#I would rather them not process something than charge me so fucking much

[pixiis-blog]

.

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#331

“Well, well, well.  Lookie here.  When I heard that there was a faggot in the woods behind the rest area shithouse taking load after load in the early morning, I didn’t give it a second thought.  I figured it was one of those San Francisco flag waving faggots passing through.  It wasn’t until my truck driving buddy sent me a video of you getting plowed by this farmer looking guy and you were begging him to breed you right after you took my buddy’s load in your cunt and he pissed in your face.  I had to see for myself.  And here you are….

“You are handcuffed, naked, on your knees, head bowed, and crying like a total bitch.  You know something’s up when I didn’t bring you in to the station, but rather took you here.  You have been kneeling in that position for twenty minutes processing what’s going to happen to you.  Well, let me tell you.

“Normally, had you been one of those faggots from the city, your ass would have been hauled in.  But you are local, granted from the other side of the mountain pass. Yeah, I grabbed your clothes including your ID after I handcuffed you and placed you naked in the back of my squad car.  After a quick search through my systems and then some independent internet searches I see you are a 52-year-old divorced father of four, three of which are on their own and the fourth lives with your ex-wife across the state.  Being 6’ 4”, it’s obvious from the pile of hairy beef kneeling in front of me that your 320-pounds mostly comes from a long history of working as foreman at Hilbert construction after twelve years as a Sargent in the Marine Corps. Your ID says your name is Doyle Allen Delong, but I see you like to go by Allen or even more informally your initials, DAD to your crew.

“I did find that twenty years ago you were arrested for public sexual indecency at a public bathroom outside San Diego, but that charge got dropped.  Interesting.

“Now I bet due to the torrential rain last night and the rain forecasted for this afternoon, construction has come to a halt today.  That gave you the opportunity to be a cumdump for truck drivers beginning their day, and you made a bee line here.  Now did I get any of that wrong?...

“Your silence speaks volumes.  And I am assuming you are invoking your right to remain silent.  Well let me address your rights here.  You have none.  You ain’t being arrested…. 

“Well that changed your demeanor.  Look up.  Look at me.  Yeah, I figured as much.  You are still hungry for cock, and you are salivating staring at my cock.  Well bitch, you are going to get it.  This isn’t some random spot I pulled you out of my cruiser.  This is the backside of my property.  Behind you and over the hill is my stable, and then another hill to my home.  Since your work day went to shit, you have the entire day to spend buck naked in my stable like a beast that needs to be broken.

“I don’t need to ask your permission; your hard on tells me everything I need to know.  Damn!  That is one giant pecker you have there.  Too bad it’s going to be ignored for the rest of the day.  When I approached you spread over that fallen tree, I saw you had your cock and balls tucked under your belly so no one can see.  I bet you did that so that no one would pay attention to it.   I don’t think you can fit into my biggest cock cage.  Fuck, you are leaking. 

“Damn, this is some slimy leak.  So you like being naked on your knees, hands cuffed behind you, your dick betraying an idea of you being any type of alpha male.  I bet it kills you to be a foreman, bossing your men around knowing they are more of a man than you.  I bet you fantasize about them pulling a train on you.  I was a First Lieutenant in the Army.  I know that you Marines are all alike.  Either you are a sadistic bastard or the most depraved cumdump animal.  Either you want to control, or you want to be controlled.  There’s hardly a middle ground.

“You haven’t said one damned thing yet.  You know it’s true.  You know you want to be under the control of a natural superior, one who will put you in your place and expect you to remain there.

“I assume you have no plans for this weekend.  If you do, you will be canceling them.  You are going to be my beast, my animal.  I’ll lock a hood on you, and a remote-controlled shock collar made explicitly to control animals.  I have about 8 to 10 guys that I will invite over to use you.  Your cunt and toilet mouth will be used continually throughout the weekend. 

“So will your cock.  I think I'm changing what I said earlier. There is no way that baseball bat is going to be ignored.  I’m in control of it.  There will probably be slaves over; their owners will want to see them get fucked by a beast like you.  The thing is beasts don’t show mercy when they fuck, neither will you.  The more savage the better.

“What you say, you want to be my beast, my animal for the weekend?

“…Are you cumming?  Jesus Christ!  You are.  Fuck!  Let it go.  Damn!  I've never seen a no handed eruption like that. That’s an impressive load.  I hope you can remain hard throughout this weekend, if not, there are injections to keep you hard. 

“I don’t care if you lose interest.  You will be expected to perform continually.  As you can tell, I am horned up.  My dick needs attention, and you ass is going to provide it.

“Jesus!  Now that is a fuckable ass if ever I saw one.  Here lean forward, let me guide you down.  Get that cunt up in the air.  My driver friend said you were a sloppy fuck.

“And he was right.  How many loads are up here?...  Shut up!  Animals don’t fucking speak.  Grunt your answer.  Four?  It feels like a lot more.  Fuck!  After I dump my load in you, I’ll plug you up.  Then tonight, I’ll have you dump the cum stew on the concrete in front of everybody.  Then I will have you lick it up so they can see what kind of disgusting animal you are.

“Oh fuck, I’m getting close here.  Clamp down.  Jesus!  You aren’t all stretched out.  Here it comes.  Uh! Uh! Ahhhhh!  Ah!  Fuck!

“Fucking hell.  Clamp down further; I’m pulling out.  There.  You made a fucking mess on my trousers.  I’m going to have to change them.  Let me get you over on your back. 

“You’re a fucking mess.  You are probably thirsty.  Open up that toilet mouth, and drink what you can.  Ahh….

“Damn, you are one beefy beast.  Normally I shave my slaves, but there is no way in hell I am going to touch one hair on you.  Your chest is perfect.  Your nips look a bit soft.  Titty clamps will be in your future, angry ones.

“Close your mouth.  We need to get you collared, hooded, plugged, chained up, and installed in the stable to start this weekend.  Is there anyone we need to notify?  I need to call a guy to get your work truck here. 

“If you work out this weekend, you may be spending a lot more time here than you did at that rest stop.

“Grunt me your ‘Thank you SIR’…  Atta cunt!”

[shy-urban-hobbit]

Modern Au kid fic! Platonic Aiden and Lambert (Aiden and Lambert are both 14. Geralt and Eskel are early twenties).

CW for eye trauma and injury description.

"C'mon, everyone knows you're like a god damned guard dog when it comes to your boys." Guxart pleaded.

"And you're hoping I'll extend that to your boy?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

Vesemir ran his free hand over his face as he listened to the man on the other end of the line. He knew what he was getting into when he became a foster parent almost twenty years ago. However, he hadn't had any requests like this since taking Lambert in a decade ago and Guxart's kids were a whole different matter. It wasn't his fault the Dyn Marv Group Home had essentially been a sinking ship when he took it over. He was doing his best to turn things around but it was a slow process and there was no denying a good portion of the kids needed support which not many people were equipped to provide as a result of his predecessors management style, whilst a good number of the remaining kids had priors.

"Look, real talk." Guxart suddenly sounded exhausted, "He's my responsibility and for obvious reasons he can't stay here. Right now he's in a bad way, physically and mentally. I need to put him with someone I can trust won't take advantage of that. I need to know he's in safe hands. Please, Ves."

Vesemir sighed. He really hoped he wasn't going to regret this, "When can we expect him?"

"Any idea what this is about?" Eskel asked as he slouched on the old sagging couch.

Geralt shrugged and gave a grunt as he replied to a text (probably Yen), "Group text. I got the same information you did."

"Ass." Eskel gave his brother a playful swat.

"Alright you two." Vesemir emerged from the kitchen carrying three sodas, "I'll fill Lambert in when he gets back from school, but there's some details I'd rather he not know right away."

"Sounds serious." Eskel said, both he and Geralt leaning forwards in their seats to show they were listening.

Vesemir nodded, "Guxart called me. We've got an emergency placement arriving in a couple of hours straight from hospital, lad around Lambert's age."

His adopted sons wrinkled their noses, Vesemir cut them off before they could say anything, "I know you have past issues with the Dyn Marv kids. But Guxart assured me the worst Aiden's ever been slapped with is weekend detention."

Eskel perked up, "Aiden? Lambert's Aiden? Fuck, I gave him so much shit about him being imaginary."

Vesemir shrugged, "It's possible. It's not an uncommon name though."

"So why was he in hospital and why is he coming here?" Geralt asked

"He got attacked by a group of older kids. Naturally, for his own safety he can't go back to the group home while the investigation is ongoing and Guxart didn't want to ship him across State with fresh trauma."

"For how long?"

"Depends how long the authorities take. All I know is that the ringleaders are going to be up on assault charges. Possibly even attempted murder."

"Attempted - what the fuck did they do to him?"

"I didn't want to ask over the phone, his social worker will fill us in on everything when he arrives. That being said, you two know the drill for new arrivals. Geralt, you go do a junk food run and grab some essentials while you're at it, I've got no idea what he's going to be bringing with him so just the basics for now. Eskel, give me a hand getting the spare room ready."

Lambert kicked an empty can into the gutter, scowling down at his shoes. Another day of bullshit taunts and teasing and still no word from Aiden after almost a month. He wasn't dumb, he knew Aiden would have a reason and he knew what the deal was for care kids. He'd probably been moved to a different home or something with no warning and no choice, it happened. Still, Lambert thought his friend would have at least replied one of his emails or something to let him know (Aiden didn't have a phone. He said it was more hassle than it was worth trying to prevent it from getting stolen), not just act like he didn't exist anymore. Long distance friends were a thing, right? Lambert kicked another can. Fuck it, he was done. If Aiden wanted to ghost him then two could play at that game. Fuck friends and fuck him.

"Home." He called out, nudging the door closed with his foot.

"Stop kicking the door and get in here." Vesemir called from the living room, "I need to talk to you about something."

"Fucks sake, I haven't even done anything." Lambert groaned "I've literally just walked through the door."

"I know you haven't. Stop bitching and sit down."

Lambert slumped into the room, taking in the spread of pizza, burgers, hotdogs and cake on the coffee table. That could only mean one thing, "Who's the new guy?"

"That's what I want to talk to you about, but I need you to promise you'll keep a cool head first. Ok."

Lambert shrugged.

"He got here about half an hour ago straight from the hospital. He's pretty beat up."

"Sucks for him. He got a name?"

"Aiden. About your age."

Lambert shot to his feet, "About this tall, dark hair?"

"Yes. But before you - Lambert !"

Lambert didn't hear as he charged up the stairs and down the hallway to the usually empty spare bedroom and immediately started pounding on the door, "Aiden?! "

The door cracked open and Lambert couldn't hide a wince. Vesemir wasn't kidding when he'd said Aiden was pretty beat up. The skin of his arms which wasn't covered by his t-shirt and bandages was covered in bruises. He had the fading evidence of a black eye whilst the other was covered by a patch of surgical gauze, a fresh, bright red scar poking out of the top and disappearing into his hairline. He smiled at Lambert awkwardly, "Hi."

Lambert threw his arms around him in a hug before remembering he was supposed to be mad and turning it into a light shove, "You dick! Why didn't you tell me you were in hospital?"

"I would have if I could but I was in an induced coma for two weeks and it's not like the hospital had a computer lab."

"Wait, you were in a coma."

"To give the internal shit a chance to heal. I'm all good now though. Well-" he pointed to his gauze covered eye, "Mostly."

"What happened anyway?" Lambert asked, moving into the room to sit on the bed.

"Jad and his gang jumped me. This happened when Vi decided to get a flick knife involved." Aiden moved to sit next to him, eyes on the floor and fists clenched. "They couldn't save my eye."

Lambert had never heard his friend sound so small, "Shit, Aiden."

They sat in awkward silence, Lambert not really knowing what to say after that. Luckily they were both saved by a shout of, "Boys, everything ok? If you want food I'd get down here before Geralt eats it all!"

Lambert grinned at his friend, "Hot dog eating contest?"

"You're on!"

[nahalism]

Did you ever experience some kind of…almost debilitating anxiety? I’m talking of months or + gnawed and exhausted by fear and both mental and physical sensations that come with it. How did/do you move through it

luv

a long one in advance but lol yh bare times. ill answer ur question, but there's two sides to the route i took and i have 2 preface with everything i did and do is based off of what i feel is right for me at the time. it doesnt mean its right though, and im very aware of that, so ill share some parts, but ultimately each person has is their own experience. the first step to moving through something, is looking for answers so like.. deeper than whatever i have to say, the answer is not in my answer, its in the fact u want answers

anyway. throwback to 6 ish years ago, i was having a breakdown breakthru and i started viewing what i called anxiety, as hyper vigilance. i started to see i was using a way of perceiving reality, along with my ability for analysis, to create correlations between my present, based on my perception of the past, to determine/predict the future (both futile and fallible), not cause i wanted to know what was going to happen, but because i thought keeping account of all possible outcomes gave me control and control would keep me safe and stop me experiencing a version of life i didnt want to go back to (more specifically it stopped me feeling helpless & inconsequential). as i understood that, along with the traumas at the root of my hyper vigilance, and the anxiety (social and general cause they r v separate), i recognised that i wanted control because i wasn't confident i could take charge or respond to reality without immense preparation. on top of that, i was resisting the fact that i was anxious because i was calling the symptoms i was experiencing my anxiety, but the real anxiety was the way i thought, and i was actually addicted to thinking in that way, because even though i hated it, and what it did to my body/nervous system, it was protecting my ego by giving me a false sense of control.

so that was my first step. i began to take action from where i was, as i was. that meant listening to what made me anxious. for example, if a place or person made me anxious, i didnt interact or go. i validated myself and what i was feeling. & i dont mean that in an avoidant sense, ill say why in a second. but yeah i validated what i was feeling, and began to see that the more i gave myself permission to be who i was, and do what i wanted unapologetically, the less direct anxiety id experience. and that sounds like an easy decision to have made in hindsight but usually, the change a persons anxious to make is something that in the moment requires a huge leap of faith but seems inevitable in hindsight. anyway, that's when i really realised that i was anxious because i was living an inauthentic life based on premeditation rather than presence. i had/have concurrent ptsd, so there were a lot of emotions i hadn't felt in a long time without realising, like passion or genuine laughter, happiness, joy, peace. id literally forgotten anything but this autopilot need to protect myself, be there for the people that had been there for me and stay alive. in giving myself permission to be different from who i had been, i started to see the world free from what my past dictated it should be and everything started to open up as as a consequence. side note, id been studying metaphysics and philosophy since 6 form, and i can't underestimate how much the principles i learned there helped me transmute my situation. ive recommended all those books in here before, so u can find them, but yeah . it sounds pretty and idyllic and as essy as 'changing my mind' but it was fucking brutal. i transformed in every sense of the word i lost almost everything in the process. there were wins along the way but 90% of them were silver linings of my own deciding. however, nothing i lost needed to stay! and everything i chose to go through or was subjected to led me to understand me and opened options as to how i could cultivate a beautiful and real inner life that eventually began to bleed out into the 'real' world.

