded and no one returned. He believed that if he confronted you with the fact that you were now the property of his cult, you would abandon your plans, but as he saw, that was not enough.

Law sees you knock out another member, then your steps slow. It looks like you just realized that he was watching your every move with the cameras. You look up, straight into the camera, gun in hand pointed straight at it, then one of the screens goes black in front of Law. As you moved on, the signal left the monitors one by one.

Law knew he had to stop you before you caused even more chaos and madness. He just didn't know how. He would try to send more people after you, but it hasn't worked so far, so why would it work now? He personally had no plans to go out, no matter how good he was with a weapon. He couldn't know when the explosives you just scattered might explode to his face. Was it a proximity bomb or could it be activated from a distance? He didn't want to find out.

He knew that you came for your sister, and that you would not go back to the city where you came from - because he has been terrorizing the residents of the city for almost two months, and he had not seen you until yesterday - without her. You might not destroy everything and go looking for her, but you'll still be around, hiding somewhere, calling authorities.

Lucky for Law, nobody will come to your rescue. He had the authorities, either brainwashing them into joining the cult or paying tremendous amount of money to keep them away. You were alone, and he had hundreds of men under his command, so even if you escape this base now, he will have many chances at getting you back.

He knew that letting someone like you to just leave would be a great loss and a wrong choice. You now knew about the existence of this cult, if you get more people involved it might cause trouble. You knew too much, and Law didn't plan on just abandoning you.

You step into another control room, wired phones and some monitors placed next to the walls. None of the security cameras showed anything except a black screen, which meant your plan worked, and wherever Law was hiding he was not able to see you now. You had no idea if there was any signal outside, they likely blocked all means of communication.

This might be your last chance at getting help from outside, you had to act, right now. You turn a monitor's camera to your face, starting a live broadcast right there. Apparently it should reach all nearby cars with their adio active, maybe some TVs.

"The cult is taking over, if you hear or see this message, SEND HELP! I-" you desperately try, when somebody shoots your way, breaking the device. This was your only hope, and if nobody heard it, you're fucked. You raise your pistol towards the man who shot, aiming at his legs and firing. He lets out a scream in agony, falling to the ground as blood seeps trough his jeans.

~●~

"Damnit! The radio does not work well here... there are barely any stations!" The blonde in the driver's seat sighs. The music stopped the moment they passed by the welcome sign. The navigator next to him turns the knob, hoping that she will be able to find a station that isn't just static noise.

She was about to give up and forget about it, when she suddenly heard a feminine voice.

"The cult is taking over, if you hear or see this message, SEND HELP! I-" the line cuts off, static noise taking over yet again.

The group in the van is shocked, nobody saying a word for a few moments.

"Can you track where this came from?" The driver asks, the question directed at the guy sitting behind him, already coming up with a plan.

"Uh, not sure, but I can try I guess." He replies.

This one message confirmed their fear, the news turned out to be true. This only proved the fact that the town was now under the control of a cult. The driver steps on the gas pedal, thereby exceeding the speed limit. Who would punish him for it, the police, which is not even here? If there was, then this cult would not be here long ago.

The moods calm down in the rear periphery, the other part of the team also getting serious, now that everything has been proven.

"I know where the broadcast came from!" The man shouts, instantly gaining the attention of everyone in the van. He passes his device - likely homemade, knowing him - to the navigator, who extends her hand and takes it from him.

She reads the map, examining it, and immediately directing their driver to the desired location. It seemed to be in a tree-surrounded area, bit further from the road going trough the city of Dressrosa. It was like a smaller base, bit she was sure that there was more to it, hidden underground from prying eyes.

~●~

After losing the last means of communication, there was nothing left to do at the base, so you headed straight for the exit without stopping. Using the floor plan of the building prepared in case of fire, you found the only main entrance leading outside.

You didn't know where Law could be right now, but he was going to explode along with the whole building anyway in just a matter of minutes. You started to get tired, but let's be honest, it was still a big, even huge achievement. You may have used an air rifle a couple of times before, and here you are, now you've killed a base of cultists.

It took you a few shots to get into it, but eventually you got the hang of it. Aiming became easier, and you were firing better and faster.

You huffed as you ran up the stairs that theoretically lead to the exit. You were so close now. Law likely ran out of men, because there was barely anyone after you at the moment. Was he hiding? Likely. But he saw you trough security cameras, which means he knows you you loaded the base with remote explosives.

If he's smart, he gets out before you do, knowing that you won't blow the base up until you get outside. If he's not smart, he stays inside thinking it's nothing. But even though you didn't know him well, he seemed and acted like the smart type. The other tools back at the interrogation room even hinted that he was a surgeon, or at least knew a thing or two about it.

Here it is. You burst trough the door, literally throwing yourself at it. The bright moonlight illuminates the star-filled night sky, pine trees surrounding the base built on top of a hill, next to a mountainside. From here, you were able to overlook the whole county, the town, fields, roads, a perfect panorama view. Too bad this base is about to cease to exist in moments.

This was not the time for you to enjoy the mesmerizing view. You turn back once more, stealing one last glance at the building before running down the dirt path between the pine trees, and activating the explosives. Your ears ring after the loud noise coming from the explosion, the orangeish cloud-like formation behind you giving a slight tint to the grey mountainside and the surrounding area.

This was it. You did it. But who said it all ends here? Your sister is still missing, and Law might have escaped. Nobody's going to do anything about it anyways. Nobody, except you.

trafalgar law and one piece belongs to eiichiro oda

© v1nsmokes 2023. Do not modify, translate or rewrite.

[shuxiii]

Everyday pt. 12

Hanni Pham x reader pt1, pt2, pt3, pt4, pt5, pt6, pt7, pt8, pt9, pt10, pt11, pt13

a/n LOORd i am not part 11 shu now i am part 12 shu i am sorry but part 11 shu lost their sanity and I am not the new part 12 wshuw, credits to ''every day'' by David levithan

Day 6015

I wake up, and I’m not four hours away from her, or one hour, or even fifteen minutes.

No, I wake up in her house.

In her room.

In her body.

At first I think I’m still asleep, dreaming. I open my eyes, and I could be in any girl’s room—a room she’s lived in for a long time, with Madame Alexander dolls sharing space with eyeliner pencils and fashion magazines. I am sure it is only a dreamworld trick when I access my identity and find it’s Hanni who appears. Have I had this dream before? I don’t think so. But in a way, it makes sense. If she’s the thought, the hope, the concern underneath my every waking moment, then why wouldn’t she permeate my sleeping hours as well?

But I’m not dreaming. I am feeling the pressure of the pillow against my face. I am feeling the sheets around my legs. I am breathing. In dreams, we never bother to breathe.

I instantly feel like the world has turned to glass. Every moment is delicate. Every movement is a risk. I know she wouldn’t want me here. I know the horror she would be feeling right now. The complete loss of control.

Everything I do could break something. Every word I say. Every move I make.

I look around some more. Some girls and boys obliterate their rooms as they grow older, thinking they have to banish all their younger incarnations in order to convincingly inhabit a new one. But Hanni is more secure with her past than that. I see pictures of her and her family when she is three, eight, ten, fourteen. A stuffed penguin still keeps watch over her bed. J. D. Salinger sits next to Dr. Seuss on her bookshelf.

I pick up one of the photographs. If I wanted to, I could try to access the day it was taken. It looks like she and her sister are at a county fair. Her sister is wearing some kind of prize ribbon. It would be so easy for me to find out what it is. But then it wouldn’t be Hanni telling me.

I want her here next to me, giving me the tour. Now I feel like I’ve broken in.

The only way to get through this is to live the day as Hanni would want me to. If she knows I was here—and I have a feeling she will—I want her to be certain that I didn’t take any advantage. I know instinctively that this is not the way I want to learn anything. This is not the way I want to gain anything.

Because of this, it feels like all I can do is lose.

This is how it feels to raise her arm.

This is how it feels to blink her eyes.

This is how it feels to turn her head.

This is how it feels to run her tongue over her lips, to put her feet on the floor.

This is the weight of her. This is the height of her. This is the angle from which she sees the world.

I could access every memory she has of me. I could access every memory she has of Minji. I could hear what she’s said when I haven’t been around.

“Hello.”

This is what her voice sounds like from the inside.

This is what her voice sounds like when she’s by herself.

Her mother shuffles past me in the hallway, awake but not by her own choice. It has been a long night for her, leading into a short morning. She says she’s going to try to go back to sleep, but adds that it’s not likely.

