#Service Secret Junior

[la-tour-de-babel]

La Crêpe Ratée - Pièce de Théâtre en quatre Actes

DISCLAIMER : Le saviez-vous ? C'est très peu pratique de poster des pièces de théâtres, sur Tumblr. Le format ne passe pas très bien. Du coup, eh bien, vous avez l'incommensurable chance d'avoir un lien Google Doc à la place. La pièce est toujours sujette à réécriture, en plus, donc c'est tout benef'.

RESUME : Nous sommes dans un nouvel AU, abordable même sans avoir lu La Tour de Babel. Paul entre en contact via vidéoconférence avec une créature répondant au doux pronom de Lui. Pourquoi ? C'est simple. Il a besoin qu'on répare sa vie.

PAIRINGS : Alphonse Bertrand / Maître Alphabet x Paul Saulter / Programmation.

TRIGGER WARNING : Mention de suicide, de mort, et basiquement, on part complètement dans les principes de #unreality. Manipulation, bien sûr, parce qu'Il est l'un des personnages. Et beaucoup de discussions autour de la Théorie des Crêpes.

Sur ce, et bien. Enjoyez, si vous en êtes capables.

--------------------------

[hootgrowlbears]

It's honestly so sweet how all the Bad Kids (minus Fabian) immediately thought of Kristen for class president.

[greasersinpoodleskirts4cumshots]

USE RADIATION DETECTION TO SEARCH FOR ENRICHED WEAPONS-GRADE PLUTONIUM NEAR WHITETAIL LANE IN SHERIDAN WYOMING, ESPECIALLY AT NIGHT

[saintescuderia]

pancakes (pt. 4)

AKA - the story of how the naive australian rookie befriended the gym junkie F1 hospitality worker with the shoe collection - and inadvertently broke the grid's most treasured and unspoken rule: you don't go for y/n.

series masterlist here :) // the pancakes recipe here :)

A/N: apologies if this isn't 100%. i wrote this in between travelling to japan to attend suzuka. and then i got sick and couldn't even go lol.

P4 - L-sits and pull-ups

Charles Leclerc was known for being a nice guy. 

All the boys knew it. Lando experienced it when he saw how Charles was genuine with service staff whenever they went somewhere. Alex had experienced it in how Charles treated his family, leaving the F1 boys to spend time with Arthur whenever F2 joined the schedule - or when his mother visited the Paddock. Whereas George had just done a quick FaceTime to his mother on Mother’s Day, Charles had sent Pascale Leclerc a luxury basket with a surprise yacht trip and a massage.

“She was having a bad week.” The Monegasque reasoned when the boys found out.

Pierre’s PS5 was a result of Charles’ kindness; sourcing it for his upset friend who had missed the drop. Max's apartment was a result of Charles' kindness; helping him look for places in his home city for the Dutchman looking to buy property in the foreign Monaco. Max owed Charles a lot.

If not for his apartment, then for his F1 seat.

Mercedes were taking too long. Charles knew someone at Red Bull's junior team who could help him score an interview with Helmut Marko. And when you told Charles to stop being so nice to Max after all the drama that happened in F2, he shrugged and said it was the nice thing to do.

So you, a Torro Rosso trainer, helped Max Verstappen with an interview.

Because Charles was kind and he asked you.

And there was nothing you wouldn't do for Charles Leclerc.

Charles’ circles especially were all aware of you before he even joined the grid. It was just that sort of thing. Everyone knows everyone in motorsports. All those boys had seen you hanging around him at the karting races. Were it not for the stark difference in appearance, some might’ve thought you were family. Some did. Because for the longest time, that’s what you and Charles were. Family.  

You were always there for him. You celebrated him when he won. You supported him when he didn’t. You were always the first person he went to when he finished his race. Not his parents, not Jules, not anyone - you. 

He would come to you and you would quickly repeat some key English phrases for the interviewers who would surely come for him. You would pat him on the back and offer a warm smile - no matter the result - and offer some feedback based on what you saw. Performance was your speciality after all.

Then, after everything, you guys would finish with a homemade plate of your pancakes. No matter what. That’s how it went and how it would always go. 

Until 2018.

That had been a shit fucking show of a year. The rookie trio had been super confused when they finally arrived at F1 and saw you dressed as Hospitality. Charles gave no answer to Lando, Alex or George, no explanation to why he barely acknowledged you. It had been Pierre, the one who had been there through it all, who had quietly explained to them what had happened.

For a while, Alex had a hard time talking to Max when he found out. 