the dark side of that, which is how i reached most of those revelations and insights, is the experiential bit that i can't communicate. i literally put myself through hell, and i can type till my fingers fall of and still never convey the full picture of how what why when, but yh. when i said i listened to my anxiety, i meant that literally. as i said before, i didnt allow myself to be avoidant. so if there was a reason i didnt want to do something, i honoured it, but lets say the only obstacle to me doing something was my anxiety, id force myself to do it, to the point of masochism. literally, i was obsessed. day in day out i was reading on self improvement, i studied every religion, researched philosophers, listened to hour long lectures on youtube, i did everything i could do to understand myself, my mind, life, and how to reprogram what i was experiencing. at the same time as this i used to myself in situations that would trigger panic attacks, or dissociative episodes and find ways to 'function' through it. one that worked very well was smoking weed, sometimes alone, sometimes in bad company. weed gave me severe panic attacks at the time, so when i was on my own, id smoke to induce panic attacks so i could meditate, breathe, draw, write, literally do whatever helped to bring myself through the panic attack. then when i felt capable with that, id smoke in bad company and practice with the pressure of being in front of people and there would be times id b having full blown panic attacks in front of people, sometimes with, but usually without them knowing and the whole time was just training myself to understand or pay attention to my mental patterns, training myself to calm myself down, to reach a zone where i could see through what was triggering me, or at the very least just firm it. and the more i did that, the more i understood why i was dissociating, or collapsing, or having chest pains, hyperventilating all that shit. the more i understood, the more i reeeaaally understood, and then i got to a point where even though the trigger is there lol, it still exists, but when it gets pulled i can hold the explosion. because i feel it happening, i see it happening, but it happens to something within me and not to me now? and so i kind of watch it and love and appreciate it for what learning to temper it taught me. its like a familiar old friend has its quirks that i wouldn't change for the world and yh idk im just rambling i need to go to bed. but basically i stopped being debilitated by anxiety by living in complete debilitation of it until it couldn't debilitate me any more. id be lying if i didnt say it drove me to very dark, lonely, appearance of being semi crazy states of being, but it was worth it and still is.

without the period of isolation the second half of what i described put me through, i couldnt have found realignment cause i wouldnt have seen how incorrect my projection of my past onto the future was, or how to correct it. & deep it, if all u know is death misery lack poverty shortage economic & social insecurity, then all u can see for the future is that. once u open ur eyes and see urself and the world for what is u can start playing. it wasnt easy, and im still not over being anxious. but its not debilitating, just an uneasy emotion. & the way i see it at this point, its just my inner system seeing something what my eyes dont & making me aware. when i listen im redirected, and can find alignment. when i dont it gets worse, and the only way out is to be numb. but i wanna live and i cant live numb. hope i answered, love <3

[sitp-recs]

Hi liv!

First up looove your reclists! I read through so many in your pinned post and whenever you rec something I gotta check it out even if at first it doesn’t seem like my thing - and you’ve never steered me wrong!

If you like, I would love some recs for really cheeky, snarky sharp-tongued maybe posh/high society Draco!

Im thinking of the hilarious draco in Luckiest Fucking Size Queen Alive by loveglowsinthedark it just always makes me laugh or Nights with you by the_sinking_ship for something that’s currently ongoing.

I just love myself some fun and snark (and occasional smutt👀) sooo maybe you can help me find more?

Anyway, hope you’re doinh well!

Love

Vik

Hi Vik, thanks for the lovely message! Your ask truly made my night 🥰 love those bangers by @l0vegl0wsinthedark and @the-sinking-ship btw, Size Queen is a classic and I’m so hooked on Nights already, the UST is killing me! I can’t wait for next Sunday after that cliffhanger 😩

I also adore snarky posh Draco even if I don’t read crack-y fics very often, here are some of my favourites. Enjoy!

Student Digs by Lokifan (2016, E, 4k)

Harry’s living in *student accommodation*. Just the phrase makes Draco shudder.

Stand Back: I'm About to Perform Archaeology by Blowfish_Diaries (2018, E, 9.7k)

A new Muggle Studies professor takes the Eighth Year students to work on an archaeological excavation. In which Draco is lazy, Harry is sweaty, Hermione is drunk, and Ron turns red.

On Target by @the-sinking-ship (2021, E, 13k)

A charity dunk tank, some sorry excuses for friends, a Slytherin with freakishly good aim, a (mostly) empty locker room, and one very small towel. Because, apparently, everyone is dying to get Harry Potter wet.

An Act of Kindness for One Harry Potter by a Sympathetic Draco Malfoy by 0idontknow0 (2014, E, 15k)

As Draco leaned on the wall to wait for them to get dressed, he could not help feeling like he had done a very kind thing by disrupting them. Someone should give Potter a better rogering than that sorry sod had.

Reparatio by astolat (2016, E, 17k)

Draco snorted. “I’m not reduced to penury. I want something considerably beyond money, and I rather think you’re the only one can give it to me.”

Meddling, Menswear, and Magic by @writcraft (2022, M, 18k)

Draco Malfoy is working in a job he hates and avoiding the magical world entirely, but he really is fine. When a bequest from Severus Snape brings Draco back to a much-changed magical world, he must find his place within it and navigate his growing attraction to Harry Potter in the process.

amid this warm and steady sweetness by warmfoothills (2019, E, 21k)

Harry is not living in a period drama, no matter what his friends or his new house or Malfoy’s sudden affinity for horse-riding might suggest, and if one more person uses the word courting, he’s going to start hexing people.

Slithering by astolat (2016, E, 27k)

Draco found the nest down in the Manor’s cellars, while he was clearing them out.

Bite Me, Hate Memes by pir8fancier (2007, E, 44k)

Draco Malfoy is incensed to realize that someone is trying to usurp his position as the premier Harry Potter hater.

Stately Homes of Wiltshire by waspabi (2016, E, 57k)

Malfoy Manor has mould, dry rot and an infestation of unusually historical poltergeists. Harry Potter is on the case.

The Trouble with Wanting by waldorph (2021, E, 60k)

Draco Malfoy is cleared of all charges; this is what happens next.

What We Pretend We Can't See by gyzym (2017, M, 131k)

Seven years out from the war, Harry learns the hard truth of old history: it’s never quite as far behind you as you thought.

[focsle]

If it’s not too much—would you mind talking a bit about how you research specific, near-nameless people and what your process is for that kind of thing? It’s such a different task than researching, say, a specific topic in history, and not a skill I’ve really had a chance to develop. I really admire your dedication and thoroughness to your whalemen and want to be able to afford that same level of comprehensiveness, without knowing where exactly to start…..

I’m gonna answer this with many a caveat! So depending on what you’re researching it might be helpful or it might be useless

The first caveat is that I can only answer in a US-centric capacity, and, when I’m getting more granular information, a New York City capacity. But these records exist for municipalities elsewhere too—it’s just the extent and accessibility of which that will vary.

A lot of people slip through the cracks when it comes to official documentation and you might not be able to find them/find much on them. For instance race, class, and gender are going to play a significant role in how someone’s life is recorded, if it’s recorded at all. And there’s a lot of human error in old record keeping that can make someone hard to find. The only reason I was able to find out as much about my friend Mr. Buel as I did, despite him dying at around age 21, was because he came from a middle class background in an urban location and his father was a rather prominent physician at the time, so his lifestyle before he went whaling was captured more clearly across census records and school records.

Whaling history is a rather unique window of time in that it’s wonderfully documented, and a lot of these otherwise forgotten ordinary guys thus have some record of their existence on crew lists. Adding to that, hundreds of whaling journals have been preserved and digitized. Most of them are logs, so they’re impersonal, but there are also a handful of personal diaries which are a rarity and luxury to have. These men would often talk about their friends and families, hometowns, old jobs, etc. And, from a non-research standpoint, it’s always an honor to be able to learn about someone’s emotional world through their own words. As such, my research and how much I’m able to find out about these men is really privileged by the fact that I often have a good amount of baseline info already that I can plug in to find out more. And if I don’t….odds are they were probably a Young Twenty Something in the year they were whaling so I can guesstimate a birth year and usually find them after cross referencing more.

 So, what to cross reference? I’ll talk about it below under the readmore cos it got long.

The easiest place to start is geneology websites. Ancestry.com is the most utilized and has the widest availability of records. You can find the census, marriage certificates, naturalization certificates, passports, death certificates, military documents, ship manifests, baptismal records, wills, and more. It’s also ridiculously expensive. Familysearch is a free alternative with less records, though I haven’t used it myself. You could try Ancestry’s free trial to farm as much as you can (and cancel before) or wait for a bulk sale that they do sometimes (that’s still stupid expensive). But it’s very hard to cancel a subscription (it’s always set to autorenew) without them hitting you with a cancelation fee once they have your card number. I believe you can avoid this by gifting yourself a subscription so they don’t have a credit card to charge and thus it won’t autorenew. It’s ridiculous, but unfortunately one of the better options as far as ease of use, searchability, access, and scope of records. There are also library versions of it that you could access for free if it’s available at a branch near you. It makes me so mad that….the census is paywalled. Fuck em.

With all that said, census records are great places to start if you know someone’s name. Even better if you know more specifics such as approximate birth year, other family members’ names, occupation, location, etc. There are federal censuses (every 10 years), as well as state censuses (records vary by state what survives and how often they were taken, as well as what questions were asked). But they aren’t perfect. Anything prior to 1850 is only going to list the head of household, and other household members are nameless and simply grouped in age and gender brackets. Prior to 1880, you won’t be able to find anyone based on a specific street address because each house was numbered in order of visitation by the enumerator instead. This was a puzzle for me when I was trying to figure out where Buel lived, because his school papers listed a home address, but when I searched it, it was several blocks away from the election district the census said he lived in. So I used fire insurance maps and realized that the house numbers had changed rather dramatically from the 1850s to now. Through those I found his actual home location by matching the address and election district to the map.

Sanborn fire insurance maps are great if you want to know more about a specific part of town in the 19th and 20th centuries, as well as the actual house numbers in that time. The New York Public Library digitized a number of them, and iirc they have other states too. These maps were highly specific about what each building was made out of, what sort of industries or shops were around it, houses of worship, parks, etc. It won’t tell you anything specific about an individual person, but does add some texture to their life. 

While the census is a good jumping off point, it has a number of issues like those mentioned above, and beyond. The 1870 census was so incorrect the first time around it had to be conducted again. The 1890 census was largely destroyed in a fire and so those records are lost. There is going to be a lot of human error. Enumerators might accidentally skip addresses or people. They’re inevitably also going to mark down incorrect or reductive information about those people. The racial identity of people was particularly misrepresented by enumerators often, as it wasn’t self id but the enumerator passing a judgment within ever changing and limited ‘categories’ that shifted with each census. Ages are going to be variable. Names might be misspelled or a person might change their name (tho I have to plug in here that no one’s names were changed at Ellis Island! It’s a huge myth that is so deeply enduring! Didn’t Happen! Except for one person named Frank Woodhull! Look him up sometime for some Gender Nonconforming History). Also, more than one person can have the same name as someone else living at the same time. That’s just how it is. So that’s where cross referencing is important. Trace the person across records—do you see the same family members, do you see marriage records that could account for changes, do the ages and years make sense, all of that. It’s like putting together a puzzle. Sometimes the puzzle is never completed. Sometimes people just disappear from the record entirely.

For looking for people outside of the census years, city directories can be good for that. Again, a lot of cities had these—New York’s are digitally accessible through the NYPL. These came out every year and basically functioned like a phonebook, usually listing someone’s name, occupation, place of work, and home address (and sometimes limited racial signifiers, if the person was not white). Directories are again, not perfect. They only list people who were ‘gainfully employed’, and it’s very rare to see women in them because of the limited types of work open to women while the directories are in use. But it’s another way of piecing things together. For instance I found the first name and address of my other friend Mr. J.E.Haviland (Jacob), by taking what he mentioned in his journal (the names of brothers, his particular skillsets, and an acquaintance of his who used to work in the same neighborhood as him with specific street names), and ultimately finding a man who matched in the city directory in the years he would be working in that neighborhood. Again, puzzles!

The National Archives also has TONS of documents (I’ve dug through them for seamen’s protection certificates as well as US Consular records to find out about things that may have happened to men abroad), and a lot of them are digitized. The problem is they aren’t often easily searchable so you spend a lot of time staring at rather poor scans and folders containing hundreds of pages of stuff. But if you know more or less what you’re looking for, it’s a possibility. The Library of Congress also has a number of public records available and digitized, as well as searchable newspapers in Chronicling America. And all of that is free. Findagrave, also free, can be helpful in finding cemetery plots as well as other family members who might be buried there that could help in further cross referencing info. And check the municipal archives / libraries in the location you’re researching as well if they’re accessible—they often have public records or could help steer you in the right direction.

Court records can be interesting as well, and can usually be found in state/municipal archives. In the absence of diaries, police court records are one way to hear someone’s voice, just for a little moment. Granted, it’s often their voice in defending themselves, but I’d say police court records are, unfortunately, one of the few ways to hear marginalized perspectives which otherwise don’t have much presence in the government record. Sensationalist newspapers would often publish bits from them. As such they must be taken with a huge grain of salt, but it’s another avenue to find a piece of someone’s life

The last thing I’ll say is the only research subscription thing I pay for currently is Genealogy Bank, on the subject of newspapers. It was also expensive (though I got a bulk sale), but feels worth it to me right now. It’s pretty amazing, and not just for researching people but topics. The searching isn’t always particularly accurate, but it’s a WEALTH of newspapers (more than Newspapers.com I believe), that is searchable and can be narrowed by state, city, and all the specific newspapers published in that city over a couple centuries. You can look up names or keyword search anything else and specify specific days and date ranges. It’s good. Again, not a perfect search system, but it’s better than Chronicling America imo.

Depending on who you’re researching, archive.org is also invaluable. Look at the pages of libraries / museums / other academic institutions there to see what they got. It’s where I find all my whaling diaries.

That’s all I can think of for now! Hope it was helpful! 

[morgana-ren]

What's your biggest fantasy kink?

The power imbalance of an older nastier man drives me wild. Want to take advantage, hurt me and use me? Yes pls thank you Sir. Manipulate me into behaving as your perfect pet, never letting me go, willing to share with a couple of his besties who are just as vile? Would kill for me but is never actually traditionally nice to me? Love it so hard.