Hanni’s father is in the kitchen, about to leave for work. His “good morning” holds less complaint. But he’s in a rush, and I have a sense that those two words are all Hanni’s going to get. I get some cereal as he searches for his keys, then say a goodbye echo to his own quick goodbye.

I decide not to take a shower, or even to change out of last night’s underwear. When I go to the bathroom, I will keep my eyes closed. I feel naked enough looking in the mirror and seeing Hanni’s face. I can’t push it any further than that. Brushing her hair is already too intimate. Putting on makeup. Even putting on shoes. To experience her body’s balance within the world, the sensation of her skin from the inside, touching her face and receiving the touch from both sides—it’s unavoidable and incredibly intense. I try to think only as me, but I can’t stop feeling that I’m her.

I have to access to find my keys, then find my way to school. Maybe I should stay home, but I’m not sure I could bear being alone as her for that long without any distractions. The radio station is tuned to the news, which is unexpected. Her sister’s graduation tassel hangs from the rearview mirror.

I look to the passenger seat, expecting Hanni to be there, looking at me, telling me where to go.

I am going to try to avoid Minji. I go early to my locker, get my books, then head directly to my first class. As friends trickle into the classroom, I make as much conversation as I can. Nobody notices any difference—not because they don’t care, but because it’s early in the morning, and nobody’s expected to be fully there. I’ve been so hung up on Minji that I haven’t realized how much Hanni’s friends are part of her life. I realize that until now, the most I’ve really seen her full life has been when I was Ahn yujin, visiting the school for the day. Because she doesn’t spend her day alone. These friends are not what she wants to escape when she makes her escape.

“Did you get to all the bio?” her friend Yeeun asks. At first I think she’s asking to copy my homework, but then I realize she’s offering hers. Sure enough, Hanni has a few problems left to do. I thank Yeeun and start copying away.

When class begins and the teacher starts to lecture, all I need to do is listen and take notes.

Remember this, I tell Hanni. Remember how ordinary it is.

I can’t help but get glimpses of things I’ve never seen before. Doodles in her notebook of trees and mountains. The light imprint her socks leave on her ankles. A small red birthmark at the base of her left thumb. These are probably things she never notices. But because I’m new to her, I see everything.

This is how it feels to hold a pencil in her hand.

This is how it feels to fill her lungs with air.

This is how it feels to press her back against the chair.

This is how it feels to touch her ear.

This is what the world sounds like to her. This is what she hears every day.

I allow myself one memory. I don’t choose it. It just rises, and I don’t cut it off.

Yeeun is sitting next to me, chewing gum. At one point in class, she’s so bored that she takes it out of her mouth and starts playing with it between her fingers. And I remember a time she did this in sixth grade. The teacher caught her, and Yeeun was so surprised at being caught that she startled, and the gum went flying from her hand and into Hannah Walker’s hair. Hannah didn’t know what had happened at first, and all the kids started laughing at her, making the teacher more furious. I was the one who leaned over and told her there was gum in her hair. I was the one who worked it out with my fingers, careful not to get it knotted farther in. I got it all out. I remember I got it all out.

I try to avoid Minji at lunch, but I fail.

I’m in a hallway nowhere near either of our lockers or the lunchroom, and she ends up being there, too. She’s not happy to see me or unhappy to see me; she regards my presence as a fact, no different than the bell between periods.

“Wanna take it outside?” she asks.

“Sure,” I say, not really knowing what I’m agreeing to.

In this case, “outside” means a pizza place two blocks from the school. We get slices and Cokes. She pays for herself, but makes no offer to pay for me. Which is fine.

She’s in a talkative mood, focusing on what I imagine is her favorite theme: the injustices perpetrated against her by everyone else, all the time. It’s a pretty wide conspiracy, involving everything from her car’s faulty ignition to her father’s nagging about college to her English teacher’s “gay way of talking.” I’m barely following her conversation, and following very much feels like the right word, because this conversation is designed for me to be at least five steps behind. She doesn’t want my opinion. Anytime I offer something, she just lets it sit there on the table between us, doesn’t pick it up.

As she goes on about how affectionate Kazuha is being to Yunjin, and keeps shoving pizza into her face, and looks at the table much more than she looks at me, I must struggle against the palpable temptation to do something drastic. Although she doesn’t realize it, the power is all mine. All it would take is a minute—less—to break up with her. All it would take are a few well-chosen words to cut the tether. She could counterattack with tears or rage or promises, and I could withstand every single one.

It is so much what I want, but I don’t open my mouth. I don’t use this power. Because I know that this kind of ending would never lead to the beginning I want. If I end things like this, Hanni will never forgive me. Not only might she undo it all tomorrow, she would also define me by my betrayal for as long as I remained in her life, which wouldn’t be long.

I hope she realizes: The whole time, Minji never notices. She can see me in whatever body I’m in, but she can’t see she’s missing. She’s not looking that closely.

Then she calls her Silver. Just a simple, “Let’s go, Silver,” when we’re done. I think maybe I’ve heard her wrong. So I access, and there it is. A moment between them. They’ve been reading The Outsiders for English class, lying on her bed side by side with the same book open, she a little farther along. She thinks the book’s a relic from when weepy gang boys bonded over Gone with the Wind, but she quiets herself when she sees how much it’s affecting her. She stays there after she’s finished, starts reading the beginning again until she’s done. Then she closes the book and says, “Wow. I mean, nothing gold can stay. How true is that?” She doesn’t want to break the moment, doesn’t want to question what it means. And she’s rewarded when she smiles and says, “I guess that means we’ll have to be silver.” When she leaves that night, she calls out, “So long, Silver!” And it stays.

When we head back to school, we don’t hold hands, or even talk. When we part, she doesn’t wish me a good afternoon or thank me for the time we just had together. She doesn’t even say she’ll see me soon. She just assumes it.

I am hyperaware—as she leaves me, as I am surrounded by other people—of the perilous nature of what I am attempting, of the butterfly effect that threatens to flutter its wings with every interaction. If you think about it hard enough, if you trace potential reverberations long enough, every step can be a false step, any move can lead to an unintended consequence.

Who am I ignoring that I shouldn’t be ignoring? What am I not saying that I should be saying? What won’t I notice that she would absolutely notice? While I’m out in the public hallways, what private languages am I not hearing?

When we look at a crowd, our eyes naturally go to certain people, whether we know them or not. But my glance right now is blank. I know what I see, but not what she’d see.

The world is still glass.

This is how it feels to read words through her eyes.

This is how it feels to turn a page with her hand.

This is how it feels when her ankles cross.

This is how it feels to lower her head so her hair hides her eyes from view.

This is what her handwriting looks like. This is how it is made. This is how she signs her name.

There’s a quiz in English class. It’s Tess of the d’Urbervilles, which I’ve read. I think Hanni does okay.

I access enough to know she doesn’t have any plans after school. Minji finds her before last period and asks her if she wants to do something. It’s clear to me what this something will be, and I can’t see much benefit to it.

“What do you want to do?” I ask.

She looks at me like I’m an imbecile puppy.

“What do you think?”

“Homework?”

She snorts. “Yeah, we can call it that, if you want.”

I need a lie. Really, what I want to do is say yes and then blow her off. But there could be repercussions for that tomorrow. So instead I tell her I have to take my mom to some doctor for her sleep problems. It’s a real drag, but they’ll be drugging her up and she probably won’t be able to drive herself home.

“Well, as long as they give her plenty of pills,” she says. “I love your mom’s pills.”

She leans in for a kiss and I have to do it. Amazing how it’s the same two bodies as three weeks ago, but the kiss couldn’t be more different. Before, when our tongues touched, when I was on the other side of it, it felt like another form of intimate conversation. Now it feels like she’s shoving something alien and gross into my mouth.

“Go get some pills,” she says when we break apart.

We have been to an ocean together, and a forest. So today I decide we should go to a mountain.

A quick search shows me the nearest place to climb. I have no idea if Hanni’s ever been there, but I’m not sure that matters.

She’s not really dressed for hiking—her Converse don’t have a whole lot of tread left on them. I plunge forward nonetheless, taking a water bottle and a phone with me, and leaving everything else in the car.

Again it’s a Monday, and the trails are largely clear. Every now and then I’ll pass another hiker on his or her way down, and we’ll nod or say hello, in the way that people surrounded by acres of silence do. The paths are haphazardly marked, or perhaps I’m just not attentive enough. I can feel the incline as it’s measured by Hanni’s leg muscles, can feel her breath shift into more challenging air. I keep going.