Charles hadn’t been surprised that the grid had found out. Nothing ever stayed a secret in this fucking place. NDAs were a joke. The whole agreement between him and Charlotte had been unearthed by some lower ranking Ferrari employee who didn’t know how to keep shut. Then again, Charles had expected it to come out eventually. Half the drivers were dating for PR anyway. 

Ferrari were already on his case about finding a new replacement, a pretty girlfriend for him to post boyfriend material pictures with so it can ‘increase his numbers’ with the female fanbase. Since Drive To Survive had done well to popularise the sport with a whole new demographic of F1 fans, teams were trying to capitalise on this as much as possible. Charles quietly suspected that this was part of the reason why Ferrari approached Carlos.

That and they probably wanted to get rid of Seb as quickly as possible after he found out what happened between to you and raged.

Though, Charles could understand Seb’s stance on it. He himself was conflicted about it, half the time unsure if he had made the right call to listen to Mattia. He had just been hurt and upset and his father had just passed away and the press had been vicious and Charles was just desperate to fulfil his dream of getting the coveted seat. 

Well, your joint dream. 

It had been the dream of the both of you. It was why you worked just as hard as he did. You had taught him English. He had taught you Italian. He networked and raced. You built cars and trained. He had helped you get a job in Torro Rosso. You had helped him get a seat in Alfa Romeo. 

Which, of course, led to him getting a spot in Scuderia Ferrari. 

Except by the time he was putting on the red, you two were no longer speaking to one another. Or, he was no longer speaking to you and you finally accepted he had cut you off. Gone were the days where he was searching the crowds for your face, rushing to you after the race finished.

Five years ago, he stopped eating pancakes. 

He knew you still made them, of course. And not because pancakes had been your everyday breakfast since you both turned fourteen and you started weightlifting and tracking your macros. He knew because he had seen some Alpine reserve driver eating them. 

His name was Oscar Jack Piastri. F2 Champion who also won F3 and the Renault Cup. He had more trophies than anyone else his age. For a moment, Charles thought it was because you back training drivers and were working with him.

Arthur later refuted this when Charles was grilling him that no, you weren't training Oscar Piastri. You actually hadn’t had much interaction with him when you would come down to F2. 

“Does this mean you’re talking to Y/N again?” Arthur had asked, assuming that’s why Charles was asking about you. “Can we be friends with her again?”

“No.” 

“You know maman still doesn’t believe what happened.”

Charles was known for being a nice guy, but he hung up on his brother. Charles really was one of the kinder drivers, but when Alex told them about the tweet, he had scoffed and sneered. When Oscar Piastri himself arrived in orange and held his hand out to greet the nice Monacoan driver, Charles glared and kept his arms crossed. Fuck this. He was not going to shake Oscar Piastri’s fucking hand. 

Even though, deep down, Charles knew there was no need for this. Arthur had confirmed that Oscar really was just a really talented driver - Y/N hadn’t trained him. This was no Max Verstappen situation.

Moreover, it wasn’t like Charles was in Daniel Ricciardo’s position.

If it weren't for the million cameras recording the first meeting of the two Australian drivers, Charles could only imagine Daniel's reaction to the rookie. It was one thing that Oscar essentially took Ricciardo's seat.

The other was that everyone had seen him with you.

Admittedly, Daniel had a reason to not want to shake Oscar’s hand, Charles could reason. Even if he still thought Ricciardo was an espèce de putain merde for what he did to you. 

Still, Charles couldn’t explain it. He wouldn’t explain it. He didn’t need to. The grid had so far understood it perfectly fine; you don’t go near Y/N. When Logan had joined the grid, Alex had the good sense to quietly fill him in on what had happened.

Why the fuck couldn’t Lando do the same?

Which brings us to right now: Bahrain 2023. A control unit failure meant a DNF for his first race of the season. When is this bad luck going to end? Charles retired his car, managing to make it past the McLaren garage on his way to the Ferrari red at the end of the Pit Lane.

It was just as well that his car was slowing to a stall. It meant that he managed to catch a glimpse of the McLaren garage - and the naive Australian rookie stood with a plate in his hands, very clearly eating some pancakes. 

Charles almost drove into a mechanic. 

It was 3am. $uicideboy$ was playing through your headphones. You weren’t wearing any shoes. 

This could only mean one thing: you were doing calisthenics. 

Your arms were shaking slighting as you bent your elbows and tucked your legs in before straightening them. Your grip on the parallette bars was slipping but you engaged your core tighter, hoping to keep balanced as you straightened out your legs and held the L-sit position. 