This is very much a question that I don't think you want the answer to lmao. I have adhd and it's early so forgive the rambling, but it's hard for me to narrow it down. There's a lot, and I'm sure I will have forgotten something.

I've had years upon years to ponder myself, what I like, and by proxy, why I enjoy the things I do. Through that, I was able to let go of any shame or guilt that I might have felt initially, and thus it was allowed to run rampant. Whether or not it's healthy is another question, but that's for therapy to answer, not me.

Power imbalance is a huge one, and so is someone older, bigger, and stronger. Not being afraid to use those things in such a way as to get what they want, much like you said. A professor; a boss; a dragon; a pirate-- something or someone of immense power over my life and likely others. Someone you don't approach with ease. These aren't characters that fit in or blend well in society.

They're unhinged and usually very dangerous. Looking at the characters I like (Reaver, Tomura, Asto, etc) these are people that are very powerful, very dangerous, and very immoral to the point you could argue a black and white evil perspective. I want someone older. I don't want a child who has barely had time to process the world and stumbles into a clumsy love with the first girl he sees. I want someone who has lived and seen and still rejected it all for me.

Fictional hybristophilia, I believe. Bad guys. Always bad guys. I do not ever like good guys with the same passion as I enjoy their worse counterparts to the point that it's more 'bff admiration' rather than an actual crush. I don't want someone that has power but doesn't use it. I don't want restraint. I want someone that wields it like a weapon and fine hones it to achieve their ends, banal ideas like 'right' or 'wrong' be damned.

I like the fear and the terror, and not just my end, but everyone else's. Being completely and utterly untouchable for better or worse because no one would fuck with them. I am, self admittedly, attracted to power. I like the type of power that makes you question even defending yourself against something blatantly horrible because they can and will hurt you to get their way.

I want fierce possession. Mine, mine, mine. I don't want to be one person in a 93 part harem. I want to be the only one. I require feeling special, and I don't like tropes where they try to make you jealous by belittling your looks or intelligence and comparing you to someone else or want to have you 'on the side' as well as a bunch of other people. It's very much a 'My wife/girl/pet/whatever' thing for me.

They'll hurt you, ever enough to lose you. They'd never, ever kill you. It's not a matter of 'If I can't have you, no one can.' It's a shrug and a simple murder of whatever the threat is. There is no escape. This is your life now. Accept it or don't. It's cute when you fight.

Infantilization, in a way. Thanks in part to childhood trauma and the way-- or lack thereof-- that I was raised, I've always had to take charge and be in control. I don't want to anymore. I want someone who takes that control and that power with ease. I don't want to be treated like a child or a baby, but I don't want to be the bigger, smarter one that can outwit my partner with ease. I want to feel small and 'taken care of,' in a way. Small and cute and helpless. Adorable in their rage, and all that.

Essentially, a sub in quite literally every conceivable way. I don't like taking charge, or making decisions, and my head is so loud and messy all the time that thinking is painful. I don't trust my own judgement. I don't wanna. I want someone dastardly intelligent who is comfortable taking the control, and does so with ease. Someone who doesn't need my help constantly and is comfortable in their skin and with their mind in ways I'm not.

I do like violence. Choking me out, forcefully maneuvering me, slapping, whatever. A lot of it is just violence gets them off. I don't want a manchild that can't manage their own emotions so often that they just explode in a violent rage, but more of... think of like a stern teacher. Or someone tickled by your attempts at overpowering them. Someone who gets off on it.

I like malevolent assholes is what I'm saying. Ones that manipulate and abuse and act like monsters, but would burn the world down just to have you. Can and will. It very much is an obsession, and it's one that doesn't die. Can't do abandonment. They fully intend on forever, so that's what it will be.

I'm not opposed to being 'shared' but it would be an extremely rare situation and wouldn't be purely sexual. We're talking these are people that are EXTREMELY close to the person in question and it's not just to humiliate. Think like 'three husbands' type of deal. Perhaps they're inseparable or whatever else, but it's not something given lightly AT ALL, and they'd kill anyone who tries unless it's in VERY specific circumstances.

I'm a bitch. Or in this context, a brat. They have to like that. I can't have a finnicky control freak who doesn't enjoy the dynamic and tries to breed it out of me. Amused by it, and never threatened by it. I'll never be a quiet, demure little thing, but they take pleasure in trying. Occasionally I like fights to spawn over it, but not a consistent barrage of punishment to the point it loses the charm.

Think like... Someone who slaps you when you talk back too much, licks the blood from your lip, gets worked up and does absolutely deplorable things in bed but then curls around you purring mine and sleeps like a goddamn baby with you chained there next to them. Genuine love, but just displayed in the most horrible ways.

I'm whiny, emotionally stunted, touch starved, traumatized, isolated, brash, angry, intimidating, and not quite right in the head. So ultimately, my go-to are strong, powerful, dangerous, obsessive, possessive, deranged, intelligent, abusive bastards that aren't remotely intimidated by my facade, with fantasies that are worse than mine and the power to make it real. Usually sexual deviants. Collars, leashes, and not even in a petplay sort of way, but in a 'you belong to me and you aren't going anywhere' way. Someone who loves me with such a fierce, covetous desire that it drives them mad. I want to be small compared to them, protected by them, etc.

You can imagine what this says about my psyche. Someone who could decode this could quite literally get my entire life's gimmick, and it's not hard.

Look, I am aware it's literally impossible. Someone who loves you would never treat you like this, and in real life, this would be and is a nightmare. I am well aware of the line between fantasy and fiction and have unfortunately lived it. But in my fantasy world in my head? That's what I go for.

[mysicklove]

1.It's such a peculiar feeling, I'm an outdoorsy guy. I drink my coffee black. Work on my car, love working with my hands and fishing but when we play it's like all that fades away. I lose any need to prove myself and it's freeing. Lol as dumb as it sounds I just kinda melt.

2.Overstimulation is great! It's the perfect mix of pleasure/pain. Depending how it's done it can be soooo incredible. Being assaulted by multiple sensations, not being able to decipher what feels the best and worst. Your mind literally can't process it all and goes into a haze where everything just blends. Lol I'm a big fan

3.Mmmm I don't really "see" her it's kind of a feeling more than an idea. It's someone I feel safe with, someone I trust and I do mean TRUST. Someone I would go to nearly any length to make happy. It's like I'm not looking for a dom I'm looking for a best friend.

4.It 100% can be, you can rapidly find yourself doing something you don't want or feel not right with. But that's the importance of trust in situations and relationships like these. All I have to say are two words and I know she would drop anything and everything and make sure I'm okay. I've also experienced it to where as things are happening I'm okay with them but once I'm out of that fog it hits you and that is just as scary. This is why aftercare is soooo important.

5.YES! it goes along with the submission like its yet another layer of me giving in and giving her full control. Tie me up put a blindfold on and do whatever you want to me. It drives me wild and I think the power trip does it for her too.

6. I've personally never got the whole leather or latex "thing" maybe because it gives a slightly bad guy/girl in charge feel. If she likes it go ahead but it's not a positive or negative in my mind.

7. If she really wanted to try maybe. I'd be more apt to having a more dominant person with her than another sub at her beck and call with me. Sounds weird but I'd much rather be her only sub.

8. It's 100% different. It's so much more in depth I guess you could say? The build up is completely different and once you finally do get there you are riding wave after wave of pleasure. From what people have said it's pretty similar to how the opposite gender feels orgasms.

9. Definitely NOT a myth. Not to go into to much detail but I had experienced my first about a week or two ago and it was insane! I wrote about it on my page if you are at all interested.

10.Oh boy. This topic always makes me blush. They are the most infuriating thing ever. And yet something about it deep down does something to me not just physically but mentally. Putting it on or better yet having her put it on and seeing that lock click never fails to give me chills. It's a full submittal to their will. Even if at that point I wanted to play with "it" I can't and something in my head LOVES relinquishing that power. It makes me instantaneously feel subby. It takes the whole concept of you can look but not touch idea and ramps it up 1000%. Once it's on its hers. She decides if she wants it played with or not and it's a rush.

11. Turn ons that really get me? First and foremost are marking like hickeys or bite marks, let everyone who happens to catch a glimpse of them know that I'm yours. Edging and denial are way up there too, the buildup compounding on itself over and over are so intense and it drives me wild. Lastly audio, whisper into my ear all the fucked up things you want to do to me, tell me I'm a good boy, tell me what your going to do in detail. I LOVE the sound of my doms voice especially when she gets into it. Her tone changes her voice gets ever so slightly deeper and it never fails to make me feel more subby.

questions from here

we talked a bit on messaging, but thank you for feeling comfortable enough to share! i really enjoyed seeing your perspective on this :)

[anotherrevue]

The Top 25 Movies of 2022

When I think about 2022, the highs of the year feel like a return to form, for movies and for myself personally. And yet, on further inspection, it’s possible that two straight years of largely garbage movies and even more garbage circumstances have set the bar rather low. Yes indeed, this year has been better in comparison, but it has not by any means measured up to “normal”. 

There have been some bright spots – travelling all over the country to meet friends, watching movies I’ve been waiting to see for several years, etc – and there have been some dark recesses – of the mind, yes, but also whatever the fuck has been happening at Warner Bros. Discovery. And as far as my empty promises of lots of new pieces that I made in my first ever post, the ideas are still there, I just haven’t yet made most of them as coherent as I’d hoped. However, I have some breaking news for you: the year’s over, which means it’s time for the highlight reel babyyy! You’ll only find best-ofs here (sorry to The Gray Man) as we kick off another year.

Quick note to anyone who didn’t read the Shepitko piece: I’m totally on your side. It’s too long and too much like a SparkNotes summary of a biography. I wrote it while I was stuck deep down a well of love for this incredible artist who thought much along the same lines about art: “If I don’t do it, I’ll die.” Is that a sideways excuse for why I haven’t updated this blog in a long time? Maybe…

But back to 2022. An incredible year for theatres: Top Gun Maverick recreating the late great Tony Scott’s aesthetic for a fleeting 2 hour thrill ride was something I never expected. Avatar: The Way of Water leading the charge for high quality, must-see-in-3D movies on the other hand was something I completely expected and yet I still walked out absolutely in love with Pandora. The return of Jaws, ET and The Godfather in the form of picture-perfect restorations and pristine transfers was such a perfect lure back to theatres.

But as with any year, I saw most movies this year in my bedroom or on TV. 594 is a very large number, which troubles me. I worry that I watch too any movies – do I really process what I watch or is it robotic? Am I just putting on movies as a way to distract myself, and if so, is that fair?

I don’t really have answers there. It has certainly felt mechanical at times, and I felt like I reached saturation, occasionally feeling like I didn’t even care about movies. And then, just in the nick of time would come something like Crimes of the Future, a nasty piece of mystery fiction, but nasty in the best possible way, twisted by ol’ Dave Cronenberg to forefront his own preoccupations with the human body and relationships. Suddenly, I’d be back in love with films.

So what can I do? I’ll keep watching movies, but maybe slow down a little. Take time to process each movie before moving on. Watch with more purpose, more discernment. Maybe I don’t need to watch ALL of the new Pinocchios (del Toro’s is by far the most enjoyable, Zemeckis’ is a complete nothingburger and the Russian one is… unfathomably awful). And most of all, I’ll write more, because that helps me connect to movies more than just letting it swirl around in the cesspool that is my mind.

But enough of the rambling preamble. As a movie year, 2022 was twisty and all over the place. A great year for Tom Cruise and Colin Farrell (who was excellent in FOUR WHOLE MOVIES THANK YOU to the film deities!!), a great year for horror, a great year for weird shit that seemed to be aimed directly at me. A terrible year (I know I said no negativity so I’ll get this over quickly) for unfortunate franchises (Branagh’s Poirot, Jurassic World) and Tom Hanks, who was in the bad Pinocchio and generally agreed to be the worst part of Elvis. Undecided result for Margot Robbie, who was passably charming in an inexplicable film (Amsterdam) and reportedly excellent in an unmitigated flop that I’m excited to watch (Babylon).

I watched 141 movies released in 2022. Here are my top 25.

25. Causeway

24. Saloum

23. Save the Cinema

22. Bheeshma Parvam

21. The Lost King

20. Pada

19. Everything Everywhere All at Once

18. Nope

17. God’s Country

16. Hinterland

15. Hustle

14. The Northman

13. The Banshees of Inisherin

12. Prey

11. Benediction

10. Fire of Love

This was among my most anticipated movies of 2022. It’s rare for me to be so excited for a documentary – I usually stumble upon them and then get pulled into loving it. And unlike another documentary from this year that I loved (my precious Good Night Oppy, which made me cry, much like most movies about the space program), I wasn’t really pre-disposed to loving it. I’m a space guy, not a lava guy. Yet Fire of Love is special, because the premise promises a tragic love story, but from the first moment that we see the Kraffts, we realize that this isn’t tragic to them, no matter the outcome. They understand the risks fully and still it’s completely joyous for them. And the footage of the volcanoes is mesmerizing, you almost understand how inextricably drawn they felt to them. NatGeo, two years running, making my best of year list. I’ll keep my eye out for their 2023 releases.

9. The Woman King

This is Gladiator with most of the flab cut off. Gina Prince-Bythewood is one of my favourite working directors and her shift into action filmmaking is really remarkable, considering how emotionally focused her first three movies are. It makes sense though, once you realize that her action scenes are so fluid is because she herself is an athlete and she frames the scenes, not just as balletic or violent feats, but as a show of athletic prowess. From the opening – which is very reminiscent of the first Nakia scene in Black Panther – I was fully on board with the tone and scale of this movie, boosted in no small part by Viola Davis (the biggest Oscar snub of the year), Lashana Lynch (being an absolute dynamo on screen) and Thusu Mbedu (who somehow holds her own as a co-lead in this movie opposite Davis).

8. Jackass Forever

Like every iteration of Jackass, Forever is wonderfully juvenile, but there’s an added tinge of melancholy in watching Knoxville, Steve-O, Dave England and the rest of the original cast slowly come to terms with the fact that their bodies can’t take the same levels of punishment anymore. We see them hand over a lot of the stunts to the newer additions, who take the reins while also trying to get out of the giant shadows of Ryan Dunn and Bam. All that said, Knoxville and Steve-O still do the two most what the fuck gags in the movie, and Danger Ehren, as ever, is the victim of a nightmarish flurry of pain. But Jackass isn’t about violence; it’s just the most stupidly violent franchise about friends who love each other.