For our afternoon, I’ve decided to attempt to give Hanni the satisfaction of being fully alone. Not the lethargy of lying on the couch or the dull monotony of drifting off in math class. Not the midnight wandering in a sleeping house or the pain of being left in a room after the door has been slammed shut. This alone is not a variation of any of those. This alone is its own being. Feeling the body, but not using it to sidetrack the mind. Moving with purpose, but not in a rush. Conversing not with the person next to you, but with all of the elements. Sweating and aching and climbing and making sure not to slip, not to fall, not to get too lost, but lost enough.

And at the end, the pause. At the top, the view. Grappling with the last steep incline, the final turns of the path, and finding yourself above it all. It’s not that there’s a spectacular view. It’s not that we’ve reached the peak of Everest. But here we are, at the highest point the eye can see, not counting the clouds, the air, the lazy sun. I am eleven again; we are atop that tree. The air feels cleaner because when the world is below us, we allow ourselves to breathe fully. When no one else is around, we open ourselves to the quieter astonishments that enormity can offer.

Remember this, I implore Hanni as I look out over the trees, as I catch her breath. Remember this sensation. Remember that we were here.

I sit down on a rock and drink some water. I know I am in her body,

but it feels very much like she is here with me. Like we are two separate people, together, sharing this.

I have dinner with her parents. When they ask me what I did today, I tell them. I’m sure I tell them more than Hanni would, more than the day usually allows.

“That sounds wonderful,” her mother says.

“Just be careful out there,” her father adds. Then he changes the conversation to something that happened at work, and my day, briefly registered, becomes solely my own again.

I do her homework as best I can. I don’t check her email, afraid that there will be something there that she wouldn’t want me to see. I don’t check my own email, because she’s the only person I’d want to hear from. There’s a book on her night table, but I don’t read it, for fear that she won’t remember what I’ve read, and will have to read it again anyway. I thumb through some magazines.

Finally, I decide to leave her a note. It’s the only way she’ll know for sure that I’ve been here. Another palpable temptation is to pretend that none of this has happened, to deny any accusation she makes based on whatever remnant of memory remains. But I want to be truthful. The only way this will work is if we are entirely truthful.

So I tell her. At the very beginning of my letter, I ask her to try to remember the day as much as possible before she reads on, so what I write won’t taint what’s really left in her mind. I explain that I never would have chosen to be in her body, that it isn’t something I have control over. I tell her I tried to respect her day as much as I knew how, and that I hope not to have caused any disruption in her life. Then, in her own handwriting, I map out our day for her. It is the first time I’ve ever written to the person whose life I’ve occupied, and it feels both strange and comfortable, knowing that Hanni will be the reader of these words. There are so many explanations I can leave unsaid. The fact that I am writing the letter at all is an expression of faith—faith both in her and in the belief that trust can lead to trust, and truth can lead to truth.

This is how it feels as her eyelids close.

This is how sleep will taste to her.

This is how night touches her skin.

This is how the house noises sing her to bed.

This is the goodbye she feels every night. This is how her day ends.

I curl up in bed, still wearing my clothes. Now that the day is almost done, the world of glass recedes, the butterfly threat diminishes. I imagine that we’re both here in this bed, that my invisible body is nestled against hers. We are breathing at the same pace, our chests rising and falling in unison. We have no need to whisper, because at this distance, all we need is thought. Our eyes close at the same time. We feel the same sheets against us, the same night. Our breath slows together. We split into different versions of the same dream. Sleep takes us at the exact same time.

[lilibethdrawsreylo]

Sneak peek

I'm working on my next hackearney fic, and while I still have several months of writing ahead of me, I can share a short sneak peek with you. No beta, but very mysterious. ;)

Laura comes to North Kill for a grad school research project. Travis is a supernatural entity (kinda?) that pretends to be a sheriff when he encounters people in the woods. The actual sheriff is in on it; here, Laura comes to see him after a brush with a very human danger.

...Laura kinda hoped she was gonna need an appointment or something—to turn tail and come back later. But the receptionist nods at her after saying Laura’s name into a dated office phone’s receiver and stands up to show her the way, as if getting lost between unoccupied desks was a real possibility. It says Sheriff H. Hunnem right there on the frosted glass door.

She knows instantly this isn’t him. While technically she could be looking for a deputy, her gut has been telling Laura she needs the sheriff, and she’s been… bracing, almost, for coming face to face with him. Why, Laura cannot say—not that it matters at the moment.

Sheriff Hunnem is a stocky, older man—probably well into his seventies—with light eyes and drooping gray mustache tinged yellow from nicotine. And he is not the cop who saved her.

“Miss Kearney,” he grouches, rustling through a stack of paper next to his elbow. Finding a dog-eared sheet, the sheriff squints at it. “You left a message about setting up cameras in Hackett Woods, that right? Thought one of my deputies would’ve gotten back to you about that by now.”

“He did, yes.” Feeling like an intruder now that she realized her mistake, Laura perches on a bare wooden chair in front of Sheriff Hunnem’s desk. “That’s not why I’m here, sir.”

“Oh?” Folding the sheet of paper, he places it to the side and directs her a questioning look. “Well then, how may I help you, Miss Kearney?”

“It’s about the man who died. In the, uh, red truck?” Laura shifts uncomfortably under the sheriff’s weary gaze. “There was an article in the North Kill Gazette….”

“That’d be Andrew Mayfield,” he nods. “Nasty fella—over and done with, thankfully, but if you have something to report—”

“I believe—” Breath catches in Laura’s throat, and she has to curl her fingers into fists to mask the sudden tremor. “I believe he intended to attack me yesterday, on Route 919. But he didn’t because there was a, an officer on, I guess, on patrol?” She inhales sharply through her mouth. “I just— I wanted to….”

Leaning forward, Sheriff Hunnem presses a button on his desk phone. “Rosie, bring Miss Kearney some water, will ya? Got a bit of a situation here.”

A minute later the receptionist appears with a full plastic cup and too sympathetic look of someone aching for fresh gossip. Laura thanks her with barely any voice coming out. She drinks the offered water in small, controlled sips, wildly embarrassed at how over the top a reaction she had, considering that nothing happened to her. As far as she’s aware.

Once it’s just the two of them and Laura has calmed down, the sheriff speaks again. “Miss Kearney… I won’t press you for details right now. However, what I can tell you is that none of my guys came across that Mayfield bastard yesterday. So, either your guardian angel wears a uniform, or that officer of yours simply happened to pass through the county. 919 connects two major highways. We get a lot of strangers here,” he sighs, “good and bad.”

“Guess I met both,” Laura mutters, and Sheriff Hunnem chuckles dryly.

“Guess so.”

She goes to push her chair back but stops. “Sir, if somebody was passing through, they couldn’t be on foot, right?”

“...Excuse me?”

“I… don’t think I saw a police car,” Laura admits. She wasn’t sure of it until the words formed on her tongue, sour. Now that they’re out, she can see it clearly in her mind’s eye: no car where there should’ve been one. 

Christ, she must be going through some sort of a mental break.

To his credit, although visibly alarmed, Sheriff Hunnem doesn’t outright call her a crazy woman. “Look, miss,” he says after clearing his throat, “it’s a tough thing to deal with, a close call like the one you had, but I recommend you don’t dwell on it.” He opens his palms in a pacifying gesture. “You are alive and well—at the end of the day, that’s all that matters.”

Recognizing the end of the conversation for what it is, Laura nods in agreement and stands up, feeling numbness spread through her following her earlier outburst. Get it together, jeez.

“Thank you for your time, sir.” She manages a tense smile, ready to flee, but before Laura can open the door to the main office area, the sheriff calls her name again.

“About that project of yours, with the cameras and all. Make sure you’re out of the woods by nightfall.” He looks her in the eye, and a shadow of an elm tree outside the room’s only window cuts through the space as the sun blinks from behind patchy clouds. “We’ve got way more predators who feel at home in the dark.”

[coolbeanzeaglbones]

Time for chappy 7.

Chad's parents were getting suspicious of his recent behavior. He was snatching more food from the fridge than usual and taking batteries. It was like there were extra people living in the house.

Chad kept denying that anything was wrong, but they knew something was up. They were watching their son change, of course kids grew up, but so quickly…? I mean, he grows quickly…get it?

XXXXXXXXXXXLINEBREAKXXXXXXXXX

Chad was looking through the classifieds. He needed to get a job. His parents were getting suspicious (sorry, couldn't think of another word) of his behavior. To think of it, he had a larger handle on his emotions. He hadn't gotten big in a while.