Oscar had DNF’ed on lap 13. The media was already going wild with questions about his decision to ditch Alpine for McLaren and whether or not this was just karma. McLaren looked horrible. Even his teammate had finished 17th. No matter your feelings on the young Brit, even you had to admit Lando Norris was a decent driver. 

During the course of pre-season preparations, wind had carried the gossip that Zak Brown had revealed the car to the team earlier this year with a sub-par level of enthusiasm. Whilst it wasn’t uncommon for cars to arrive at Sakhir with plans for future upgrades… you hadn’t thought it would be this bad. For McLaren. At this rate, the MCL60 was looking like a back of the field car. 

What’s more the team was struggling. One only needed to look at their qualifying session to see how bad it had been. Engineers giving mixed reports. Oscar’s radio not working and getting out in Q1. Lando getting mixed tyres and getting out in Q2. A whole ass clusterfuck, in your opinion.

And Daniel had been there, smiling smug whenever the camera decided to pan to the Red Bull garage.

The song changed in your headphones. Your arm strained. You dropped, fell forward. Cue the stream of expletives that would’ve made even Guenther blush.

You knew that going to the gym after the race had finished up - a night race that - was going to mess up your sleep schedule. However, you were too wired after everything to go to sleep. You needed the dopamine rush. There was too much going on for you to process any other way.

Because, firstly, you needed to get rid of the image of Daniel’s smug smirk that was currently etched into your brain.

You had skipped your post-dinner protein shake and had your coffees black today. You had started your session with a series of HIIT sprints on the treadmill before you did as many pull ups as your body would allow. It had been quite some time since you had done calisthenics training so religiously but you were already internally creating a new program for yourself. 

That is, you were already mentally preparing for the cut you had decided to undertake the moment Daniel Ricciardo had walked into the gym after finding out he'd lost his seat. And blame you for it.

You pushed yourself up off the ground and came to your parallette bars again. You grabbed each one and then lifted yourself up again. You closed your eyes and willed your brain to focus purely on the lactic acid running through your body. 

Because, secondly, you were stressing more than you should about Charles’ DNF.

You had watched the testing sessions carefully. You always did. Always keeping an eye out on the red car with the black T cam. Charles hadn’t done too bad but, obviously, it was hard to give a genuine judge. Everyone always sandbagged.

For example, Red Bull didn’t look as strong in testing, but then came out on race day and finished as they did. You could be happy for Max, especially since Jos was in attendance and knew just what that meant… but you also knew how it would look for Ferrari that Carlos had finished fourth and Charles hadn’t even finished the race. 

The car did look strong through. That was evident by how Ferrari had done in qualifying. Charles had out qualified Carlos, a narrow Ferrari 3-4 behind a Red Bull 1-2. However, your former childhood best friend had a bad luck streak unlike anything you had ever witnessed. 

And even though the word ‘former’ was in the equation, you never liked seeing Charles like this. Even if he was likely the reason no one in the grid spoke to you anymore.

Well, until now.

Because, thirdly, Oscar Piastri threw a spanner in the works.

You knew how it was going to look. You knew. It was one thing for you to interact this closely with a driver. It was another thing entirely for you to unofficially train him. However, as Zak Brown had found out, there was no way you could be allowed to join McLaren as a performance trainer for Oscar.

When the young driver had filled you in about his meetings with Zak Brown and his particular stipulation, you called him an idiot and told him to sign. When Oscar filled you in about his new plan to be able to work alongside you through all the loopholes his father's lawyer found, you called him an idiot and told him it wasn't worth it.

"I beg to differ. If you don't want to, that's fine. But not because of whatever drama happened."

He knew the drama. It was impossible that a team principle had looked into having you as his driver 's trainer and not found out what had happened. It was also impossible that Oscar Piastri, former Prema driver - as in, former Arthur Leclerc teammate - and current teammate to loose tongue Lando, didn't know about you and Charles.

You had honestly just waited for the moment he would bring it up. He never did.

Because Oscar, you were coming to learn, was far more level-headed and mature than most the drivers on this grid. And he was so young. You didn't want to see anyone fuck that up. You really, really didn't.

Still, you said no.

Then a week later you saw that fucking tractor make him DNF.

You leaned forward and brought yourself down into a handstand, counting to ten before bending your elbows and lowering yourself slowly. You lifted yourself up and then tucked your legs once more. Your whole body was shaking more and more know but and you fought to breathe through it. You finally lowered yourself and let out a deep huff. Whilst you weren't pleased with how out of practice you were, you were a little pleased that you finally managed to lower yourself - instead of falling down.