7. Kimi

Any movie Steven Soderbergh puts out is likely to make my best of, and it speaks to the quality of the top 10 this year that Kimi has dropped to the back half. This movie is fun as hell, an old school conspiracy thriller in the vein of (quite obviously) The Conversation and Rear Window, but set in a tech world that’s increasingly more familiar – and more frightening – to us. Of course, Soderbergh isn’t new to conspiracies (see: Erin Brockovich), but the thing that makes his work in Kimi particularly enthralling is his ability to capture natural human behaviour on screen. He makes excellent hangout movies (Oceans 11-13, Magic Mike, Let Them All Talk) because he knows that if you shoot movie stars in a certain way and pace it right, anything they do will be immensely watchable. And for Kimi, he teamed up with one of the very rare true-blue movie stars under 35 in Zoe Kravitz. She pulls the camera with a natural, easy magnetism that automatically sets us up on her side. Add Soderbergh’s excellent technical craft, and you get a lean, mean, murder mystery machine that has you in and out and completely satisfied in 90 minutes flat.

6. Top Gun: Maverick

Often the Best Actor/Actress Oscar is won by someone doing an interpretation of a real person that we’re all familiar with (Rami Malek for Freddie Mercury, Renee Zellweger for Judy Garland and possibly – god forbid – Austin Butler for Elvis). I think that should just be its own special Oscar: Best Re-Creation. And this year, Top Gun: Maverick should win that honour, because Joseph Kosinski (who I’m overall pretty mixed on as a director) does a spectacular job recreating that early Tony Scott style that made the first Top Gun so exhilarating. Funny thing, leading up to the release of this movie, I put my favourite Tony Scott movies on TV (I’ll take any excuse really). My sister walked in during the first 10 minutes of Unstoppable and not only was she completely hooked, but she insisted on watching the rest of the movies with me. So it was particularly fantastic to be able to show my sister a Tony Scott-esque movie in theatres for the first time. I wish there were more of them.

5. Avatar: The Way of Water

Yes I loved it. Am I a sucker for Jim Cameron? Also yes. The water footage is like watching NatGeo from another planet (in a good way, you should know by now that I’m a fiend for NatGeo). Cameron knows how the build tension in an action scene and he also knows how to shoot it so that you know exactly where everyone is in relation to each other, which seems to be a lost art in big budget blockbusters these days. But what gets The Way of Water to number 5 is the tulkun. What an incredible idea to have this species of space whales be intellectually and emotionally smarter than the Na’vi and yet have them choose to intertwine themselves with the Na’vi. And the decision to introduce this kind of an interspecies dynamic in the SECOND MOVIE when there’s is no analogue for it in the first, is a feat on its own. Although I should have probably recused myself from reviewing this movie, since Payakan is my best friend.

4. The Fabelmans

Steven Spielberg has always been a filmmaking savant, which this movie will tell you, but I think what makes The Fabelmans so good, and what has really been working for Spielberg in this last decade, is that he tackles honest, complex emotions head on instead of eschewing it for the classic Spielberg sentimentality. He portrays the intricate and overlapping familial dynamics in the Fabelman household (a thinly veiled depiction of his own home life) with shockingly little guile or deflection and shows us not only the joys, but the strains of being an artist.

3. TÁR

Hard to talk about this movie without just lavishing praise on Cate Blanchett, but I’ll try – not because she isn’t the best thing about it, but because every discussion about TÁR is so dominated by Cate Blanchett that other great parts of the movie fade into the noise. Todd Field as an actor is best known as Nick Nightingale in Eyes Wide Shut, but his work as a director in TÁR reminds me of the second half another Kubrick movie: Barry Lyndon. To start the movie at the peak of someone’s prowess and document their downfall, and not have audiences utterly despairing by the end is a special talent that few have, and Field certainly nails it. Noemie Merlant (of Portrait of a Lady on Fire fame) is an absolute beacon of charisma as Lydia Tar’s assistant, and her performance subtly elevates the audience’s investment in the story. But I think the secret sauce to the movie, and the emotional crux, is on the shoulders of Nina Hoss, who has very little screen time, yet really underscores the whole movie with one incredible line reading. The individual pieces of TÁR are excellent in their own right, which sometimes poses a problem when the filmmaker tries to put them all together, but the movie is so well-conceived and Field has such a strong artistic voice that the brilliance of each part only works to elevate the whole.

2. After Yang

The first of Colin Farrell’s 2022 movies remains my favourite, which is a shock because I would have put money on The Banshees of Inisherin being my number one movie of the year overall. And though Banshees has been slowly creeping up my rankings the longer I think on it, After Yang has held strong for nigh on a year. Kogonada’s first movie, Columbus, juxtaposed an emotional gentleness with the sadness of real life in a way that didn’t make me want to run away as movies like that normally do. Instead, he made the real world an enviable gentle place that doesn’t magic away tragedies but accepts them as an essential part of every person. In After Yang, Kogonada takes that sensibility and applies it to a sci-fi idea that is perhaps as old as the genre: what if a robot began to feel? The set-up is, on paper, similar to classics like Blade Runner and AI, but the movie is handled with a tenderness that those earlier movies had only sparingly. There’s a lot in After Yang about loss and grief and parenting, but also about the joys of culture and art.

1. Three Thousand Years of Longing

If you go back to my list last year, my number one was Night of the Kings, a Ivorian prison drama about the importance of storytelling. So I guess it’s pretty boring that this year, yet again, I’ve picked a film that features tales of magic and wonder. Three Thousand Years of Longing is a djinn movie, but what sets Three Thousand Years apart is the way these fairytales are portrayed. Rooted in real history, the stories have a sense of dream logic that makes every instance of magic makes sense. And the main story itself, much like another movie I loved this year (Good Luck to You, Leo Grande), cautiously but lovingly explores the awkward romanticism of two strangers in a hotel. Idris Elba’s Djinn is wary of his summoner, while Tilda Swinton’s Alithea, a scholar of storytelling, is well aware of the mischievous nature of djinns. Hijinks do not ensue, however. Rather, the two of them slowly let their guards down, as the Djinn warns Alithea of the dangers of previous wishes he’d had to grant, weaving tales of a mystical history that has her (and me) completely enraptured. Three Thousand Years feels to me like the closest a movie can get to the magic of bard recounting an oral tradition of love and war and the follies of humans.

***

As usual, some honourable mentions:

Decision to Leave, Good Luck to You, Leo Grande, Athena, A Man of Action, Mukundan Unni Associates, Apollo 10 ½: A Space Age Childhood, Watcher, Something from Tiffany’s (a very solid romcom) and motherfucking Ambulance because what a goddamn ride that movie is.

I don’t recommend stand-up specials often because nothing is less appealing than comedy recommendations. But Jerrod Carmichael’s Rothaniel is really the most intimate special I’ve seen while still being hilarious.

I know I don’t talk TV often but Andor and Slow Horses have three essentially perfect seasons between them and I’m very excited for what’s next.

Finally, Dinner in America is the most punk rock movie of the year and I really hope it gets a bit more traction because there aren’t enough straight up fuck the system movies being made, which is a major bummer.

***

I want to end on a note of cautious optimism, but I’ve gone on too long already, so let me just say this: we’re probably getting new movies from our greatest working directors[1], not to mention new entries in some of the most high quality franchises. Yes indeed, folks, a promising movie year lies ahead, and you might as well stay tuned to Another Revue - who knows? I might be true to my word about writing more.

___

Soderbergh (Magic Mike 3), Scorsese (Killers of the Flower Moon), Michael Mann (Ferrari), Sofia Coppola (Priscilla), Miyazaki (How Do You Live?), Fincher (The Killer), Gerwig (Barbie), Yorgos Lanthimos (Poor Things and possibly And), Reichardt (Showing Up), Nolan (Oppenheimer), Shyamalan (Knock at the Cabin), Ridley Scott (Napoleon), Steve McQueen (Blitz), Jonathan Glazer (The Zone of Interest) ↩

[mediocre-eternity]

Today is 20 November, 2022.

The trio of us haven’t actually been staying on Night Island full time. A month or so back a horrifically large hurricane tore through Florida and our little Island. We’re incredibly lucky that our property didn’t sustain totaling damage but was battered nonetheless. All the business is lost and some structures still remain partially in the water. Trash is askew on most of the streets though now piled in high mounds. I’m still having difficulty finding the words to process how we’ll rebuild. It feels like a great organ has been cut from me. The Villa is livable, for us anyway. We can sleep where we find the most comfortable. Because the Villa was built up high, a lot of primary damage was avoided; only some flooding in our basement, which is unfortunately where me and Daniel slept. There is a lot of labor going back into the Island though and I truly believe sometimes nature gives us the blank slate we didn’t ask for. I’m not so concerned for my emotions about the Island. We are traveling back and forth to the mainland and when we can, we spend time here. On the mainland I’m surrounded by much more tragedy than my own. We’ve only fed sparingly on the locals as everyone’s focus is on their lives torn asunder. No, for myself I am not concerned at all. Me and Daniel spoke at length about what we wanted on the Island in future. Daniel calls it Night Island 2.0 and we’ll definitely have a record store again. Oh and a dispensary. “Give them their drugs,” he said with a laugh. “I know I would have loved that.” It’ll be lovely.

We had to evacuate first to the mainland then we traveled up to New York to stay at Trinity Gate there and struggled to get back as soon as we could. The first night was the three of us kicking out broken glass and torn walls. Why I need so many windows in my homes is a mystery. Consider me a slave to the moon and the stars. As wee were assessing the damage, I picked up some books and started moving them to a pile then heard Benji calling to me from the living room.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” He said as I approached, his face sinking and turning. Behind him, belly up like some stinking, glossy beached whale was my beloved 1981 custom Italian white leather sofa. It was specifically designed for the Villa and one of my most prized pieces of furniture. The entire room’s decor had not been touched since we first moved in and I cherished it so deeply and so fondly. Daniel’s sudden howl broke my daze as I was staring at the broken thing. He laughed and laughed as he walked to it and with Benji, tipped it back onto it’s feet as water and debris gushed forward like entrails from this slain creature. The entire room was a mess but the sofa stood upright now, flayed like a martyr to what our Villa once was.

“Oh my God, Boss, it’s fucking dead!” Daniel bellowed, still laughing, ironically echoing what I might have been thinking. Benji looked up at Daniel a bit confused by his rejoicing but Daniel was plainly remembering a rather charged argument we had over this furniture. Again, it was custom and took a great deal of designing to match the vision I had for this space. It was my seat and I was very proud of it. I tore the damaged fabric up to reveal it’s metal springs and soaked wood. Daniel was reciting a lot of stories involving the item to Benji as I couldn’t help but inspect it further. Daniel burnt the sofa with cigarette about six months after we installed it and the wetness in the wood unleashed a vile smell of stale tobacco. He also vomited on it once and plenty more times he was close to doing it again. So, I screamed at him so loud that he didn’t sit in it for the rest of that summer. I really didn’t mean to scare him but ever since then Daniel had become completely invested in hating it. And now my fledgeling finally won. Something plastic and bright pink caught my eye so I reached for it and held it in my palm. Daniel snatched it from me the moment I registered what is was.

“Holy shit. I remember this.” He was in disbelief. The object was a little pink lighter with Miami 1982 printed in white below a palm tree motif.

“Oh.” I responded, remembering. “You had bought that before we got back on the charter to the Island. You lost your previous one and went into the Seven-Eleven to buy a new one.”

“Aah, a relic!” Benji took it from Daniel and really thoroughly examined it. “Put on E-Bay for a million dollars!”

Daniel laughed.

“That fucking couch swallowed my lighter. Do you know how pissed I was when I lost it after taking an hour and a half nap?” He took the lighter again, waved it at me and put it in his pocket. “It’s good luck from now on.”

Daniel was looking outside at the total, silent darkness. At once I was thrown back to a memory. Maybe not a complete memory, but the emotion was there and I wanted so badly for this moment to be from decades ago. Daniel would be staring past the open windows at the flashing neon below him then out at the moon above the sea. His face would be unshaven, his eyes stale, his hair blowing wildly over his forehead. And he would light a cigarette and say the probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, so stupid I’d marvel at the sheer wit of it. Then Daniel would ask me to join him in the shower and he’d promise he’d focus on staying. I wish I could show this image in my mind to him but I couldn’t and that realization is what destroyed the bond I had with Daniel in his mortal life and for decades I couldn’t stand to look at him in the Blood. I’m a monster of the highest caliber but please understand that a near constant mental link existed between Daniel and I before I gave him the Gift. But Daniel right now is all I can think about. Back in the present, he kicked some glass over the edge of the room out into the palm trees below, studying the little bit of outside before moving back toward the center of the room. I reflected that my life had always been a series of endings. There are always chapters closing at an alarming rate, almost faster than I can plan for them and once again I stood in the center of vacant palace. In these moments a small thought always occurs to me, that there’s at least one person I could go to for help but it’s a thought that’s never lead me anywhere good. Daniel’s arm came around my shoulders… I really I feel like he could sense why I was so speechless. He was looking at my face and my eyes met his.

“Ah, don’t worry about this,” he said so very casually, scanning the room again and then he smiled at me. Since that night a lot of the Villa has been cleared out and has become much more comfortable again. I want to continue to exist here.

[kodiescove]

I say this without any moral judgement, I wouldn't be pirating if amazon/B&N would just let me export my fucking books.

Like.

I'd MUCH rather just go through the process of hitting "select all/x amount to download onto PC" then having to re-search EVERY SINGLE BOOK /I'VE ALREADY PAID FOR/!

And you might be thinking "well then kodie, why don't you just pirate from now on?"

And my response to that is: I like giving artists (i.e writers) my money.

Like. Like I will literally make myself broke giving artists my money for the sake of art. I don't even care if it's bad art. When I want something for free, I will go to the library, so long as the ebook isn't one of those "everyones waiting for this book so you only have 7 days to read it" situations because lord howdy Idc how much I like a book, unless it's a VERY short book, I'm not getting through it in a week.

It's just so frustrating. Because the reason I want to back up my books is because, at least amazon has done this, I don't want to wake up one day and find out the app holders no longer have the license to carry my books, and then that book isn't available for me to read anymore! If I own the fucking book, then I should OWN the book! I should be able to make a copy on to my computer, to whatever I want with. I should be able to share it with my friends as I please, without having to log them into my kindle/nook accounts. I should be able to make harddrives full of books and be able to create my own digital library! /Because I paid to own these books/! And if that's not the fucking case, which it doesn't feel like because I CAN'T DO WHAT I WANT WITH /MY FUCKING BOOKS/, then you should be charging me less.

I will keep buying copies of books, but I will absolutely be pirating what I can and saving them for my digital library.