He knew if he got big, he would have nowhere to go. Especially at night. He also didn't want to freak the kids out more than they already were.

As he walked home, he was taking the long route more often, he saw people hanging missing posters. Posters of the kids he kidnapped.

He stared at the smiling face of the first kid, as he did not know his name, and found his name was Christian. And right near his was a missing poster for James Goodman.

He felt his heart clench, but reminded himself that it was for the greater good. Just above that poster was a sign up for a little league job position as a coach.

He took a little tag and went home. Perhaps he could get a job there.

XXXXXXXXXXXLINEBREAKXXXXXXXXX 

He stared at the photo as he sat in his room, looking over the two he had yet to figure out how to get them.

He stared at the faces of the tan, peppy looking guy and the skinny pale guy. The men in the photo were still fading, if not faster than before. He had to do this quickly, or the world as they knew it could end.

XXXXXXXXXXXLINEBREAKXXXXXXXXX

A little boy no more than eight years of age held the hand of his father as he signed the little league sign up sheet. It was the little boy's summer activity. Baseball, “Ricky,” his father said, glancing down at his bouncing son, “are you sure you want to do this?” the boy, Ricky, nodded, “Yeah! This is going to be epic.” His father chuckled and ruffled his son's unruly locks.

Ricky was always the winner of tag. Always the champ of foot races. He loved to run. That was just it. He loved to run. Everywhere.

There was always something special about him. He was always jazzed up for the day, but sometimes that jazz would overload and he would become a blur. See, he was a super, as a small portion of Orange County residents are.

His name? Richard Timothy Falomir.

XXXXXXXXXXXLINEBREAKXXXXXXXXX 

Ricky was dropped off just as he was every weekend. He had been doing little league for about two months and had a pretty good group of friends. 

He was the guy who chased the ball, I don't know what it's called and I'm not googling it, the man on the outfield. I think it's called an outfielder, whatever I don't know, anyway…

Ricky sprinted up to his friends and they exchanged greetings before talking about some stupid nonsense that eight year olds talk about until the coach came.

The coach was a hulking teenager who, if he didn't have such a kind demeanor, would be terrifying. His name was Chad. He blew his coaching whistle, “Alright, alright, budge up, we've got a big game tonight, so let's practice.” He said. 

Practice went as it usually went. Ricky almost lost control of his speed, but checked it just in time.

As practice came to a close, Chad blew the whistle again. The kids filed out to the bleachers and waited for their parents. The only one left waiting after everyone left was Ricky, “Your father told me to give you a ride, Ricky.” Said Chad, patting Ricky on his shoulder.

Ricky felt a little prickle of anxiety rush through him. Something told him that Chad was lying. A nagging little gnat told him. Something that he would never believe.

He trusted Chad, “Yeah, okay.” And so they went off.

Chad was oddly silent during the ride, glancing behind them every now and then. Ricky thought it was weird, but didn't really acknowledge it until they turned off to the highway, “Uh, Chad, this is not the way to-” but he was cut off by Chad lifting up a tire iron, “Tie that rag around your eyes.” Ricky began to freak, hyperventilating like mad. He looked to the floor of the truck and saw a filthy red rag.

Chad was still holding the iron in his fist, as though he was going to strike. Ricky's hands quivered as he tied the bandana around his tear filled eyes, “Why?” He asked, his voice small. He heard the tire iron clatter back to the floor and what sounded like repressed crying.

He wondered if the sound was coming from him, or if it wasn't actually crying, but instead laughing at the prospect of doing something horrible.

Ricky began to full on sob. He was so scared. So so scared. He tried to quiet down and stop, as to try to not annoy Chad.

Ricky had watched documentaries with his father on killers, and one thing they hated was being annoyed. But he couldn't help it. They drove for a long time, Ricky had eventually fallen asleep, despite being keyed up with fear. He sobbed himself out and fell asleep, his last conscious thoughts were memories of him and his father. Of happy times that would never come again.

[internalself]

oh epic youve got this blog set up! id like to ask u now, uhm like.. gah words are hard, sorry if this sounds kind of incoherent. how would you explain trace or transabled on a moral standpoint? like i am someone who is already definitely transage and transspecies, so i understand identity incongruence, i am just a little confused on a moral standpoint. i have been told, the entire time ive known about those identites, that they are Bad, but i want to approach them with an open mind. i want to really think about it, but i feel a little lost

I would start to on a few different layers.

On the first label, I would say morally, regardless of your initial feelings: there's already the factor that to be against these people is to be against other people's freedom of expression, speech, and identity as well as against other people's bodily autonomy in many cases.

I don't really understand how to answer the concept as "morally". So I'll just give a quick summary that you can ask further on if something doesn't make sense.

We need to start the discussion of trace with the knowledge that race is a construct. This is something that I can go into more and/or you can look into articles talking about. Some events that may help understand this view I would list as:

The history of the Jewish race in America, and it being revoked or reinstated depending on the antisemitism of the time

Historically Asian American immigrants being called Chinese on their papers regardless of country of origin, making many 2nd, 3rd and so on generations unsure of their parents/grandparents+ nationalities

Usage of black to describe race across the world

Debates between different counties on if people who have pale skin are ever any race other than white. (Ex: Americans saying Roma are white, Europeans disagreeing.)

The discussions a few years ago on if Australian indigenous populations can call themselves black

Blood quantum and ongoing indigenous genocide in the US and Canada.

The way race as a rigid construct hurts mixed race people

Blood quantum applied to non-n8v communities (the idea of "when does 1 race's linage stop being their race?") And the idea of "pure blooded" race

So on and so fourth.

This is why in our pinned we specify that just because a construct exists doesn't mean it isn't based off something real. Race exists either to describe a group of people with a similar ancestry, physical characteristics or country of origin, often a mix of all 3, but is more made up than you'd think.

Generally, race as a construct exists mostly for the reason of oppression at the hands of colonialism. By creating race, you can enforce the idea of a "lesser race", alienate and divide people, control them and genocide them.

Most ideas of race are things that are solely physical, and our ideas of race are constructed through a settler lens with the intent to oppress other "lesser" races. Regardless of race, a person will not be born with cultural or mental differences, they are learned. In a non-physical space, race is entirely invisible, the only indicators of race being culture, including learned fears and prejudices.

Moving from this point, let's open a hypothetical that will show up on this blog a lot

Let's say, a group of people, like 100. Exist, mentally mature and not physical. In a world without learned prejudices and insecurities, when ordered to create themself a body, my hypothesis would be that each individual would create a seperate self. Each person would find a different feature more attractive / desirable, or otherwise find more self hood in them. If given the chance, to create yourself entirely, would you create your current self perfectly? Many people would continue to keep their gender, race, species, age, many would not. In an ideal world, would you choose every piece of you that you still are? Many trans people would choose to keep the relationship they have with their body and their gender and sex- Many would also not do this and would choose a more "cisgender" body. Many disabled people would keep their disability, many may not. While many of these actions would be inspired by prejudice in the world that was learned- I am confident that many people would choose these as well based off personally enjoying the body they would create more.

The idea that someone should not deviate the idea of their assigned race, a construct designed to oppress people, is in of itself racist. Why should I be forced to use the word for my people that was given to me by settler oppressors? This is especially true for people who identify with races outside of what is assigned. (Non-recognized races)

Further, most arguments against trace individuals is racist as well. The assumption that PWIIOC are too fragile and stupid and would only desire to a different bodily race because they face oppression and want to escape it, and that a bodily white person would only want a different bodily race to join an oppressed group or because they have a fetish is both racist and... familiar, isn't it?

Is it not recycled transphobia? The idea usually communicated by transphobes, "trans women are pretending to be women to join women's oppressed class or because they have a fetish" and "trans men are just stupid and fragile girls who transition to join the oppressor class to escape oppression" are exactly what is being parroted when people say what I described in the above paragraph. It's a flawed logic that entirely disregards the internal self being not wholey influenced by the learned behavior. It also is built entirely on stariotypes and assumptions and insists all PWIIOC are cowardly and would never know themself well enough to self define- and all white people could only care about POC for a sexual or sadistic reason, re-enforcing ideas of whiteness as inherently opposed to all other races, and that all other races are either stupid or spineless and unable to know about themselves, the same way trans men are targeted as "stupid, scared, autistic girls" and trans women are targeted as "men in dresses who want to be women to complain and for sexual gratification."

-------

Secondarily, I will move on to the idea of disability and transablity.

The basis against transabled groups is based in ableism. Unlike many other identity parts we will discuss, the idea of disability as identity is debated, and varied from person as well as from disability.