You looked ahead at the mirrors and then saw a familiar face of the driver walking into the gym. Oscar dropped his gym bag near yours and went straight to the treadmill to warm up. You kept your eyes on him as you held yourself up on the parallettes and watched the young driver fiddle with his phone and earphones before starting a light jog.

You took a moment before you pulled yourself up and went over to him. Oscar met your eyes as he continued to jog. He pulled down earphone but you said nothing as you pressed the button to increase the speed. Oscar raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"45 seconds on. 15 seconds off. 20 repetitions." You said. Oscar nodded and put his earphone back in. You shook your head. He frowned and pulled them down.

"You don't drive with music so don't play anything." You said. "Feeling something in your ear needs to become second nature."

He nodded and you went to his phone and pressed pause. Then you made a voice when you noticed that Ed Sheeran was playing.

"Don't judge me." Oscar said.

"I am. You're working out to fucking Ed Sheeran." You responded with a scrunched nose. Oscar shook his head, smiling slightly, but said nothing else. In the silence, you observed his form and counted his breaths. You noticed slight irregularity with his inhale and exhales and immediately pulled him up on it.

And so you spent the rest of the night training Oscar Piastri.

By the time you both finished, and he gave you a tired and sweaty high five, the clock read five thirteen in the morning.

< prev ch [3] | next ch [5] >

taglist:

@eugene-emt-roe @spookystitchery @vicurious28 @taytaylala12 @c-losur3

@hiireadstuff @samantha-chicago @fionaschicken @casperlikej @bookstore-of-dreams

@itsjustkhaos @sam-is-lost @laneyspaulding19

[octuscle]

Welcome to Overland!

Overland Park in Kansas. I really had to google it first. Where the hell did my father get the idea that I would really study here? I mean, I have offers from Stanford and Cambridge. I'm not going to Overland Park. Kansas! Sure, it might have been a good fit for my dad. My dad is the prototypical corn-fed athlete. He looks dazzling for his 42 years, still a cross so wide that my two younger brothers and I can hide behind it. His mullet is a bit of a show-off, if you ask me. But he seems to go down well with his customers. His car dealership is the biggest in the state. My two younger brothers both have petrol in their blood. They both want to get their MBAs at Overland Park. But I'm much more interested in law. And Harvard would be my dream for that.

Anyway, my father gave me a car for my 18th birthday. A super impractical Dodge RAM. Doesn't suit me at all. And the car came with a gas voucher and a voucher for a mall around the corner. Well, I hope they'll have a Brooks Brothers store. But I'm quietly guessing that they'll only have cowboy boots and plaid shirts… Okay, not to be ungrateful, I'm making the trip to Overland Park in the monster car. I'll also attend his alma mater's orientation event if I absolutely have to. But I'll sign up over my dead body!

The drive to Kansas wasn't so bad. I admit that the car is really huge and comfortable. But the closer I got to the Midwest, the less comfortable I felt. Guys with arms thicker than my legs asked me about the car at gas stations and rest stops. I have no idea how much horsepower it has… I'm not interested either. But here you're obviously only defined by your car. And most of the muscular rednecks here made no secret of the fact that they didn't begrudge me this car. It got even worse when I parked the car in front of the hotel in Overland Park… The valet service looked almost sympathetic when I got out of the car. Tomorrow I'd better take the bus to the information day at the university.

It's incredible how many people are interested in this pathetic campus. It's pretty full in the auditorium. The dean gives a speech that is as boring as the landscape here. And the faculty members either all look like they're coaches of the football team or gardeners on campus. Hillbillies. All of them! The professors introducing each faculty call on the potential juniors who have signed up on the list for that faculty. I didn't put a cross anywhere. All uninteresting for me. And so the auditorium empties out with each professor dragging a train of high school seniors behind him. And at some point, the auditorium is empty. Only three people are still sitting here. A redhead who spends the whole time reading a book. A skinny guy playing with his cell phone and me. I speak to the skinny guy. "No desire to go to Overland Park either?" "Not on your life. I'm not studying thousands of miles from the nearest decent opera." The redhead interjects, "And pretty much everything else you'd call civilization." We laugh and introduce ourselves. Erik, the redhead (how appropriate, I'm not joking), the skinny one is Brayden and I'm Callan. We start talking. Somehow we all have a similar fate. Either our fathers or our brothers studied here. We all have more artistic than sporting interests. We all want to study either in California or New England. Erik suggests that we go out and sit on campus. The weather is nice. It's a good idea. We're sitting in the sun talking when we suddenly hear a voice.