Fuck you Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

Edit: and before anyone says anything, I buy an ebook version for myself and a physical version to donate to local psych wards for the patients to be able to read. I think that's more than fair compensation for having a free digital copy.

[duskwingmoth]

"But did you do it? They say you did it. So did you?"

W-what!? Why would I be killing people??? Why would I want to kill people!? Ignoring the fact that I'm literally a doctor and took an oath, think for a second – blood is a non-negotiable part of my diet and it kind of requires people to be alive and willing to give it! Oh I see, Dracula. It's always Dracula. Ooh, killed people en masse one time hundreds of years ago. It was one guy. One guy But suddenly all sharps are crazed serial killers forever, itching for the second they can get away with sinking their teeth into the nearest random blunt! (Yeah, that's what we call you! You call us sharps, we call you blunts! But I digress.) You don't even know. You don't even understand. I'd rather have a hundred Draculas over one limp centrist liberal talking about Nightborne rights! He knew we were in danger, and he did something about it! Because we're just people, asshole! People as scared and confused and clueless as the next guy, who can't even enjoy the luxury of going out for a walk on a sunny day. People who need other people to be there for them! There's no magic hypnosis, no freakish chimeras, no immortality. Your precious shitlib governor and every leader just like him is only mad that we have to work twice as hard to get half as much, and we charm the pants off of people in the process. Dehumanize us like you dehumanize everybody else, kill us like you kill everybody else. Get hung up on the one time we had a place by us, for us! Fuck you and your boogeyman Dracula. If a vampire is out there killing people I can assure you it's not just because they're hungry. I'd heard about that dead bastard, he was wanted on rape charges! Are you really willing to call the sharp the monster in this situation? Even if there wasn't any other reason he was killed than a in some kinda sick power play, what makes the killer any different from any blunts who did the same? You can "one guy" us all you want, I'll one guy you back! How do I know you won't kick me out of my home, white man!? How do I know you won't put me on the plantation, white man!? How do I know I won't be put in a cage in the desert, white man!? How do I know you won't let me die of a preventable STI!? Is that what you'll do to me? To us?? For one murder I didn't commit? For history you don't care to learn??? Fuck you and your sunny days.

[butterflies-and-blades]

Session 15: Da

Leaving the cabin was a mistake. I've thought it multiple times in the twelve days since Kaemon and I followed that wisp through the trees and found ourselves in a desert that personified the unfamiliar. But this time, I understood how truly stupid of a mistake it was. How avoidable all of this would have been if I'd stayed where I was supposed to be. I've been nothing but a fool, and, fuck, I don't know what to do anymore. I don't want to ruin anything else.

Yesterday was supposed to be a day off--a reprieve from all of the misfortunes we as a group kept finding ourselves entwined with. Mornings usually came with the weight of whatever that day promised to bring, but beneath the grogginess of waking up, that morning held a levity. Temporary as it was.

I asked Talo and Verca what they planned to do with their day. Talo spoke of tinkering, and Verca shrugged. He said he had no hobbies to turn to. I pointed to what we had told those bandits who only had crime to fill their days; it was not healthy to have nothing to help pass the time. He agreed it was something to work on.

We had been living on the road for nearly two weeks now, but we had never taken the time to visit the tavern that resided beneath our room. I offered that as a potential option for later. Talo and Verca liked the idea, and we went down for breakfast. Verca almost did not come down, saying he was planning to nap instead. The possibility of him isolating himself worried me, and I think it was that open worry that convinced him to come down with us.

We sat in a line at the counter. When someone came out to take our orders, Talo attempted to ask for something called a crepe. The man on the other side of the bar--his name was Patty--had the same reaction as Verca and me. We were confused, unfamiliar with the dish. Talo was just as taken aback by our lack of recognition. They began to describe it, which quickly gave me an idea. I verified that they were not allergic to peanuts and ordered us both pancakes with peanut butter spread on them instead of syrup.

The tavern was not busy, and our food came out without much of a wait. Patty slid a plate in front of each of us, as well as the drinks we had ordered. The heat of the pancakes melted the peanut butter, thinning it out so that it dripped down the sides like a sauce. It was more fragrant than when prepared at room temperature, as much the smell of nostalgia as it was the smell of breakfast. The taste--the peanut butter given more nuance through the process of melting--brought fond memories to the surface.

The dish had been Da's idea, years ago. At first Dad thought the combination was ridiculous and unnecessarily messy. But Da had taken charge of the kitchen that morning anyways--"Trust me, Feron," he'd said--, and by the end of the hour, he had won Dad over. When Dad asked where he had gotten the idea, Da said it was something he had picked up from a friend. The way he smiled when asked, I think Da had been just as hesitant to the idea when his friend first made him try it.

Talo finished their food first. They slid off their stool and pointed towards the door, saying they were going to Faunsel's.

Verca was smug. "Have fun."

"I'm just going to work on stuff," they said, defensive.

"This is supposed to be a day off," I said. "You can't tinker on anything that you normally would put 'work' hours into." Talo left, and I looked back to Patty. "Do you have any recommendations for relaxing ways to spend a day off?"

He took a second to think before recommending an establishment that provided hot mud baths and other spa services.

"Does that sound interesting to you?" I asked Verca, then realized that it might have been presumptive to assume he wanted to spend his free day together. As a group, we had all been together almost constantly. Perhaps he wanted space from us. "Unless you'd rather do something on your own," I added, trying to sound less pushy.

"I'm alright with whatever. What do you normally do to relax?" he asked.

"Well, the things I normally do are not really available here. Gardening, exploring the woods around the cabin, looking for butterflies, reading--although that was mostly so I could press flowers between the pages once I was done. Dad has a lot of books around the cabin."

Verca mentioned seeing some butterflies back when he lived underground. The concept baffled me. I pointed out that that was odd. He said, "I suppose it is. I hadn't really thought about it before. They didn't really show up near Wren."

It did not surprise me that something as beautiful as butterflies would stay away from someone as horrible as that man. I failed to stop myself from saying as much.

Verca asked about my favorite butterfly. I described swallowtails--he did not know them by name--, and recognition brightened his face. Of what he'd seen underground, black and blue swallowtails had been particularly abundant. There were many swallowtail colorations, but black with that pop of blue was my favorite. I had to actively stop myself from sharing too many of the factoids I had collected over the years; none of Dad's books had ever listed underground amongst their natural habitats, though.

We finished eating and followed Patty's directions to the spa. At the front desk, a woman asked us if we would like one room or two. I commented that one would be more cost effective. Verca's face was pink, and he didn't look back at me the rest of the time we were checking in. He stared aggressively forward, his gaze going far over the woman sat at the front desk. I wasn't sure what had him so upset; perhaps I should have asked.

With everything set up, we were brought to a room and left to ourselves to undress. There were two stone bathtubs in the center of the room and benches along the nearest wall to set our things. The space was sparsely furnished, including a lack of partitions to change behind. I supposed the purpose was to make the space feel more cohesive and whole, rather than divided and separated from itself.

I took my gloves off first; beneath them, the flesh of my palms was sensitive. The scars on the inside of each hand looked no different from the ones scattered across the rest of my body, but they were the only ones that still ached--especially in response to direct contact. My gloves normally helped limit the discomfort, but it didn't make sense to keep them on just to be dirtied.

When I was younger, before Dad gave them to me, I had to be careful how I picked things up; otherwise, I risked sharp bolts of pain shooting through my hands and up my forearms like hot lighting. The pain once made me drop a glass at the dinner table. It had shattered on the ground. Dad, who normally stood so tall, was kneeled beside my chair in an instant. Already cleaning up the mess, he told me to be careful not to cut my feet on the shards. I remembered apologizing and him shaking his head. "There are just so many nerves in the hands," he had said. I wasn't sure if he'd been talking to himself or me. A melancholic weight had gathered in bags beneath his eyes; he'd always had wrinkles--his happy crow's feet lit up the cabin whenever he smiled--, but I rarely saw him like that night. Dad had seemed more upset with himself than me.

The bracers came off next. I was partway through pulling my blouse over my head when I saw Verca in my periphery. He was pinker than before and quickly turned away from me. Through the back of his head, I could not see his eyes, yet I was confident he was staring just as seriously into this wall as the last.

I was folding my skirt when he took off his shirt. Like his chest, his back was covered in scars--some of which, this time I noticed, had the warped texture of old burns. The top of one shoulder bore a similar mark, different only in the particular attention clearly applied to it: a W, wide and messy as if it had been burned atop itself many times.

A brand. A sickening mark of supposed ownership. Verca wasn't something to be owned by anyone. No one was. My shock at the short-lived sight--Verca must have realized what he had exposed and quickly turned back around--held off any other reaction.

I didn't know what to say. The best I could do was try to reassure him that he was okay. That he was safe.

Apparently, all of the marks were from Wren. With that information, my usual indifference to scars faltered. Verca had been through so much with that monster.

I remembered my palms and asked if any of his still hurt. He seemed to tense at that, rather stiffly saying, "They're fine." It occurred to me that after spending so much time with someone like Wren, it was reasonable to assume that people would only ask a question like that if they intended to use it against him.

"I promise you're okay," I quickly followed up. "I know that sometimes they can stay sensitive and just wanted to make sure I never touched a painful spot by accident." My words blurred together from the speed I tried to clear the air with them.

Memory is a fickle thing. It holds on so tightly to some things and lets go of others without a second thought.

I remembered that Verca turned the focus of the conversation away from himself. I remembered the rise of those terrible feelings I had been trying to hide since we arrived at Greston, and I remembered the heat of his hand on my shoulder, but--just a day later-- the rest of those details were already out of reach. Admittedly, today was enough to shove almost anything nearby into obscurity.

But I do remember Verca reaching towards my face and how sharply I recoiled. It wasn't fair to him; he had been nothing but kind and was often the most bearable touch since Sala. He certainly wasn't her. But there was something broken inside me, I think, and I wasn't strong enough to overcome the tactile memory of skin.

I couldn't read whatever floated in his eyes after that. "There was a tear I was going to wipe," he said.

Too lost in trying--and failing--to seem okay, I hadn't noticed I was crying, but when I felt under my eye to test, my fingertips came away wet.

A spa attendant came in shortly after that. We moved to our respective tubs of mud and were each given facial masks once settled. After the soft footsteps of the attendant leaving, the room was silent.

More happened after that. But perhaps our greatest weaknesses hide in the malleableness of memory. For something so vital to how we see ourselves and the rest of the world, it is surprisingly easy to manipulate, apparently. Over and over and over.

The sudden urge to run out of the spa and the even more abrupt loss of that drive--leaving me to walk back nude, dazed, and suspiciously unquestioned by those who did see me--was evidence of the mind's vulnerability. It apparently did not even have to make sense to work. When I came back, Verca was still in his tub, cucumber slices over his eyes. He had not noticed I had left, and apparently, I was not going to comment at any point on the odd experience of running out for no reason. Instead, I stepped back into my bath for the rest of our session and pretended everything was normal.

Finished at the spa, we met Talo at the inn. Verca asked Talo about their day, teasing about whatever happened with Faunsel. When Talo learned that we had gone to the spa and shared a room, they returned the favor by teasing Verca back. I was not sure what was wrong with how we had decided to spend our day; aside from the few hiccups, Patty's recommendation had been enjoyable.

"At least I know when I think someone's attractive," Verca said. I was more confused by what that had to do with anything.

The tavern was more alive when we went down for dinner than during breakfast. Not quite as overwhelming as Faunsel's club--although I still kept to the perimeter to avoid the crowd--the music was pleasant. Voices and instruments filled the modest space without smashing together in an unmaneuverable cacophony. We drank and danced. Talo took off their jacket, showing more of their tattoos, and moved further into the crowd. The rest of the night passed with swaying hips and sweet drinks. It was pleasant. Almost naively so now that I know what the next morning had prepared--retroactively tainting the night, maybe the entire day, with a rotten taste.

I woke to the sound of Sala's voice in my head and a tug in my chest. "Please come." She practically begged, "I need help. All of you, please."

We had been planning to visit her today anyways. I woke Talo and Verca, telling them what I heard. We gathered our things. On our way out the door, Talo pushed a potion vial into my hand. They said it increased movement speed. I uncorked the glass and downed it as we ran outside.

Stepping into Sala's house, a commotion could already be heard from the basement. We didn't say a word to each other and rushed down the steps. Me, Verca, then Talo.

I didn't know what to do with the information I saw as I turned the corner at the bottom of the steps. There was Sala, who wasn't a surprise, and six other ghoulish figures. They stood in a circle around someone who would always be familiar--no matter how much time had passed since I last saw him: a red tiefling with a pair of broken horns, dark shield and sword at the ready.

Da.

The entire group was mid fight. He already looked worn down. Several piles of ash were scattered within the vampiric circle. For some reason--charm, it was always fucking charm these days, wasn't it--, I couldn't direct my anger at Sala, even as I watched her attack him. Which left confusion the only reaction available.

"How bold of you to think you could have done anything to save her." She had sounded scared when I heard her earlier, but now her words dripped with smug confidence. Like she was enjoying this. Amusement danced in the black of her eyes. "She's mine, you old fool."

Da cut through two of the ghoulish figures beside him, adding to the dust piles.

I ran to his side, frantically trying my best to heal him as much as I could. There was nothing more important than family. I looked over my shoulder at Sala and yelled, "What is going on? Stop attacking my father!" A foreign pressure in the back of my head wanted this all to be a misunderstanding.

"He was trying to take you away from me," she said. There was something behind the too-sweet sap of her words that I couldn't pull to the surface.

Sala raised a hand. The air hummed, and a cold glint sparkled in the space around us before abruptly solidifying into a wall of blades, poised to attack. Two of the ghoulish vampires that were presumably aligned with Sala were trapped in its path, and so was Da. I couldn't see Verca or Talo on the other side. It was only Sala and me standing in the middle of the winding divide she had created.

"I'm sure we can figure this out," I shouted over the sound of metal scraping against itself. "Please stop!" Nothing. Frantic, I looked around, trying to figure out anything I could do. And as I turned, one of my braids flung over my shoulder into my periphery.

White hair instead of black. I froze and looked at Da, eyes wide, as gold creeped over my vision, and I lost myself behind the Mask.

The sound of grinding metal was gone when I returned. There wasn't much sound at all aside from the wet, labored breathing of someone on the ground a few feet ahead of me. Talo and Verca stood on either side of the figure. Sala was nowhere to be seen.

Coming out of the Mask was always disorienting. It took me too long to recognize who it was. Or to see the dagger lodged squarely in his chest.