Generally I won't speak on mental disability or illness in this segment. I have never experienced, do not know enough about or confidently understand the experiences of people who feel as though they should be more or less or with a different, mentally disabled / mental disability.

When it comes to physical disability I will say again, bodily autonomy is king. If someone has felt like they are supposed to only have 1 arm, it doesn't matter if you understand this- they have a full right to get it removed because it's THEIR body.

"What if they regret it?" People get tattoos they regret all the time. And yet, people aren't barred from getting tattoos due to the possibility of regret.

Further, this is acting like a surgery is comparable to a tattoo. This feels like most medical fearmongering- "trans people shouldn't be able to get SRS because what if they regret it?" "If we made abortion legal, everyone would get one all willy nilly!" But the reality is that people generally don't go into an expensive, physically intensive surgery mindlessly. Once again, no respect is offered to the PWII. It's assumed the people seeking a treatment that would make them happier are simply too stupid, and the person who is hateful of them knows the person seeking treatment more than they know themselves.

It also agrees with the ableist idea that being disabled is to worsen oneself- the idea someone would choose disability and be happier disabled as impossible and that someone would only choose disability if they're unable to make sound decisions, or have a sexual reasoning.

A disabled body is not a tragedy. People have a right to their own body, and every abled person is a potential disabled person- at any moment, someone could accidentally become disabled. If someone was already seeking disability- how are they more valid if their disability is the result of something that couldn't be helped, like a car crash?

If people will give themselves the result they desire anyways, there should be a safe and professional way to have it done. A societal hatred for people who desire a disability will not stop those who are intent on having the body they desire. They will just do it in a less sanitary and less safe space- and are more likely to botch their surgery and be unhappy with their results.

Is you can understand that some people feel as though their disability is a part of their self, and they wouldn't become abled if given the chance and are happier disabled, you also need to understand that some people would choose disability, and would be happier disabled. To be hateful to people who find a disabled body desirable for themselves also attacks people who would continue to choose their body to continue to be disabled.

Personally, ever sense I was young I felt like I needed glasses and should have worse vision.

I would even lie to my doctor that I felt like my vision was fuzzy, but I'd ace the vision tests. To this day I can't help but pick up a pair of glasses around the house and put them on for a quick moment of euphoria. I prefer fictional characters with glasses. In a sense, it's not that I see myself in them, but i want to. It's a similar feeling to gender envy to me. I'd press down on my eyes as a kid to have my vision fuzzier, I'd unfocus my eyes and stare at the whiteboard.

The repulsion from people who would insist that I must be crazy to desire this, that doing so would be worsening me, that it would horrifying and repulse someone so strongly to anger which nears humor that I- someone with good vision would desire disability, is ableist.

Disabled bodies will always exist, disabled bodies deserve to exist, disabled bodies are beautiful, disabled bodies would exist even in a world where people built themselves manually, ability aids and disability does not make a body less attractive, less worthy of respect, less worthy of being desired or deserving of the repulsion we get.

Finally, the assumption that all transabled people are abled is ableist. I am not and most transabled people I've seen are not fully able either. We understand disability. Many transabled people even already have disability in the area their incongruence targets.

----------

I hope this helps, if you want to discuss any parts of this in more depth, please specify further.

[killed-by-choice]

Carolina Gutierrez, 21 (USA 1996)

When Carolina was only 13 years old, she came to America from Nicaragua as a refugee. She didn’t know that permissive American abortion laws would lead to her early death.

When Carolina was 20, she was happily married with two children, a boy and a girl. She became pregnant again in 1995. At first, both Carolina and her husband José were excited and even bought clothes for the baby. But Carolina started to worry about money and had second thoughts. José didn’t want his child to be killed and tried to reassure Carolina that she didn’t have to have an abortion, but his efforts were in vain. Carolina got a friend to drive her to an abortion facility on December 19, 1995. She paid $225 in cash for the abortion that took her child, her legs and her life.

The night after the abortion, Carolina was in terrible pain. She called the abortion facility for help, but they hung up on her. Over the next two days, Carolina left messages on the abortion facility’s answering machine, but nobody returned her calls or helped with her rapidly worsening condition. On December 21, Carolina’s family called 911 because she could barely breathe at all. By the time she was rushed into the emergency room, she was already in septic shock.

Carolina had a torn uterus that was so infected that the infection spread across her entire body over the past few days. She had to have an emergency hysterectomy and was placed in the ICU. She was suffering from both sepsis and gangrene. Her husband spent as much time as he could by her side, comforting her. He was grieving from the loss of his child and terrified of losing his beloved wife too. He couldn’t sleep because he was so worried about Carolina.

Despite the best attempts of the doctors who ran the ICU, Carolina’s fingers and toes turned black from gangrene. She had to have her limbs amputated in an attempt to control the lethal infection.

Carolina’s 21st birthday came and went while she was dying a slow and excruciating death in the ICU. Doctors were unable to save her and she finally died from her “safe and legal” abortion on February 5, 1996. She was survived by her heartbroken husband and her surviving children.

Carolina’s husband José with his surviving children. (Alba and Darwin)

"I have lost the love of my life," Jose said in a press conference. "I'm heartbroken. They have taken my happiness away."

Carolina’s death was easily preventable. The Miami Herald confirmed that abortion facility regulations were in effect in 1980— but those critical regulations were later thrown out as being “too restrictive” and a much more lax code was passed in 1988. According to the Miami Herald, at the time of Carolina’s death “Annual inspections for Florida’s 65 licensed clinics [consisted] of six questions — all answered from paperwork, not examination of medical equipment or operating practices or staff training.” In other words, nobody had even inspected the facility that sent an internally injured client home to die of sepsis and gangrene.

Pro-abortion groups are the ones that loudly oppose any regulations (even basic standards of care) and are instrumental in their defeat and repeal. They want more abortion, no matter the cost to women’s lives and health.

After Carolina’s excruciatingly lethal abortion, the facility was finally inspected. While investigating the facility, officials discovered that although Carolina could not read English, her only consent form was in English — and the line for her signature was blank.

A local pro-life group called Dade County Right to Life raised the money to cover Carolina’s funeral expenses and helped Jose to care for Alva and Darwin. Had Carolina been aware of the resources offered by pro-life groups such as this one, it is unlikely that she would be dead.

Carolina at her funeral

[clean-bubbles-aka-bubbles]

Friendship Rivalry Unveiled

“Heh… glad to let myself loose today.” 

Ever since Clean Bubbles crossed paths with Mark Heathcliff a few days ago, her heart has been in a constant state of flutter. The kindness and care he showed her, something she hadn't experienced in over 15 years, was a revelation. Knowing she wasn’t the only one navigating the harsh world of deceptions was a relief. 

But despite her best efforts to distance herself from Mark, to push him away and protect him from the dangers that lurked in the shadows, she couldn't deny the pull she felt towards him. He had wormed his way into her heart with his kindness and understanding, and try as she might, she couldn't shake the feeling that she needed him, that he was the only one who truly understood her.

However, this newfound connection was not without its challenges. It was a double-edged sword, bringing a whole new set of worries. She constantly fretted about her friend, juggling between maintaining her reputation, preserving these friendships, and living a split life.

The blue and black-haired girl sighed, her feet gently swaying on the bench in the serene local park. The small ducks, a stark contrast to her inner turmoil, swam peacefully in the pond as she fed them peas and grapes under the cloudy sky. Their quacks of gratitude filled the air, momentarily soothing her troubled mind. 

Her secrets bore down on her shoulders, threatening to crush her beneath their burden. She knew she couldn't afford to let her guard down, not when her very existence in Mandela County depended on maintaining her facade of normalcy.

As she sat lost in her thoughts, a familiar voice called out, snapping her out of her reverie. "Hey there, Clean Bubbles!" Mark's voice rang out, his warm smile lighting up his face as he approached.

Clean Bubbles forced a smile, her heart fluttering nervously in her chest as she greeted him. "H-Hey, Mark," she replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "I-I didn't expect to see you here."

Mark chuckled, a twinkle of mischief dancing in his eyes. "Well, I thought I'd surprise you," he said, his grin widening. "But hey, speaking of surprises, I've got someone I want you to meet."

Clean Bubbles' heart skipped a beat at his words, her mind racing with a million possibilities. Who could Mark possibly want her to meet? And what would they think of her, with her strange name and even stranger circumstances?

Before she could voice her concerns, Mark gestured towards the figure standing beside him, a broad smile on his face. "This is Cesar Torres," he said, his voice filled with pride. "He's my best friend."