"Hey squad! Finally found you, fam! I've been straight up grinding and hunting all over this place to link up with my homies!" Towards us comes the epitome of everything I loathe about university. An unkempt muscleman, his greasy mullet tamed with a baseball cap on backwards, in a sweaty tank top. Four bottles of beer in his hand. He hands each of us a bottle and says "Yo, yo, yo, what up fam! The name's Ryder, my professor homie spilled the tea that there are three total bros up in here who ain't about that study life, and guess what? Yours truly got the task of keepin' it real with y'all. Haha, I'm the king of slacking off, ain't nobody got time for studying and whatnot. Let's kick back and chill, my dudes!" Ryder stinks of sweat. Disgusting. But somehow also hypnotizing. He opens his bottle and says "Cheers". As if in a trance, we open our bottles and say "cheers".

"Yo, fam, check it out, I'm gonna give you a lit tour of the campus, but not that lame-o typical stuff. Like, forget about the snooze-fest library or whatever. Bro, regular dudes walk in there and walk out looking like they just stepped out of a nerd convention with their thick glasses and wack sweaters. Let's bounce and hit up the real vibes, ya feel me?" Ryder almost chokes with laughter at his own joke, which Erik counters with a fist bump. What the…? "Yo, peep that cafeteria comin' up! It's legit crucial for gettin' in that dank protein intake, ya feel me? And bro, protein is like, the holy grail of gainz. That's the fuel for them epic protein farts, man! Rock on, get that fuel, unleash the beast!" As if on cue, he lets out a fart. Shit, that stinks. Erik laughs. And farts too. Shit, didn't he actually want to study piano? At the conservatory in Boston? Strange behavior for a pianist….

Ryder tells us to wait a minute. He runs into the cafeteria and comes back with four fresh cold bottles of beer. Shit, yes, the beer tastes good. I take a deep swig. And…. BUUUUURP! Ryder and Erik are laughing uproariously. Brayden looks irritated. And I reply ""Yo, it's gonna be, like, forever until those protein farts are unleashed. So, a real dude just gotta let out a mega burp, bro!" Erik and Ryder give me a high five. And Ryder says that he's about to lead us to the source of all protein farts.

You can smell the gym changing rooms before you see them. Erik and I take a deep breath. Brayden holds the sleeve of his jacket in front of his nose. "Yo, bro, it looks like we're getting closer to your second home, huh, Ryder? Watch out for the vibes!" says Erik. Ryder does a double bicep pose and says that Erik can fucking take it. Poor Brayden is standing right next to Ryder. His nose is basically right in the sweaty bush in Ryder's armpit. "Dang, I forgot my gear for the gym! I'm totally itching to pump some iron, man." comes out of his mouth. "Dude, no worries, at our next stop we'll totally score something way cooler for you to rock." says Ryder. "Yo, dude, spit it again - what's your name, pumpin' pal?" Braydon copies Ryder's double bicep pose. I didn't think he had muscles like that. "Yo, my dudes, I'm Beau, like, duh, isn't it obvious? I mean, come on, who else could it be, right? Beau in the hizzouse, representin' like a boss!" The two of them do a chest bump. Erik and I actually look at each other a little enviously. I mean, everyone wants to be best mates with Ryder, the hottest guy on campus.

"Yo, dudes, head to the most lit spot on the whole campus. And watch out! If you think it already smells like sweat and musk, you haven't seen anything yet!" We walk across the student parking lot towards the football field. Past my baby. Ryder raises his eyebrows appreciatively and says that you rarely see cars this cool here. I pose proudly: "Geez, check out this 410 horsepower beast with eight cylinders and 581 Newton meters of torque! My 6.7-liter monster needs that kind of power too. Rocking full leather interior, a massive 12-inch touchscreen infotainment system, and a killer 750-watt sound system with 17 Harman Kardon speakers. Damn, could never roll in a hybrid after this!" Ryder gives me a chest bump too. Shit, I'm in the club!

Erik thaws out when we're finally in the changing rooms of the football stadium. He takes a deep breath. "Yo, peeps! You feelin' me on this? This smell is like pure home vibes, amirite?" he says. Ryder points to the pile of dirty laundry in the corner. "Yo, dudes, wanna toss some balls around? Let's get our sporty vibes on and slay the game with our rad skills! Let's flex our muscles and show off our mad throwing game. Let's get that adrenaline pumping and have a blast on the field. It's gonna be lit, so don't miss out, fam! Let's do this!" He really doesn't have to say that twice. In no time at all, we're undressed and rummaging naked through our clothes for something to pass. Erik deliberately lets his cock swing for a very long time before putting it into an XXL urine and cum yellow jockstrap. Dude, that boy would make horses jealous! And he can impress Ryder. Out onto the pitch and with a well-directed throw he chases the ball the length of the pitch through the goal. Four-chest bump! Shit, we all can't wait to play for the college team!