I ran to Da, dropping my sword and shield--there was no crash of metal hitting stone, so I assumed they returned to bracers around my forearms--so I could grab his hands. The rest of the world was a faraway blur.

"No, no, Da. You have to be okay." I squeezed his hands as hard as I could--as if I could keep him there through sheer force of will. When I was a kid, I used to try to stop him from leaving the cabin by hugging his legs and telling myself he couldn't leave if I didn't let go. It never worked. Da would chuckle, a heavy hand patting the top of my head, and Dad would gently pry me off him. He would say that we had to say goodbye. That we'd see him again soon.

Da coughed and reached to pull the dagger from his chest. Talo and I both stopped him. I wasn't willing to cut the little time I had left with him any shorter.

"What were you even doing here?" I asked. My grasp on him never faltered, even when my palms started to sting beneath my gloves.

"Your Dad saw everything," he said. A new anxiety slid under the louder worry for Da. Everything could mean anything. So much had happened in the past twelve days, and most of it left me feeling ashamed. "And there was no way he was leaving the cabin."

Da reached for my face, and I sharply pulled away--for a second letting go of his hands before scrambling to grab back on to one. I couldn't let go. "It's okay. Please," he said.

The tide of shame rose, and my lungs were drowning. I stared at his hand, desperate to lean into the familiar comfort but unable to forget how Sala had touched me. I stared at his hand, wishing something so simple hadn't left me so broken.

I forced myself forward, eyes squeezed shut as I fought to ignore the crawling nausea that writhed in my gut. The churning slowed when Da's calloused hand lightly cupped my cheek.

"You can go home," he said. I shook my head. "You need to go home."

"I can't."

He brushed his thumb near the corner of my mouth. Enough to draw quiet attention to the fangs I didn't want him or Dad knowing about. His earlier words echoed in my head. Your Dad saw everything.

I shook my head again. "I don't even know how to get home."

Da reached for his side and pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper before his strength failed, and he dropped it beside us. Blood was already smeared across the outside of it. Talo silently picked it up. I was grateful. I wasn't letting go any more. He coughed. "And visit the temple."

I remembered visiting the temple in Greston and frowned. "Those people are terrible."

Surprise briefly interrupted the twist of pain across his face. "You haven't been to this one," he insisted. I still didn't understand how he could be involved in any of it. "And I'll give her a talk. Because apparently someone needs to." I didn't understand.

Things quickly declined after that. So much blood had pooled around us. It was obvious that Da was barely hanging on.

I squeezed his hands again, as if that would make a difference. "I need you, Da. I barely know who I am anymore. I'm so lost."

He half smiled. There was red on his teeth. "You know who you are."

I couldn’t find the words to say more than his name or beg for him to stay. During everything, he kept saying that he knew for a long time that this--his end--was coming, as if that made it better. Family is so important. You're supposed to protect family. I don't know what to do knowing that I failed.

Da looked past me. "So, you're the one," he said, his words starting to slur together. Barely able to see through tears, I followed his gaze, but nothing was there.

"Please, Da. Please."

He pulled himself forward and kissed the top of my head. "I love you, Little Raven."

I felt his hand go limp in mine.

I practically collapsed overtop him, shaking from tears that only fell harder. And harder and harder as a fog cleared that I hadn't known was there.

First there was yesterday at the spa. "I need you, Darling. Come quietly. I need you," spoken in my head with the allure of a music box in the night and an irresistible urge to follow. The running through the city in nothing but a towel. Stopping just inside Sala's too-familiar doorway. A wave of her hand and the mud from the spa was gone, and the towel fell to my feet. She stepped up to me like a predator surveying its latest catch. "Oh my, Dear, you even came gift wrapped. A shame I couldn't unwrap you." A finger under my chin. "My Little Bird. You looked so good in feathers." Teeth in my neck, and a disgusting, pleasure-laced whine as I balled my fists in the back of her silk blouse.

Then the night we went to Faunsel's after hours. I'd been sitting in the dark, alone, when the tug dragged me to my feet. I followed, running through so many twists and turns of city streets that I had no idea where I was when I finally stopped before that manor. The doors were open. I stepped inside. The doors shut. The lights dimmed and air rushed forward. "It's so good to see you again, Darling," Sala had said. "I know I said I wouldn't do this again, but I couldn't help myself. Just look at yourself." Fingers touched the bottom of my earlobe, then trailed down my jaw and slid to the back of my head as I was pulled against her lithe but strong body. "I tried to wait as long as I could." Again, that pain, and again that revolting response.

I wanted to peel away my skin so I could separate myself from the humiliation.

"It's a shame I cannot always have you with me," she said. A pause. I was still pressed close her. "May I kiss you?"

No. Absolutely not.

I felt the tug of a smile that wasn't mine. "Of course," said my traitorous tongue.

The first kiss was gentle. The second was not. And for the third, she brought her mouth to the still-opened wounds at my neck.

Something in me had almost begged, "Please," at that. A relief that I didn't.

Then there was the first night. The actual night, nearly six days ago. Here, most of what I remembered was right. But the deviations were like having my head held beneath icy water. "I love when you behave." The bite. The sounds. The way she lifted my feet from the ground and the way I held on to her. Her nails had dug into my back. They had hurt. But for some reason I enjoyed that, too. "You might just be the best I've ever tasted. I do hope I'll see you again."

And then--everywhere--unimaginable pain.

[sortyourlifeoutmate]

Also, to loop back rather jarringly to what I was rambling about earlier, it always sat wrong with me that Krieg - the planet, not the Death Korp itself - was meant to have been a hive world before the civil war.

Kind of a defining feature of their backstory, other than their intense sense of shame at the actions of their ancestors, is that five hundred years of atomic cleansing made the planet a lethal wasteland. But as a hive world it wouldn’t exactly been a picnic to start with, would it? A trademark of most every hive world is that outside the hives it is, to put it mildly, unpleasant.

It’s not a huge issue, but it sticks out to me. Like many things in the book...

So.

What I’d do is something like this:

Krieg pre-rebellion is not a hive world. It’s just a world. Pretty advanced by the standards of 40k, let’s say. Hell, let’s go so far as to say pleasant. You can walk around outside and it’s nice, and more’s the point there’s no war on Krieg. It might be shipping out arms and armaments - advanced so can make them a little, yeah? - along with men, but Krieg itself is not under attack.

This gives you options. Maybe the Imperium is starting to ramp up its demands of output. Lots more people being sent away to die somewhere, and enough production that it is actually starting to have a detrimental effect on the environment. Maybe this is the point where Krieg would start on its way to being a hive world!

It kind of makes the decision to secede look more reasonable, which I think is key. The Krieg book I’m reading - sorry Steve - makes all the autocrats venal and self-centered and, in the case of the lead one, just plain ugly and greasy and flabby. Not a fan of that sort of thing, it’s weak. Far better, I think, for them to have a legitimate point - hey, the Imperium is fucking up our planet and what is it giving us in return? Nothing!

Having the autocrats just be greedy politicos out for themselves is a little on the nose, I feel.

And having Krieg as a fairly regular planet prior to five hundred years of atomic cleansing makes it ending up a cloud-choked, lethal wasteland more impactful. An already-lethal wasteland ending up a more-lethal wasteland seems a bit eh, to me.

We then move onto Jurten, the man who kicked off the atomic cleansing.

Now, full disclosure, I haven’t finished the book yet, but from the way it’s heading I get the impression they’re going to find all the nukes hidden away somewhere, while Jurten and his cohort of loyalists is stuck in one hive city under siege. That’s one idea.

I much, much preferred the idea that Jurten wasn’t the leader of the loyalist contingent, but was rather just one officer out of many. A particularly zealous officer, sure, but not the man in charge. That, and I preferred the idea of the nukes - and it is and must be nukes, because it is five hundred years of atomic cleansing - were just there from the start. 

Nukes do exist in 40K, where they’re usually called atomics, they’re just not used all that much for a couple of hand-wavy reasons. Whatever, it’s fine.

But yes.

The book is angling towards the nukes being used after a good few months of grueling siege warfare. I always imagined it happening fairly early on, when the loyalists, aware that help was probably going to be a long time coming, run the numbers and see that, eventually, they’re going to lose, and Jurten goes against the orders and desires of everyone and just fires tonnes of these fucking nukes at rebel cities, wrecking the whole planet in the process, bringing the whole war into a more even, lethal slog for five hundred years.

Although ‘five hundred years of atomic cleansing’ does kind of imply it kept going, but the first strike would be the big one.

Because, like, if the planet was nicer, there could be some reluctance on the part of the loyalist command to do anything drastic. Jurten, being a nutbag, has no such reservations - the planet is the Emperor’s or it is no-one’s.

...anyway, I’ve rather lost the thread.

But you get my idea, right?

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

original idea, m | kth

pairing(s): taehyung x reader

summary: Your boyfriend, Kim Taehyung, is observant. He noticed you started your period today and picked up your favorite can of sweet Thai tea on his way back from visiting his best friend Park Jimin. How nice of him until he asks you mid-gulp if he can go in raw.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; unprotected period sex, do not do this unless you absolutely trust the other person; established relationship; low-key crack; lots of fluff; shower smut (fem reader is on her period, handjob, unprotected, wall sex, creampie, doggy); non-idol!BTS, ft Jimin putting ideas in Taehyung's head, who would have guessed

--

“You started your period today.”

You cracked open the can of Thai tea you boyfriend handed you. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“I saw the pad wrapper in the trash.”

“Oh.”

You took a large sip, thinking the conversation was over.

“Does that mean I can go in raw?”

You nearly spit out the entire contents of your mouth. Instead, you choked and swallowed hard, coughing and sputtering. “What?”

Kim Taehyung expression didn’t change. “Does that mean I can go in–?”

You held up your hand, coughing wildly, hacking the words out. “I heard what you said, I just can’t believe you said it, who the fuck?”

Taehyung seemed to understand and nodded, dark brown hair falling over his forehead.

“Oh, right. I was talking to Jimin and he mentioned–”

Oh, of course, how could you not guess, Taehyung’s best friend Park Jimin was putting ideas in Taehyungie’s little noggin and now murdering you as you struggled to breathe.

“–that it could be possible, because you’re right, it’s too early to have kids and having a monetary plan to prepare is a better idea–”

You were glad that Taehyung was interested in finances when it came to having children but he sure picked a weird ass time to agree with your sensibilities.

“–but I love having sex with you, so I was telling Jimin I haven’t been in raw yet and I completely understand that you prefer condoms over hormones since that might affect your mental state and I don’t like the idea of only you doing something like that to yourself anyway, it doesn’t seem fair–”

You were still processing the fact that Taehyung had told Jimin he hadn’t been in raw. What the fuck?! At least he loved having sex with you. You were staring at Taehyung slack-jawed, but he was scrunching up his face, trying to remember the rest of the conversation.

“–and Jimin mentioned, ‘hey, at least you can do it when she’s on her period, it’ll add more lubrication and it might even be better for her,’ so I was wondering if we could try it, if you’re interested.”

Silence.

You still hadn’t picked your jaw off the floor.

Taehyung opened his eyes and smiled at you. “Hm? What do you think?”

Okay, you very much enjoyed Taehyung’s eager, boxy smile, so that unfroze you, but you still blurted out your next question in sheer shock.

“Why did you tell Jimin you’ve never been in raw?!”

He blinked, tilting his head. “It just came up.”

You looked around, expecting Jimin to pop out and tell you you’ve been pranked. He did not.

“…. H-How…? Actually, don’t tell me, I’m going choose ignorance…” you mumbled, now taking another long sip of your Thai tea, but more like a swig and wishing it was forty-percent alcohol.

“But what do you think though?” Taehyung persisted, leaning down with his tilted head to try and catch your eye. “Do you wanna try? It might be nice!”

You looked down.

Someone was thinking about it for sure.

You looked back up.

Taehyung smiled at you innocently with a massive tent in his pants.

You stared into those big brown eyes and sighed.

“Ah… probably not. It’s going to be so messy and dirty and cleaning up is going to be such a bitch… I’m sorry, Tae, but I don’t think…”

-

“So…”

You stood under the showerhead, your hair wet and sticking to your forehead.

“So.”

Hey, in your defense, you were also curious.

Taehyung chewed on his lip, watching you inquiringly. “Hey, we don’t have to. I was being kinda pushy… but…”

You scratched your head, moving your wet hair out of your eyes. “Ah, it’s okay, I understand, I just… it feels wrong, you know? Aren’t you grossed out?”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Mmm, at first? But the more I think about it, the more I think, well, isn’t it natural? And you have to deal with it every month for many, many years, right? Plus, when we have children, they’re going to come out of you slightly, erm…” He made a little bit of a face but shook his head, spraying water everywhere from his dark wet hair. “Anyway, it’s not too bad. We’re in the shower. You like it when we do stuff in the shower,” Taehyung added brightly.

You contained your laughter, giving him a hopeless smile. “Why are you acting so weird?”

Now Taehyung turned red, his deep tan skin flushing, eyes shifting from side to side. “Um…”

You tilted your head.

He shot you a quick glance and mumbled under his breath.

“Idon’tknowhowlongI’mgonnalastIalreadydon’tlastthatlong.”

“What?”

He chewed on his lip.

“Nothing.”

“Oh.”

You reached up and pushed your hair back, swimsuit-supermodel style, and now Taehyung was doing more than glancing, he was observing very closely and very intently under wet strands of dark brown hair, curling around his strong features and moody brown eyes, his lips parting slightly, probably unnoticed on his part.

Looking like a fish wasn’t exactly an image Taehyung himself considered sexy.

Secretly, you enjoyed it because it meant he wasn’t conscious of what he looked like and was too distracted by your actions and your body to do so.

You smiled. “Why were you talking to Jimin about something like that anyway?”

Taehyung stiffened as you neared, biting his lip. “Ah, well…” He frowned slightly. “You’re so good at certain… things… It’s kind of frustrating for me… sometimes. I want to be better.”

Now you hesitated. “What are you talking about? Haven’t I taught you a lot of things? And you learn quickly and are amazing once you get the hang of it.”

His lips twisted into a small pout.

“For once, I’d like to teach you something.” He let out a small puff. “Or at least suggest something you’ve never heard of before.”

You blinked at him.

“Er… going in raw isn’t exactly a new concept… rather… that’s the original idea of dick and pussy in the first place…”

Taehyung scrunched up his face. “I know that, argh… I just mean… ah…” He trailed off, baritone voice now unsure and unsteady.