She forced herself to remain calm and hide the turmoil as she greeted Cesar with a polite smile. It was his friend who was (possibly) killed by his Alternate and took his place, following Mark home and torturing him. 

But that was WAY in the future, thankfully. 

"H-Hi, Cesar," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's nice to meet you."

Cesar returned her greeting with a warm smile, his brown eyes twinkling with curiosity as he studied her. "Hey there, Clean Bubbles," he replied, his voice friendly. "Mark's told me a lot about you. It's finally great to meet you in person."

Clean Bubbles felt panic rising within her at Cesar's words. What had Mark told him about her? And more importantly, what would he think when he discovered the truth about her, her alter ego, and the secrets she harbored?

But as she glanced between Mark and Cesar, she realized she couldn't afford to let her fears control her. She had to keep her calm, maintain her facade of normalcy, and keep her secrets hidden at all costs.

With a forced smile, she turned to Mark and Cesar, her heart pounding as she forced herself to act naturally. "S-So, what do you guys want to do?" she asked, her voice tinged with strained cheerfulness. "I-I'm up for anything."

Mark and Cesar exchanged glances, silent communication passing between them before Mark turned back to Clean Bubbles with a grin. "Well, we were thinking of grabbing some ice cream," he suggested, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “There's this new place that sells cheap ice cream, but there are many flavors we can try out. Do you want some?"

The girl hesitated momentarily, her mind racing as she weighed the risks of spending more time with Mark and Cesar against the potential rewards of forging more robust connections. But in the end, her longing for companionship overcame her fear, and she forced a smile.

"S-Sure, that sounds... nice," she replied, her voice wavering slightly. "I-I love ice cream."

Mark's grin widened at her response, his enthusiasm infectious. "Great!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "Let's go, then. It's not too far from here."

Together, the three set off toward downtown, the faint cracks of the sun between the clouds casting long rays of light across the streets. Clean Bubbles felt excitement and trepidation swirling within her as they walked, her heart pounding.

When they reached the ice cream parlor, a small bell tinkled overhead. The sweet scent of sugar and waffle cones filled the air. Clean Bubbles couldn't help but smile at the colorful array of flavors displayed behind the glass counter, her worries momentarily forgotten in the face of such simple pleasures.

“Cesar, what do you want to get?”

“I’ll go for my usual blueberry pie.”

“Seriously? You don’t want strawberry? It’s great and sweet and fruity!”

“Hey! Mine is fruity, too!” 

“Well, mine is better!”

Mark and Cesar eagerly debated which flavors to try, their laughter filling the air as they discussed the merits of strawberry versus blueberry. Clean Bubbles watched them with amusement and longing, her heart aching at their easy camaraderie.

But even as she allowed herself to enjoy the moment, a nagging voice reminded her of the dangers that lurked in the shadows. She couldn't afford to let her guard down, not when her very existence in Mandela County depended on maintaining her facade of normalcy.

As she reached for her wallet to pay for her ice cream, her hand brushed against something cold and metallic in her pocket. With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she realized with horror that she had forgotten to leave her weapons behind, the tools of her trade that marked her as something other than human. “OH CRAP! Where the hell did I put my wallet!?” She thought.

Panic surged through her veins as she fumbled for an excuse, her mind racing as she tried to devise a plausible explanation. But before she could say anything, Mark and Cesar turned to her with expectant smiles, their ice cream cones in hand.

"Hey, Clean Bubbles, are you alright?" Mark asked, his brow furrowing with concern. "You seem... tense."

Clean Bubbles forced a smile, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to mask her inner turmoil. "Y-Yeah, I-I'm fine," she replied, her voice sounding hollow even to her ears. "Just... just–I forgot about my wallet!” Her tone came out as a slight shrill squeak. “S-Sorry, here we go.” She pulled out a ten-dollar bill from her pocket. She secretly had to create a random wallet filled with cash to make it convincing that she had it. “I’d like to pay for a single vanilla ice cream scoop in a cup, please.” She paid it to the cashier. 

The cashier nodded, taking the money with a smile as she handed Clean Bubbles her ice cream. “Here you go, one vanilla scoop in a cup,” she said cheerfully, her voice warm and friendly.

Clean Bubbles accepted the ice cream with a grateful smile, her heart racing from the close call. She couldn't afford to slip up like that again, not when the stakes were so high.

"Thanks," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I-I appreciate it."

“Oh, here’s your $8.85 back.” the cashier handed her the extra change.

“N-No, you can keep it.” She breathed softly. “I-I think you need it more than me, especially in this world of these Alternates that are roaming around the corners… although they don’t seem so strangely appear anymore…” Bubbles spoke the last part quietly, knowing that she was the one who had been killing them off but never revealed it.

The cashier's eyes widened in surprise at Clean Bubbles' words, a mixture of confusion and gratitude flickering across her features. "Oh, uh, thank you," she stammered, her voice tinged with disbelief. "T-That's really kind of you. I-I'll put it in the tip jar."

Clean Bubbles nodded with a small smile, her heart aching at the hardships that the people of Mandela County face daily. She couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for hiding her true identity from them, for pretending to be something she wasn't.

As she turned to join Mark and Cesar, she caught sight of a shadow lurking in the corner of her vision, a dark figure watching her from across the street. Panic surged through her veins as she realized with horror that one of the Alternates had followed her, its eyes filled with malice and hunger.

But before she could react, the figure melted back into the shadows, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. Clean Bubbles' heart pounded in her chest as she tried to catch her breath, her hands trembling as she clutched her ice cream cup tightly. “Everything is alright, Bubbles…” She thought. “Don’t go out to kill it… just pretend you’re unaware of your capabilities, and everything will be fine. The Alternate doesn’t know that you’re the Celestial Artisan.” A shaky breath left her as she felt goosebumps run down her spine.

"Hey, are you alright?" Mark's voice cut through the haze of fear clouding her mind, and his expression was filled with concern.

Clean Bubbles forced a smile, her heart pounding as she tried to push down the rising panic. "Y-Yeah, I-I'm fine," she replied, her voice sounding hollow even to her ears. "Just… just… saw a bug, that’s all.”

Cesar didn't seem convinced by her feeble attempt at reassurance, but he didn't press further. Instead, he reached out and gently squeezed her shoulder, offering her a supportive smile. "Well, whatever it was, it's gone now," he said softly. "You're safe with us, Clean Bubbles. We won't let anything happen to you."

Clean Bubbles felt a surge of gratitude welling within her at his words, his kindness offering her a glimmer of hope in the darkness threatening to consume her whole. With a slight nod, she forced herself to take a deep breath, pushing down the fear that threatened to overwhelm her.

"Thanks, Cesar," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I-I appreciate it."

Together, the three of them continued their walk, the taste of ice cream sweet on Clean Bubbles' tongue as she tried to push aside the memories of the shadowy figure that had haunted her. She knew she couldn't afford to let her guard down, not when her very existence in Mandela County depended on maintaining her facade of normalcy.

In the meantime, Mark and Cesar exchanged glances, rivaling each other about what they wanted to do for the group, which Bubbles was oblivious to the exchange. 

“No, we should hang out in the arcade!” Mark sighed with frustration.

“Mi amigo, I suggest we watch a movie at my house. I think it’ll be better for Clean Bubbles. Besides, it’s safe. Plus, my mom hasn’t seen her.” Cesar huffed.

“Cesar, the arcade is practical entertainment. There’s that adrenaline in gaming competition! I doubt that movies will shake off Bubbles’s worries.”

As their voices got slightly louder, Bubbles paused and glanced back. “...What are you two talking about?” She asked with a raised eyebrow, narrowing her eyes with slight amusement at the two boys. “This reminds me of my two cousins, Blue Wing and Tyler, who do funny petty arguments.” She thought.

Caught off guard by Clean Bubbles' interruption, Mark and Cesar exchanged sheepish glances, their rivalry momentarily forgotten in her amused scrutiny.

"Oh, uh, we were just discussing what to do next," Mark replied, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “It's nothing serious."

Cesar nodded in agreement, though a mischievous twinkle danced in his eyes. "Yeah, just... just a friendly debate," he added, his tone playful. "But hey, we should let Clean Bubbles decide. What do you want to do, Clean Bubbles?"

The girl couldn't help but chuckle at Mark and Cesar's playful bickering. Despite their underlying tension, she couldn't deny the warmth and camaraderie that radiated from their friendship.