"Yo homies, any more burning questions for your boy? The sickest crew on campus is definitely mine - Alpha Phi Alpha, baby! Don't stress, you guys are total Alpha bros, so of course you'll get in. If you're down, we're throwing a lit party at the frat house tonight. Crash on the couch if you want, solo, duo, trio… whatever floats your boat. Just remember, never make eye contact, that's like, no homo!" Beau asks where he can get a cold beer now. Rick has a mega boner. And I can't wait to suck him off right away. Unless Ryder beats me to it. Shit, I'm so proud to be a business major at the University of Kansas on the Overland campus. My dad will be even prouder.

"Yo, so you wanna join the sickest crew of all the raddest universities in the damn USA?" I love the information days on campus. Lots of hot fresh meat. And the premium meat belongs to Alpha Phi Alpha, just like us! "Yo, peep this dude with the sickest Mullet ever, that's my bro Beau. And check out the fiery buff dude over there, that's Rick, the top quarterback of the football squad for real. I'm Cletus, and we 'bout to show y'all the raddest spots on campus. But first, in honor of the hottest dude to ever grace this campus, let's crack open a cold one." We take a big sip. And burp "Ryder" loudly!

[sp-by-april]

Dying To Know - 01. A Quiet Place

Okay, so this is a slasher/yandere fic. It's also like, the first chapter and mostly laying the groundwork for everything to come.

It's Eric, Kenny, Kyle, Stan x F!Reader. No Smut this chapter, but I promise we will get there. 😭

Summary: There's a slasher on the loose and students at South Park High are being taken out one by one. You're at the center of it all, and it doesn't help that each of your four best friends is acting weird.

[Chapter Two] [Read on Ao3] [South Park Master Lists]

Heidi Turner was scared. She’d been stalking – No, investigating The New Girl again. Heidi followed her home as she walked with Stan, Kenny, Kyle and Eric. They were completely stupid about that chick, constantly following her around like fresh hatchlings that imprinted on the wrong creature. It made Heidi sick.

They walked her home, argued about walking her home – who said what, who touched her where or too much – and then they split up. Eric headed to his place, Kyle and Stan to the Broflovski’s and Kenny to… wherever the fuck of several places Kenny liked roam to instead of going home.

She considered approaching Kyle first, but she went to Eric instead.

“The New Girl isn’t what you think,” Heidi pleaded with him, but Eric waved her off.

He called her a jealous psycho and it made Heidi’s blood boil. She stalked home and fumed the whole way. As she stepped onto her front porch, Heidi heard a familiar chime from her purse. It was a text message. She pulled out her cell, (a trendy, freshly purchased LG Chocolate) and opened the text.

It said only two words: Come back.

She rolled her eyes. It was 2006 and cell service was supposedly improving but the shit was still consistently spotty in Park County. Of course she didn’t get the text until she was already home, that was just her luck.

Heidi turned around and headed back to Eric’s.

🕐 🕕 🕚

High school is tough for everyone, but I had an especially rough junior year. My father died, and my mother moved us back to her hometown. I think it was a comfort thing for her. It was a bumfuck place in some flyover state that I’d only ever been a few times to visit extended family members that I never liked or cared about.

South Park, Colorado. There were two temperatures, cold and colder. Almost everything was covered in a layer of melting ice that somehow never finished thawing. Snow crunched under my heels like skeletons of the friends I left behind.

Once we moved, my mother completely checked out. I was pretty much left to fend for myself. The whole thing was overwhelming. Luckily, I ended up with a group of new friends.

Eric Cartman was…. Weird. I thought the guy hated me most of the time. He would always make subtle digs about my family, something I said, or an item of clothing I was wearing. It took an embarrassingly long time for me to realize that he was pretty much negging me. I couldn’t escape the guy, either. He was in most of my classes and for whatever reason if there was a group project, we always got paired up. At first, I only put up with him because I liked his other friends so much.

Stan Marsh was hot in an obvious way. Great body. Started a band called Crimson Dawn and they played gigs regularly. He had this kind of tortured artist vibe that I really dug. He reeked of inner turmoil, you know what I mean? I was always a sucker for that kind of thing.

I got close to Stan first, and fast. He would walk me to class. Eat lunch with me. Invite me to shows. It was actually at one of his bands shows that I started getting close to Kenny.