You saw he was rapidly losing confidence and you placed a hand on his chin, lightly lifting it with your knuckle. “Hey, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I want to try it. I just thought you wouldn’t like it, because… I mean… Period blood isn’t sexy per se… And I’m certainly not sexy during that time of the month…” You frowned uneasily, lowering your hand, but now Taehyung raised your chin, smiling at you.

“Don’t be silly. You’re always sexy.”

He leaned in, smile morphing into a smirk.

“Also, your boobs get bigger during that time of month, so I always appreciate that.”

Your eyes widened. “You noticed?”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “Of course, I noticed. I keep close tabs on your boobs.”

“Close tabs? Do you record the size in a notebook or something?”

He chuckled, tapping his temple with his free hand, the other sliding down your chin, tracing the contours of your neck and collarbones. “Mental notes. I remember all the important stuff. Your boobs are on the top of the list.”

Your cut in with your inquiring quips. “My ass? My mouth? My hands? My pussy?”

Taehyung frowned slightly and placed his large hand on your breast, kneading it as if he needed comfort. “Okay, near the top, but don’t make me order them, it’s too difficult.”

You grinned. “That makes me feel better.”

He breathed out in relief. “Whew, that’s good–mphf!”

You seized the moment and pushed him into the wall, pressing your wet body into his, your tongue snaking out and lightly flicking against his lips, taking advantage of his surprise and the beauty of his widened eyes to kiss him firmly, falling into his warmth. It took him a second to compose himself, tipping his head down to take charge of the kiss, squeezing your breast and running his thumb over your hard nipple, but you placed your palms flat on the shower wall and resisted him, dancing your tongue between his lips and not letting him catch it, smirking at the growl he made in frustration.

“We were having a moment,” he muttered.

“Mmm, I know, but I want my moment with him.”

Your fingers ghosted his thigh and he sucked in a breath as your hand closed around his cock, not quite hard yet but getting there, especially after your hand came into contact with it. You feathered kisses on his lips as you stroked his length, nice and slow, his other hand coming up to cup both breasts, panting softly, hot breath on your lips.

“You’re too quick…”

“Can’t waste too much water,” you chuckled. “And…”

You kissed up his jaw, adjusting your body to get a better angle, licking his skin lightly and feeling the vibration and depth of his moan under your tongue and lips, whispering gently into his ear.

“It’s kind of hard to focus when you’re so handsome, Tae.”

He let you have the moment, tipping his head down so your teeth could catch his ear, nipping at it lightly, contrasting with the pace of your hand, firm and intense, shivering at the thickness and the weight in your palm, savoring the taste of his skin, moaning into his ear, long and sensual, everything he liked and more, his head turning, black-brown eyes looking down at you under lashes covered in small droplets, adding to his already ethereal appearance.

“Let me…”

He leaned in, not finishing his sentence, kissing you long and deep and sweet, changing your positions, but you didn’t let go, toying with his tongue. He made a small tch sound of annoyance, shifting his hips, picking up one of your legs.

“Ah, w-wait…”

“Why?” he chuckled. “You don’t wanna wait. I can tell.”

You tried to hide the smirk, but it came out.

Smugness just refused to be hidden.

Taehyung grinned against your lips. “Thought so.”

Your hand was already guiding him. “This isn’t going to be the optimal position for you to cum.”

“Good.”

You raised an eyebrow and he thrust up into your pussy.

You sucked in a breath, relaxing yet still stretched out. It did hurt slightly. Taehyung was sizable after all, in length and girth, but you had practice and muscle memory, and maybe (definitely) a pain kink.

What? It was fun getting stuffed with dick.

Especially when it was Taehyung’s dick.

You? You were fine.

Taehyung?

“Oh, fuck…!”

Er, maybe not?

He had such a cocky expression beforehand but the second he entered you, it instantly changed, sudden tension in his strong features, gasping as he slid in, surprisingly much easier than you expected, perhaps due to the consistency of the slippery blood, almost stopping halfway, but you didn’t let him, firmly grabbing his hips and yanking him towards you, his eyes rolling back, whining your name loudly, the volume and depth reverberating in the bathroom.

“You’re so t-tight… fuck… soft… oh, shit…”

You let him run through every expletive he knew, holding him firmly by his juicy ass, enjoying it too much, but thankfully Taehyung didn’t notice, eyes closed, head thrown back, dark wet hair curling around his cheekbones. He reached up and pushed it away from his face, exhaling hard, slowly opening his eyes, hazy and unfocused.

“Fuck… it feels so fucking good, you have no idea…” he shuddered, twitching inside you and moaning once more, body shaking so he had to plant his hands on the walls of the shower, volume increasing as you pulsed your muscles around his length. There was slight pain from cramps, but not from his cock, and you could ignore the dull ache and focus on the pleasure, slowly moving your hips and biting your lip, feeling the added slickness of your juices mixing with the blood.

You often cursed your period’s arrival, but maybe it was time to reconsider.

Always good to find the silver lining in things.

“Taehyung…”

You rolled your hips and he gasped, thrusting back lightly.

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he panted, swallowing hard. “Shit, it feels so fucking good, I can’t t-think…”

“I’ll tell you if it hurts,” you managed to say, pressing your hands into his ass and angling yourself to take him deeper, shoulder blades and head touching the shower wall, sighing in satisfaction.

“Alright, I’m gonna…”

He clenched his jaw, faster, harder, one hand coming down to grab a handful of your ass, you wrapping a leg around his and meeting him in the middle, increasing the depth of each thrust, both of you gasping at the tightness and the wetness, the messy slap and squelch echoing in the bathroom, water raining down on his broad back and spraying onto your chest, clenching around him so he could feel more, his eyelids fluttering, biting his lower lip, tendons on his neck popping out, and you realized he was trying not to cum, trying to hold back, so you gave his stiff length a particularly firm squeeze and Taehyung groaned, barely able to shoot you an incredulous look.

You grinned.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck!”

You felt it, his cock twitching and spilling into you, eyes widening at the sensation, not quite as strong as porn seemed to make it, but noticeable for sure, pushing out your juices in a rough sputter, loud and obscene, flinching as Taehyung’s hand quickly moved down, rubbing your clit, making you squirm and twist of his cock, almost falling off but he kept his other hand on your ass, digging his nails into the softness, holding you in place.

“Come on, come on, come on–”

It didn’t take much, you were already turned on by the fucking and then the sensation of being filled up, and you cried out, trying not to move your hips, the high peaking.

“Tae, fuck!”

Hot shivers and burning electricity tearing through your veins, jerking your hips forward and tightening around his cock, harsh throbs racking your body you came, pussy squeezing so hard that you felt his cock stiffen again, swelling and growing inside you as your orgasm roughly roused him back to life, both of you moaning at the sensation, feeling his cum and yours drip down your thigh, hearing it plop thickly onto the bathtub below and wash away, stunning both you and him at the lewd noise.

“Whoa…”

You panted hard, letting out a tense puff as he slid out of you.

“That felt… so fucking good…”

You thought for a moment, catching your breath. The pain your felt was only from cramps, although it seemed to be less now. Was that the ibuprofen? Or the euphoria of orgasm? You paused on consider the differences, chewing on your lip thoughtfully.

“I think for me it’s about the same? You feel very similar with and without a condom.”

Taehyung shook his head. “Not for me, you feel way better, I don’t know how I can go back, the condom is seriously a nerf…” he mumbled.

You shifted your eyes. “You didn’t last… the longest.”

His ears turned red.

“W… Well…”

“My pussy is pretty overpowered, maybe she needs the nerf.”

He sighed, frowning. “True… I still stand by the fact that it physically feels better, but more time to enjoy does even it out…”

You tapped your fist in your other palm. “Oh! Let’s do it from behind.”

He blinked. “Eh?”

But you were already turning around, Taehyung stumbling back, pushing the showerhead out of the way and pointing it towards the wall so he didn’t drown, audibly gasping as you bent over and presented your ass, hands spreading open your pussy with one fluid motion. You turned your head back and grinned.

“Yes?”

“Oh, fuck, yes.”

You felt him position the head against your opening and he pushed in, slow, steady, both you of moaning at the feeling, centimeter by centimeter, this position tighter, more heavenly, giving you added control over your muscles so you could pulsate around him. He inhaled sharply, gripping your hips and forcefully pushing in the rest of the way, bottoming out, balls smacking your clit.

“Stop t-that, fuck…”

You let go of your ass and placed one hand on the edge of the bathtub and the other on the wall.

Then you rocked your hips back.

“Ah, yes, Tae…”

“Are you trying to kill me? Oh, shit!”

You continued and Taehyung had no choice, fiercely grabbing your hips to try and get you to stop, but you were undeterred, so he had to ram his cock into you, exactly what you wanted, the sudden sensation of the head hitting you deeply rendering your speechless, and he had no time to gloat, too driven by lust and pleasure to taunt you even if he wanted to.

“A-ah, it’s good like this too, oh, fuuuck, yes, you always feel so fucking tight…”

He had a good rhythm and pace like this, deep, controlled, fast, making sure to give you the powerful thrusts you liked, loud, audible smacks of hips to ass, rough and wet, and you knew you had his cum inside you now along with yours and the added slickness of your period, and, sure, maybe someone found it gross, but in this second (and lucky all subsequent seconds involving this very behavior that would certainly continue at least once a month) you nor Taehyung gave a single fucking shit, pleasure flaring up your core, the dull ache of cramps forgotten, completely focused on the feeling of his cock entering you over and over, your hand on the wall curling into a fist, hitched breaths and flinching shivers taking over, clenching around him, oh fuck, his rock-hard, thick length plunging into your tight, wet hole, too much, so good, your thighs tensing from the overwhelming proximity of release.

“Taehyung, oh, fuck, you’re so good at f-fucking me…”

You could tell he wasn’t talking on purpose, probably clenching his jaw to last as long as possible, but he wasn’t going to last much longer because you smacked your palm into the tile wall, gasping his name loudly, shot into free-fall.

“Gonna cum, fuck!”

That was all the warning he got as your walls spasmed, brutally massaging his cock and he hissed your name, turning into a half-moan, half-whine as he yanked your hips down and slammed into your pussy, fully sheathing himself all the way up to his balls, his cock jolting and spilling his orgasm into you, his hands on your ass shaking so bad they seemed to be vibrating, gripping tighter and tighter, rolling his hips inside you and moaning, prolonging the euphoric feeling.

“S-So good… ah, yeeeeeees…”

It took him a while to still, breathing loud and hard, holding you in the bent over position, the additional time getting slightly awkward, but you waited it out, his grip finally loosening, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you up, your pussy too wet and his cock giving up, sliding out, a mess of juices splattering out of you.

Good thing you were in the shower. Easy to clean up.

“It’s… too good…” Taehyung huffed, broad shoulder leaning against the wall to hold himself up, still clinging onto you. “Your pussy does need a nerf, but, fuck, I’m still gonna think about it all the time…”

“Good thing for you that my period lasts at least five days.”

Taehyung looked up to the sky and whispered his gratitude.

“I know you kind of hate it, but I’m still going to thank them.”

“Maybe I have a reason to hate it a little less now. It’s still inconvenient.”

“Yeah, but going in raw…”

Mmm, yeah, that still sounded weird. Oh well.

“You’re not going to tell Jimin, right?”

-

“You let him go in raw?!”

“Taehyung!”

--

masterpost

[lonely-lost-soul]

Daddy's Little Girl

Request 10: Dad!Schlatt angst with the reader trying to protect Tubbo because the reader is his older sibling?

Requested By: Anonymous

TW: Abuse

Do you want angst? I’ll give you angst. Never challenge me again. /J

ily /p

(Hints of Wilbur and Techno x reader if you squint)

Growing up with Schlatt as your father had its ups and downs, on one hand, he was hilarious and let you get away with anything you wanted, but on the other hand, he had a drinking problem. When you were a little girl his drinking wasn’t too bad, some days were worse than others but most of the time he was semi cognizant. However, when your baby brother Tubbo came along everything changed, for a while he was sober. He was clear-headed, held a stable job on the SMP, and even helped you with your homework, but alas all good things come to an end. As soon as Tubbo started school, and your mom left he started up again, you weren’t happy. Your horns had begun to curl around your head around that time and your baby brother was enamored. He would wrap his chubby hands around them to pull and trace his fingers over the ridges, Tubbo would declare his horns were going to be just as magnificent as yours one day. You would flush at the praise and ruffle his hair, and told him you could already feel his little nubs growing in, he was overjoyed at the news.

Before Tubbo, Schlatt would never lay a hand on anyone, but something inside him crumbled. You had a few close calls, Tubbo bothering your father a little too much and Schlatt raised a hand to the boy. Luckily, you were always there to diffuse the situation and direct your father’s attention away from your baby brother. You were old enough to know just how impulsive and uncaring drinking made him, you tried to keep Tubbo as occupied as you could while keeping up with your work.

When Tubbo was ten years old he made his first friend.

Tubbo told you the kid’s name was Tommy, and he shared all the new information about his friend. He informed you he had two older brothers named Wilbur and Technoblade, who were about a year or two older than you. Tubbo desperately wanted to introduce you to him, but with your dad to keep an eye on you had to decline, at least for the time being. Tubbo pouted at your response and gave you, your biggest weakness puppy dog eyes, you relented. Promising to go with Tubbo to Tommy’s house in a few days to meet the brothers and supervise his play date with Tommy.

You just hoped your dad would be alright.

The day finally rolled around for you to meet the elusive Tommy and his brothers, you informed your dad that you and Tubbo would be gone for the rest of the day, he said it was alright. You think he just wanted to excuse to drink more while both of his children were gone.

“Come on (Y/n), let’s go already!” Tubbo called with a groan, you hushed him softly,

“Put your jacket on first.”

He reluctantly slipped on his jacket and grabbed his bag, you followed him out the door. Tubbo was buzzing with excitement holding his bee plush close to his chest, going on and on about how great Tommy was and how much he hoped you’d like Wilbur and Techno. Eventually, the both of you came upon a small cabin in the middle of a clearing, it was surrounded by lush pine trees and a little boy in a red and white shirt stood by the front gate.

“Tubbo!” The boy you assumed was Tommy shouted rushing over to the gate,

“Tommy!” Tubbo shouted with a laugh, he looked like he wanted to run towards him but first, he looked up at you. You smiled softly and gave your brother a nod, his face lit up and he charged towards Tommy. They met in the middle and Tommy immediately tackled Tubbo to the ground, a young man with glasses opened the window and began to shout at the blonde. He picked his head up and spotted you in the distance, his entire face flushed red, you sent him a little wave. The boy adjusted his glasses slamming the window shut, you titled your head to the side before seeing him and a taller boy with pink hair. While Tommy and Tubbo wrestled in the dirt the older boys walked up to you, they introduced themselves as Wilbur and Technoblade. They both were hybrids like yourself, you immediately felt at home, no wonder Tubbo liked it here so much.