A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she considered their options. She appreciated their efforts to include her in their plans despite her challenges in maintaining her normalcy facade.

"Well," she began, her voice thoughtful as she glanced between Mark and Cesar, "the arcade sounds like a lot of fun. But I think I'd prefer to watch a movie at your house, Cesar." She offered him a warm smile. "It sounds... cozy."

Cesar's face lit up with a bright grin at her choice, his eyes sparkling excitedly. "Great choice, Clean Bubbles!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "I-I mean, if that's okay with you, Mark?"

Mark hesitated for a moment, furrowing his brow in thought. But then, with a resigned smile, he nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that sounds good," he replied, his tone tinged with disappointment. “I-I mean, it's up to Clean Bubbles, right?"

Clean Bubbles felt a pang of guilt at Mark's disappointment, knowing that she had inadvertently caused it by choosing Cesar's suggestion over his. But she pushed down her guilt, reminding herself that she couldn't afford to let her feelings cloud her judgment, not when her very existence in Mandela County depended on maintaining her facade of normalcy.

"Thank you, Mark," she said softly, her voice tinged with regret. "I-I appreciate your understanding. And... and hey, we can always go to the arcade next time, right?"

Mark's smile widened at her words, the disappointment fading from his eyes. "Yeah, of course," he replied, his tone cheerful. "Next time, for sure. But for now, let's go and enjoy the movie."

With that, the three of them set off toward Cesar's house, their laughter filling the air as they walked. Clean Bubbles couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and belonging in their company despite the secrets she harbored and the dangers that lurked in the shadows.

The door opened softly as they reached Cesar's house, and the three stepped into Cesar’s humble adobe. 

His house was warm and inviting, a comforting refuge from the chill of the afternoon air. Clean Bubbles took in her surroundings with curiosity and awe, her eyes wandering over the cozy living room adorned with colorful throw pillows and soft blankets.

“Mi hijo, you’re back already?” 

A soft voice spoke up. It was a Hispanic woman in a light blue buttoned-up shirt. She wore a long dark blue dress with black leathery flats adorning her feet. She had short, messy black and dark brown hair, just like Cesar’s. She had pearly earrings and a white pearly-beaded necklace around her neck. 

“Oh my!” Her tired, dark brown eyes lit up as she saw the two friends with Cesar. “Mark! You came!” She walked over and gave him a handshake and a hug.

“H-Hi, Mrs. Torres.” Clean Bubbles grinned shyly, waving softly. 

“Oh! You’re that girl that Cesar has been talking about!” She smiled, giving her a handshake and a hug. “You look so nice for my boy.” She gently cupped her cheeks as Bubbles squeaked when they were pinched gently. “Mi hijo,” She turned to his son before jokingly exclaiming, “Why did it take you so long to find a nice girl like her!?” 

Cesar's cheeks flushed bright red at his mother's teasing, and he stammered out a response. "M-Mom, she's just a friend," he protested, his embarrassment evident in his voice.

Mrs. Torres laughed warmly, her eyes crinkling with amusement. "Oh, come on, Cesar," she chided playfully. "Don't be shy. It's good to have friends, especially ones as kind and polite as Clean Bubbles and Mark."

Mark chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "T-Thank you, Mrs. Torres," he said, his cheeks tinted pink with embarrassment. "I-It's nice to see you again."

Clean Bubbles offered Mrs. Torres a warm smile, her heart swelling with gratitude at the woman's kindness and acceptance. Despite her fears and doubts, she couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging in Cesar's home, surrounded by his warm and welcoming family.

"Thank you for having us, Mrs. Torres," she said softly, her voice tinged with sincerity. "I-It means a lot."

Mrs. Torres smiled warmly at Clean Bubbles, her eyes shining with motherly affection. "You're always welcome here, mi amiga," she said gently. "Now, why don't you three get comfortable in the living room? I'll make snacks for you to enjoy while watching your movie."

With that, Mrs. Torres bustled off to the kitchen, leaving Clean Bubbles, Mark, and Cesar alone in the cozy living room. Clean Bubbles couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and contentment wash over her as she sank into the soft couch, her heart lighter than it had been in a long time.

For the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to relax, to enjoy the simple pleasure of spending time with friends. Clean Bubbles couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude wash over her at their efforts to make her feel welcome.

"So, what kind of movie are you in the mood for, Clean Bubbles?" Cesar asked, turning to her with a smile. "We've got action, comedy, horror–you name it."

Clean Bubbles glanced at the movie selection on the screen, her mind racing as she tried to make a suitable choice. She knew she had to pick something that wouldn't raise suspicion but would blend in with the facade of normalcy she had carefully constructed.

"Hm… how about Indiana Jones?" she asked hesitantly. "I-I could use a good pump of excitement. Besides, I haven’t really watched it, not to mention that I don’t really watch a lot of movies."

Cesar's face lit up with a bright grin at Clean Bubbles' choice, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Indiana Jones, huh?" he exclaimed, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "That's a classic! I love that movie!"

Mark nodded eagerly in agreement. "Yeah, me too!" he chimed in, his grin mirroring Cesar's. "It's got action, adventure, and a bit of humor. Plus, Harrison Ford is awesome!"

Clean Bubbles couldn't help but smile at their infectious enthusiasm, her heart warming at their shared excitement. "G-Great," she replied, her voice tinged with relief. "I-I'm glad you guys like it. Let's watch it then."

With that, the three of them settled in on the couch, Mrs. Torres returning with a tray of snacks and drinks just in time. As the opening credits rolled on the screen, Clean Bubbles felt a sense of peace wash over her, the worries and stresses of her double life fading into the background.

For the following minutes, they lost themselves in Indiana Jones's thrilling adventures, laughing at the humorous moments and gasping at the heart-pounding action scenes. Clean Bubbles couldn't remember the last time she had enjoyed herself so much, the simple joy of spending time with friends filling her heart with warmth.

They were patiently waiting for Indiana Jones to have a sword fight with one of the antagonists in Cairo. “Come on! Kick hit butt with that sword!” Mark exclaimed excitedly. 

“Yeah! Chuck it in his face!” Cesar added. 

Bubbles didn’t say anything as she was excitedly tapping her feet. 

Indiana Jones simply just looked bored and annoyed as he whipped out his pistol, shooting the man. 

*BAM!*

Instantly, the man fell, dead from the bullet. 

“HAHAHA!” The girl laughed and wheezed, not expecting the scene to be so anti-climactic. She was clutching her stomach as she struggled to catch her breath.

Clean Bubbles' laughter filled the room, prompting Mark and Cesar to join. The tension from earlier seemed to melt away as they laughed together, bonding over the scene's absurdity.

Mark wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, his grin wide with amusement. "Wow, that was unexpected," he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "I-I guess Indiana Jones doesn't mess around."

Cesar nodded in agreement, his laughter echoing through the room. "Yeah, no kidding," he replied, his voice tinged with amusement. "I-I guess sometimes the simplest solution is the best one."

Clean Bubbles wiped away tears of mirth from her eyes, her cheeks flushed with laughter. "Y-Yeah, who knew a bullet could solve everything? That’s why you don’t bring a sword into a gunfight unless the person already has the gun." she quipped, her voice filled with amusement.

Together, the three of them continued to laugh and joke as they watched the rest of the movie, their worries momentarily forgotten in the face of such simple pleasures. Clean Bubbles couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude wash over her at their efforts to include her and make her feel welcome and accepted.

As the credits rolled on the screen, signaling the movie's end, Clean Bubbles felt a sense of contentment wash over her. For the first time in what felt like forever, she allowed herself to relax, to enjoy the simple pleasure of spending time with friends.

Yet, she also felt disappointed at the thought of their evening ending. She had enjoyed their time together, the simple pleasure of watching a movie with friends, something she had missed dearly.

But as she glanced at Mark and Cesar, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the TV screen, she realized with a start that she had found something even more precious than friendship in their company. She had found a sense of belonging, a fleeting moment of respite amid chaos and uncertainty.

"Thanks for inviting me over, Cesar," she said softly, her voice tinged with sincerity. "I-I had a really great time."

Cesar smiled warmly at her, his eyes shining with affection. "Anytime, Clean Bubbles," he replied, his voice filled with warmth. "You're always welcome here, mi amiga."

Mark nodded eagerly in agreement. "Yeah, what he said," he chimed in, his grin wide with enthusiasm. "I-I'm glad you had fun. We should do this again sometime."