Kenny McCormick was an interesting guy. Obviously, I saw him around school and knew him through Stan, but he was surprisingly social. He got along well with everyone. One night we got drunk and just talked about how much our parents sucked. He was so easy to talk to and he’s a really funny guy. I like him a lot. As I got to know him more, I realized that one of the things that made Kenny special was that he had secrets. I tried not to pry too much

As a matter of fact, all the guys were pretty easy to get to know.

Except for Kyle.

Kyle Broflovski was kind of an enigma at first. A basketball player at the top of his classes. He didn’t start fights, but he’d finish them. He had a bold streak that I really admired. I don’t know what his deal was, but it seemed like he had kind of a wall built up. He was hard for me to get to know at first. I always felt awkward around him.

Which sucked, because I was crushing really hard.

I always thought Eric would be the one keeping me out of the friend group, but from what I heard, the resistance came from Kyle. It was a huge blow to my ego.

I’m not trying to brag when I tell you this, but I’m a pretty girl and I’ve never really had trouble when it comes to guys. Attention from men is so easy to come by, it’s practically worthless… You know what I mean?

But Kyle was withholding. It just made me crush harder.

Once I was informally part of the friend group, I didn’t fit in like a missing puzzle piece or whatever poetic metaphor that would’ve completed the fantasy… It was more like we were all a bunch of feral dogs that latched onto each other for safety while we navigated the perils of young adulthood.

When senior year started, things were pretty normal. It was our first day of our last year and I was at the bus stop with the guys. Stan was smoking a cigarette and Kenny was unsuccessfully trying to get him to share. Eric was ranting about something some celebrity said, while Kyle and I were doing our best to ignore him. I was wearing an unseasonably short skirt with a comically large sweater. The leaves were crunching under my maryjanes while I did a dance familiar to any girl who once pretended she wasn’t freezing her ass off for the sake of being cute.

Then I heard something. Like screaming. It was coming towards us.

Kyle exchanged a look with me, and Kenny’s head shot up. Stan glanced around. Eric finally got the memo but by then we all saw him.

Butters was running right for us, yelling something indecipherable. 

By the time he reached us, he was panting so much that we still couldn’t understand him.

“Hyhe!,” Butters panted as he bent over and rested his palms on his knees, “Hyhee’s gone,”

Eric frowned at him, “Try it again, but this time say it in English,”

“She’s dead” Butters continued and we all understood that.

Kyle took a step towards him, “Who’s dead?

Butters looked up, his eyes darting between Kyle and Eric, “...Heidi Turner,”

It was like the oxygen had been sucked right out of the atmosphere. I only knew Heidi because we were both on the A-Squad in Cheer, but I guess her ties to my friends ran a lot deeper. 

I’d been in town six months, but I still had a lot to learn about everyone. 

The bus ride to school was illuminating. I sat in between Stan and Kenny. Eric and Kyle sat in front of us. Neither of them said a word. Every student around us was buzzing, discussing Heidi’s death and theorizing about the hows and whys.

“It’s a twisted mess,” Stan said quietly as his eyes rolled to the sky, “She bounced back and forth between them for like two years,”

Kenny put his arm around my shoulder and his mouth hovered over my ear, “Until you showed up,” 

“Weird coincidence,” I said, tugging at the hem of my sweater.

“Maybe,” Stan lifted Kenny’s arm off of me and he leaned back against the seat, “Maybe not,”

My eyes narrowed, “What the hell does that mean?”

Stan sighed and shook his head.

Kenny’s head tilted as he looked at me, “You’ve gotta kn–”

“Shut up,” Stan groaned.

Kenny frowned and did just that.

He crossed his arms and we were as silent for the rest of the ride as Eric and Kyle were.

I know it was selfish, but I was frustrated. I had only just started making headway with Kyle and now his ex-girlfriend had to go and die. It’s kind of the worst time in the History of Everything to ask a guy out.

When we all piled out of the bus Principal Victoria was there. She pulled aside Eric, Kyle…. And me.

We sat in her office with Sergeant Yates. It was the most awkward I ever felt in my life. To make things worse, I couldn’t figure out why I was there. I was sure there had to be some mistake.

There wasn’t.

Cartman crossed his arms, “Look – Heidi died and we all knew her. We don’t need a counseling session,”

Kyle slumped back in his chair and agreed with Eric for once, “He’s right,”

Yates looked between the three of us, “No talking,”

Kyle’s face twisted up and I could tell he was resisting the urge to push back. Honestly, so was I.

The door opened and Detective Murphy’s head popped into the room, “Okay, we’ve got the cheerleaders,”

Yates pointed to me, “Take this one,”

“Is she the one–”

“Yeah,” Yates gestured for me to stand and I obeyed.