Through the power of conversation you found out Technoblade was a piglin hybrid and Wilbur was half nymph, Tommy was just a plain human. Either their dad got around or some of them were adopted, you’d ask Tubbo later, figuring it was rude to blatantly ask that question. You found out the entire family thrived off of bulling one another it was quite funny to watch Technoblade roast the ever-loving shit out of Wilbur, unknown to you whenever you let a giggle or two slip past your lips Wilbur would flush and Technoblade would smirk. The end of the playdate rolled around and you found yourself not wanting to leave your new friends, Wilbur offered for you and Tubbo to sleep over but you politely declined. Technoblade shot Wilbur a concerned look when with a smile you said your dad would have your ass if you and Tubbo stayed over.

A few years went by since your first meeting, Tubbo and Tommy became inseparable and honestly, you and his brothers were in the same situation. Although you couldn’t see Technoblade and Wilbur as much as Tubbo could see Tommy the three of you were attached at the hip. Wilbur would constantly write you letters, sometimes the handwriting would switch and you noticed Techno put his blunt opinions into the conversation. Tubbo found one of the letters once and insisted that both boys must have a crush on you, you denied that with a soft laugh, just like your father you were under the impression you were unlovable.

Speaking of your dad, he was rarely ever sober at this point, rather being numb than feeling anything significant. Luckily he could be slightly functional, but mostly it was you raising Tubbo and protecting him from your dad’s off days. Speaking of an off day you had just gotten back from a trip of visiting your favorite boys, it was late and Tubbo was asleep in your arms. He was scratched up a bandaid was on his nose, and a bandage wrapped around his arm, he had taken a particularly nasty fall while wrestling with Tommy. Luckily both you and Wilbur were skilled in patching up rambunctious little brothers and he was fixed up in no time flat. You noticed the light on in the living room and grew concerned, your dad was always passed out in his bed by this time of night, was he alright?

Tubbo mumbled something in your arms and you pulled him close to your chest as to not wake the boy. “Dad?” You called softly wandering into the living room, much to your surprise he was very much awake. Your nose scrunched up in displeasure he reeked of whiskey and cigarettes, so tonight was a bad night.

Noted.

“You reek.” You commented adjusting the sleeping Tubbo in your arms, your father shot you a dirty look.

“Where the fuck have you been with the brat?” He hissed baring his teeth at you, “Do you know how late it is? Do you know how worried I was!” You hated the way your stomach churned with guilt and relief, at least he noticed his children were gone. He shouldn’t be praised for the bare minimum, Technoblade would’ve told you gruffly if he knew the full extent of your relationship.

“Out with Tommy, Wilbur, and Technoblade. Phil’s kids remember?” You responded with a soft sigh and he sent a dirty look your way standing up from his recliner. You backed up a few steps, the man towering over you eyeing Tubbo who was beginning to stir in your arms. Hesitantly you placed a hand over the back of his head, keeping it pressed tightly against your neck and shoulder. It only seemed to make Schlatt’s face scrunch up more,

“He looks so much like your mother.”

“I know dad.”

“Why’s he beat to shit?” He slurred reaching his hands out towards Tubbo, “You let him get hurt?”

“Tommy and he were just wrestling. Just being kids. I patched him up, he’s just sleepy.”

“So you let him get beat?”

“Dad no did you not hear me-” He grabbed one of your horns roughly yanking them down. You yelped in pain dropping Tubbo in the process, he hit the ground with a hard thud crying out from the rude awakening. “Dad you’re hurting me-”

“(Y/n)? Dad?” He murmured groggily barely processing the situation unfolding in front of him.

“Tubbo go to your room.” Your dad hissed at him, spit flying everywhere, Tubbo looked terrified. He looked at you and nodded the best you could with your dad’s iron-like grip on your horn, he scurried away and you felt your eyes fill with tears. If only he was a little older, he’d maybe be able to help you, but he was a child and didn’t need to see what was going to happen. “You’ve been running around without a care in the world, you’ve been going free for way too long. You’ve been a bad girl and now your getting punished.” Your blood turned to ice as the gip on your horn tightened,

“Dad, please I’m so sorry. I’ll make sure we get home on time from now on, you’re drunk. Please don’t do this you’ll regret it come the morning.”

“Shut the fuck up (Y/n)!” He spat his tobacco spit flying all over your face, you grimaced trying not to choke in disgust. “You think you know everything about the world but you don’t, you’re a stupid naive child!” He slammed the side of your head against the brick wall of your house. You yelped in pain feeling something crack against the wall, but it wasn’t your skull, it was your right horn.

“Dad- Dad please stop my horn-” You pleaded as he dragged you back by the hair and slammed you into the wall again. Your horn cracked once more and you screamed in pure agony, blood began to stain the wall where your head it, and your horn began to crack. “DAD!” You sobbed out as your horn broke off falling on the ground with a thud. Blood began to drip down the side of your head, your sobbing seemed to snap Schlatt back to his senses as he let out a soft call of your name.

“Fuck. Fuck baby I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked pulling you into his chest, he pressed his hands against the stub of your horn. You whimpered in pain and Schlatt shushed you softly, “I’m so sorry baby girl. My little girl, I didn’t mean it.” His head pressed into the crook of your neck, just where Tubbo’s was moments prior. “I’m such a fuck up. I’d never hurt you...I can’t do this…”

“It’s okay…” Your voice cracked eyes wide and glassy, it wasn’t okay but you weren’t about to tell him that. “Can I go to bed now…”

“Lemme patch you up first. You might bleed out...scare Tubs.” Schlatt grumbled and you nodded numbly. He helped you to your feet and you swayed, your dad haphazardly bandaged the side of your head and cauterized your horn. That might’ve hurt even more than losing the horn on its own, you held back your whimpers as your dad apologized even more for the pain he caused. “Get some rest alright…I love you.”

“Love you to dad,” You gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, you waited until he slipped into his room before you made your way into Tubbo’s. The boy was downright sobbing under his blankets, you pulled back the covers to find him desperately clinging to his bee plush.

“(Y/n)?” He whimpered looking up at you with wide eyes,

“Hey, Tubs…” Your smile was tense and he frowned, “Mr. Bumbles protect you okay? Just like we talked about?” Tubbo nodded lip trembling, he reached his hand up to touch your bandages. You flinched at his touch,

“Where’s your horn.”

“Unimportant. Just got into a little scuffle with dad, nothing your big sister can’t handle. Tubbo why don’t we go see Mr. Phil.”

“But it’s so late?”

“It’s okay. Go pack up a bag, you’ll be there for a while.”

“What about you?”

You sent him another tight-lipped smile, “I can’t stay there with you, unfortunately.”

“Then I don’t want to go!” He huffed defensively, your smile was wiped off your face.

“Not a suggestion-”

“NO! I’m not leaving you!” You grunted feeling him slam into your middle wrapping you in a tight hug. “Not with him...I need you. Who’s gonna protect me? Or read me bedtime stories? Or kiss me goodnight!” He began to cry through his protests and you knelt in front of him, you placed your hand on his cheek.

“Technoblade and Phil can protect you just fine. Wilbur would love to read you and Tommy’s bedtime stories. You’re too old for goodnight kisses-”

“Am not!”

“I can’t protect you anymore, not from dad.” Your voice shook a little before swallowing thickly, Tubbo’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. He’s never seen you look so scared, you were serious. “You deserve to grow up normally and happily, with a good dad and family.”

“You're good family.” Tubbo insisted grabbing your bigger hand with his own, you let out a wet laugh and held your other hand to your mouth. Swallowing again before responding to Tubbo’s heartfelt compliment,

“I’ll always be your family and I’ll always be your big sister. But for now, you’ll temporarily be part of Tommy’s family. Just until I’m old enough to take you away from all of this.”

“Promise?” He held out his pinky,

“Promise.” You responded interlocking your pinky with his own, he seemed much more satisfied and willing to listen to you now. “Now go pack up alright? We gotta go before the morning,” Tubbo nodded at you and began to gather his things in his bag. Eventually, he was all packed up and you both snuck out towards Tommy’s home, the side of your head was throbbing and you felt completely off balance stumbling over your feet a few times. Tubbo grew concerned but never actually voiced said concern, the two of you came up on Phil’s doorstep. You loudly began to knock at the door and Technoblade answered sword drawn, glasses were haphazardly thrown on his nose,

“(Y/n)? Tubbo?” He blinked blearily, “it’s like three am what-” Adjusting the glasses he finally got a good look at the both of you, Tubbo was still in his footie pajamas and you had officially bled through your bandages. “Who did it.”

“Technoblade please-”

“Who. Hurt. You.”

“I’m so tired, please just go get your dad.” You pleaded locking your eyes with his own, they softened considerably before muttering under his breath.

“Fine. But I’m getting Wilbur to look at your horn.” He demanded marching away from the door, you gently urged Tubbo inside and you both sat down on their couch. Tubbo yawned sleepily and leaned against your side,

“You can go to sleep. You’re safe now Bumblebee.”

“But you’ll be gone when I wake up…” He held Mr. Bumble closer to his chest and you brushed his hair out of his eyes. “I want you to have Mr. Bumble!” Tubbo held the toy out to you, your lips dipped into a little frown.

“Tubs he’s your favorite-

“He protected me from dad. So I’m sure he’ll protect you too.” You wanted to sob as you took the bee from his hands, you were going to say something else when Phil and Wilbur walked into the room. Phil gave you a pitying smile, before calling Tubbo over to him.

“Hey mate. Let’s get you settled into the guest room for now yeah?” The older man smiled at your brother and he nodded sleepily walking over to Phil. He gave you a look that said we’ll talk later as Wilbur walked over to you, the frown on his face was rock solid.

“You gonna explain yourself?” He scolded you like a parental figure would, you bit your lip and shook your head. Wilbur sighed the bags under his eyes were dark and you murmured a soft apology. He reached out and took your cheek in his palm, he leaned close and you felt his breath on his lips. You felt your cheeks turn pink and he leaned in...to take a better look at your horn.

God, you were so stupid why did you think he was going to kiss you just now?

“Jesus Christ…” He murmured as he unwrapped your wound gently. “They fucked you up honey,” Wilbur said softly, his voice dripping with pure concern, “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m alright...It’ll get better.” You smiled a tight-lipped smile that only caused Wilbur’s eyes to flash with pure rage, “Seriously Will. Please just let it go.”

“I’ll never understand you.” He muttered grumpily, much like his brother did when he greeted you at the door. “How can you not want justice for what they did to you? I don’t understand-” Wilbur blinked a few moments pulling away from you, you refused to meet his eyes. “-Did your dad do this to you?” He saw the fear spark in your eyes, “that fucking piece of shit! TECHNO!”

“Wilbur please no- no please he didn’t mean too he was drunk!” You slapped your hands over your mouth and he looked at you with horror. “Wilbur please don’t do anything he didn’t mean to do it, I have to look out for him!” Your breathing got short and rapid, immediately Wilbur felt bad for being so aggressive, “He’ll die without me.”

“It’s not your job to look after your father.” Wilbur looked at you with pity,

“Yes, it is. He’s my family.”

“Family doesn’t do this to you.” He motioned to your missing horn, the motion now made you feel wildly self-conscious, “they don’t hurt you.” You bit the bottom of your lip so hard it began to bleed,

“Just don’t tell Technoblade. He’ll kill him. You know he will, I don’t want that.” Wilbur didn’t look happy about the situation but he agreed reluctantly, but only if you stayed the night alongside Tubbo. You told him you would,

But you’re a liar.

Phil came back into the room a little later and asked to talk to you privately. He asked you what was going on and you explained the entire situation to him, practically pleading for him to take your baby brother in while you got Schlatt under control. Phil of course agreed, but he was not happy about you going back to your dad, especially since you were already injured. You assured him all would be okay, your dad meant well and with Tubbo out of the house, you can put all your energy into fixing him.

Phil let you go that night, and he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

No one in the Minecraft household heard from you again after that night. You seemed to slip out of everyone's memory, Wilbur met Sally and she and his son consumed his life. Technoblade moved out of the house to spread his wings, and the only person who even seemed to care that you were missing was Tubbo. Yet, even so, you began to slip out of his memory too, barely remembering your face. It broke him to pieces that he couldn’t remember his sister, and when he asked Wilbur about you the man's memory was just as fuzzy. The only thing he had was the letters the both of you sent back and forth to one another, he’d gifted them to Tubbo after he discovered them again under his childhood bed. Tubbo thought that maybe, just maybe, word of their new nation would cause you to come out of hiding.

It didn’t.

Eventually, he had to leave his memory of you behind and focus on helping Tommy and Wilbur. He hoped wherever you were you were proud of him, you wouldn’t want him to be miserable and dwell on you, you’d want him to live.

When he saw his father upon the podium the day of the election all he wanted to do was confront him about you, but there were other things to worry about like the fact that Wilbur and Tommy had just gotten exiled. Schlatt died before he got to ask about you, then right after that Wilbur died by Phil’s hand and everything was blown to shit, he had Tommy and that was all he needed.

Wilbur woke up to the soft chirping of birds and an angel sitting on a hillside. He couldn’t feel the grass under his palms or his heartbeat, but he felt something warm flood through him when he saw the angel. She turned towards him, his memory of her was fuzzy but her name wasn’t, “(Y/n)?”

“Hi Wilby, long time no see.” You smiled softly, both horns were missing but your soft ears twitched eagerly.

“Where...are we?” Wilbur whispered walking over to you to sit by your side, “What happened to you?”

“I lost another horn being stupid. Died from an infection while dad was away on a trip.” You pulled your legs close towards your chest, “you’re dead Will. We’re dead. It’s been quiet here for so long.”

“Dead…” He breathed out the negative memories flooding into his brain; he squeezed his eyes shut tight. “Are we ghosts?” You shrugged your shoulders,

“I don’t know, never tried to...go back,” Wilbur watched as you ran your hand through the grass even though Wilbur knew you couldn’t feel it. “Tubbo would be disappointed in me. So upset I died, I’d rather he not know. Makes it easier on everyone I think.” You turned to him, hair falling in your eyes, they were empty and your skin was so pale, he couldn’t imagine what he looked like in comparison. “Are you going to go back?” You spoke again after a few moments of silence, there was a tense atmosphere that filled the room, you didn’t want to be lonely.

“If you’re here, that’s where I’m going to stay. At least for a little while.” Wilbur looked at you, your eyes wide with shock, a brilliant smile spread across your cheeks.

“Promise?”

“With all my heart honey.”