Clean Bubbles felt a surge of gratitude welling within her at their words, their kindness offering her a glimmer of hope in the darkness threatening to consume her whole. With a small smile, she nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, I-I'd like that," she replied softly, her heart lighter than it had been in a long time. "Let's do it again soon."

Mark and Cesar exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting the warmth and camaraderie they had shared throughout the evening. With a smile, Mark squeezed Clean Bubbles' hand, his expression filled with understanding.

"Thank you, Clean Bubbles," he replied, his voice gentle. "For being here with us. For... for being you."

Clean Bubbles felt a surge of emotion welling within her at his words, her heart swelling with gratitude. She knew she couldn't afford to let her guard down, not when her very existence in Mandela County depended on maintaining her facade of normalcy.

But in that fleeting moment of connection, surrounded by friends who accepted her for who she was, she allowed herself to hope. To hope for a future where she could be herself and didn't have to hide behind a mask of lies and deception.

As she bid Mark and Cesar goodnight and stepped out into the cool night air, she felt a sense of peace settle over her. She knew the road ahead would be fraught with challenges and dangers, but with friends by her side, she knew she could face whatever the future held.

And as she disappeared into the darkness, the echoes of laughter and friendship lingering in the air, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she could find her way back home.

When she arrived at her house and stepped inside, she took a moment to think about today when she was spending time with her friends before she chuckled,

“Heh… glad to let myself loose today.” 

[brodiesato]

“FUCKED UP LIKE A ROCKSTAR, DANCIN' ON A COP CAR, NO ONE IN THE WORLD CAN SAVE ME NOW”

INTRODUCING…

NAME: Brodie DeMarco Sato

GENDER & PREFERRED PRONOUNS: Cis Man {He/Him}

AGE: 31

BIRTHDAY: November 23, 1991

ZODIAC: Sagittarius Sun, Capricorn Rising, Gemini Moon

SEXUALITY & ROMANCE: Heterosexual

FACE CLAIM: Darren Barnet

OCCUPATION: Mechanic/Drug Dealer

HOMETOWN: Denver, CO

CURRENT RESIDENCY: Downtown, Cape May, NJ

CHARACTER PLAYLIST: HERE.

UP NEXT: “BY THE WAY” BY THE RED HOT CHILI PEPPERS

BIOGRAPHY: TW DRUG/ALCOHOL USE, DEATH, FIRE, VEHICLE ACCIDENT

Brodie was a very sensitive yet outgoing kid. His sensitivity wasn't geared in physical pain, but more-so in the ways that made him stand up to the bullies on the playground who picked on the more introverted kids. It was because of this, that he was seen as a leader at the mere age of 4 and also earned him his best friend, Elliot.

As he grew, his teachers and peers favored him for his golden heart and puppy dog smile. His popularity skyrocketed, but he had his mom and dad to thank for the blueprint of his personality. His father, Kenji Sato, was the textbook definition of chivalry and had a very go-getter viewpoint of the world with a good head on his shoulders. His mother, Emily Sato, was always putting others first, walked as if sunshine was beneath her feet, and could make even the coldest of hearts crack a smile. Between his father and mother, Brodie was the golden boy in town. What else would one expect from the county's fire chief and nurse practitioner's boy?

Though he lost his father to a fire when he was only 7, Brodie was forced to grow up as he watched his mother slowly fall apart. At first, she just laid on the couch and stared at the wall for what felt like months on end; Brodie then becoming the caretaker until she was able to go to work. It was strange watching her grieving process change from not wanting to move, to then being nonstop. It felt almost close to normal, that was until she brought home a baby from the hospital. In the blink of an eye, Brodie became a master of many hats; not only stepping up to not let his mom down, but also trying to be the best older brother he could be for the new addition to the Sato family. They were a little broken, but they made it work. And by 'they' I mean Brodie. When Harper needed help on a school project, he was there. When Harper skinned her knee, he was there. Brodie was the constant that showed up when their mother's busy nurse schedule kept her at bay. When the world checked out, Brodie was always there to make sure Harper wasn't alone.

If it wasn't his teammates, then it was Elliot who attempted to get Brodie to live a little. Always doing the right thing and being everyone's walking conscious was tiring after all, but Brodie hadn't strayed from the straight and narrow. Even with the shelved grief and the need to be a good role model and caretaker for Harper, Brodie never stepped out of line. That was, until the senior year homecoming game. Being the captain of the hockey team, it only made sense that he had friends in other sport teams. It was serendipitous that the football team practically paired off with the hockey team in the realm of friendships; the quarterback happening to be none other than Elliot. When they won, the party seemed to get a little out of control. Brodie drank for the first time, but didn't necessarily know when to stop. At least he wasn't as fucked up as his best friend was.

Brodie still plays it back in his head. How he laughed when Elliot mentioned going on the quad together. How Elliot managed to sway him and put the only helmet on him so he can drive. How Elliot's last words were that it was going to be alright, right before they crashed head-on into a tree.

Ultimately, it was just more grief and now guilt that she shelved, but he started to crack. By the time he was in UPenn for his undergrad, Brodie was always high or drunk. He lost his love for hockey, over-trained his body when he barely ate. He became a drug dealer when he dropped out of college, owing someone and then falling into the scheme to pay them back for all the drugs he just 'put on his tab.' He was able to pay the person off, but the money and easy access was too hard to not pass up.

Brodie was able to gather up the strength to get clean.... once.... twice... The relapses hit so hard, he almost gave up before he got into a trade school and became a mechanic. Now living in Cape May, Brodie is trying to navigate being on a tightrope of sobriety under the radar.

EXTRA-EXTRA, READ ALL ABOUT HIM!

Brodie is self-destructive. It's a cry for help, but he doesn't want to take the necessary steps on getting help. He's overly cocky, but it's for show. He's used to wearing a mask, seeing that he's been wearing a strong one since he was 7 years of age. Brodie is comical, though he has a tendency of cracking jokes at the wrong time. Fun-loving and a bit of a himbo, the Sato male genuinely is benevolent despite the melancholy hold on his brain. He's protective of those he cares about, though it can be over-bearing. Brodie is dauntless to the degree of craving danger; He loves to drag race in the early AMs of the night life and is actually known for this amongst a specific population of night owls. He tries to keep people at an arm's length because he's petrified of losing people, and tends to hideaway from time to time if it becomes too overwhelming. He loves his coffee black, and though he may seem dull-minded he's actually very street smart. When someone needs help out of a situation, he's a great therapist friend but cannot figure out his own problems. He's just a goofy mess, guys (who really likes women and video games).

PERSONALITY:

+ Easy-Going, Protective, and Charismatic

- Astute, Non-Committal, and Careless

[jenneferofjengaberg]

So anyways, the midterms didn't turn out as horrible as I feared, but there are things to talk about.

First, we lost the House. There are lots of races still uncalled, but it's pretty much a given. But Republicans will likely only have a narrow majority there.

Currently there are three outstanding Senate races that will decide control of the Senate. Arizona, Georgia, and Nevada. We have to win two of these to maintain control of the Senate.

I think we're going to win in Arizona. There are a lot of votes still coming in, but most of the outstanding votes are coming from blue counties and early ballots, which tend to favor Democrats.

Nevada isn't looking good. The Republican candidate is leading by almost two points and there's a lot less outstanding votes there. And Cortez Masto (D) is underperforming even in blue counties like Clark (Las Vegas) and Washoe (Reno).

That leaves us with Georgia. Warnock (D) just barely edged out Herschel Walker (R), but because Georgia's election rules say that the winner must reach 50% of the votes, it's going to a runoff on December 6th. This is really important. We pretty much have to win Georgia in order to control the Senate, and stop all kinds of Republican nonsense for the next two years (impeaching Biden, national abortion ban, legislation banning the forgiveness of student loans, disruption of aid to Ukraine, etc.)

There's also reason to worry because there was a Libertarian candidate on the ballot in Georgia who probably drew some votes away from Walker (In America, Libertarians are just Republicans with extra steps or Republicans who like weed), and they won't be present in the runoff election. If even half of that guy's voters decide to vote for Walker, Warnock will be toast.

Consequently, he'll need a big fundraising/advertising push, so that he can motivate everyone who voted for him in the midterms to turn out and vote again on December 6th, less than a month away. Here's what you can do to help:

If you live in Georgia, vote in the runoff election! It's too late to register to vote for that election, but you can submit a request now for an absentee ballot for that election if you're already registered.

You can also volunteer for the Warnock Campaign. Things like phone banking and knocking on doors to get out the vote are crucial.

Donate. If you can afford it, even small contributions can help the campaign buy advertising and get the word out about the runoff election.