Murphy had a distinct grimace on his face as I walked towards him. His facial expression combined with the way they talked about me didn’t inspire confidence.

Waiting in the hall were my other squad members, Nichole Daniels, Bebe Stevens and our captain, Wendy Testaburger. We followed the Detective to our counselor’s office. We stood around for like a half hour and he ushered us outside and into a police van. 

They drove us down to the station and finally brought us into an interrogation room.

I sat next to Bebe and tried to ignore her as she pulled a nail file out of her purse and went to work. Nichole looked at me nervously, “Do they think we’re suspects?” “I doubt it,” Wendy said emphatically, “We still have all our belongings”

Wendy was right. They would’ve taken our backpacks and purses, but they didn’t. So what did that mean?

We waited for what felt like hours until Yates could come back to the station and talk to us. He wasn’t alone – He’d brought our parents.

He looked between us nervously, “I’m gonna cut to the chase. Heidi Turner was murdered,”

Gasps, groans and a heavy air of fear fell over the room like a shroud.

“What’s this got to do with our daughters?” Mrs. Daniels said, “Surely you don’t think they’re capable–“

“We think they could be the next victims,” He continued.

Dead silence.

“We can’t divulge too much information on a current case but we found trinkets belonging to each of you, scribblings that appeared to be satanic – and an obsession with one of you in particular,”

“Who?” Mr. Testaburger asked.

Yates pointed directly at me. 

My mother was aghast. He gave no more details. He just told our parents to lock us down, and to get out of town if we had the means. ‘Think of it like a short vacation,’ I think were the words he used. Then he sent us home. 

None of us went back to school that day.

It didn’t matter, because about an hour later the students at South Park High were informed that the day had been cut in half and they were going home. About an hour after that, word started to spread that there would be a county-wide mandatory curfew for anyone under 18.

It was about another hour after that that I heard something tapping at my window.

I had been staring at my bedroom ceiling listening to the new Yeah Yeah Yeahs album, just rotting in bed. I hopped up and struggled to open the misshapen window. Once I had it up I saw the guys standing below me. Stan waved, Kenny grinned and dropped a handful of pebbles to the ground, Eric gave me a dismissive nod and Kyle had his back to the house.

I hung half way out the window so I could talk to them without my mother hearing, “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t hear?” Stan blinked as he looked up at me, “They canceled school,”

“The real question is what’re you still doing up there?” Kenny asked.

“You didn’t hear?” I playfully mocked Stan’s previous tone, “I’m on lock down,”

Kyle turned around and looked up at me. I think my heart skipped a beat as he stepped towards my window. I had an instant fantasy in my head of him climbing up the trellis.

“Do they think you’re in danger?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I glanced away from him as I sheepishly admitted the truth, “Apparently they found some creepy shrine to me or something,”

The guys all exchanged a series of looks. I thought I caught most of it, but honestly a lot of their short-hand still went over my head. 

Kyle frowned at Kenny. Kenny shook his head and then looked up at me, “When’s your mom leaving?”

“Twenty minutes give or take,” I shrugged, “Assuming she doesn’t catch you guys out here,”

Stan nodded. Kenny saluted. Kyle turned back around and Eric followed suit. I’d never seen those two so in sync. 

What a weird fuckin’ day.

It was about to get a lot weirder.

[lu-dao-writes]

— 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 (𝙃𝙪𝙖 𝘾𝙝𝙚𝙣𝙜)

꒰ྀི 🥀ˎˊ˗ 𝙎𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨 He loves you not.

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) Spoilers, cheating, hurt no comfort, HC’s unapologetic devotion for XL in front of you, rough sex, HC is not so great in this one, jealousy, gn!reader, mention of using sex as a coping mechanism, minimum editing.

𝘼/𝙉 I’m getting back into my danmei lmaoo. It’s nice to also post short pieces since I’ve been burnt out with long projects. So also I’m aware of the whole statute scene, but I didn’t go into depth because I’m not that far🥲. But I also appreciate all the likes I’ve gotten on my TGCF stuff! Also uh… This definitely also gave me vibes. Idek if the song works completely but it’s 🥵MINORS/AGELESS DNI! ⋆💔˚｡⋆ ྀི꒱

Edited 01/24/24: I made a whoopsie on the timeline. I mistaken chapters and pages like a dummy 😅😅. Holy balls I’m sorry y’all🤣.

Never did you imagine catching the Huā Chéng’s attention nor having his good graces.

You are nothing but a simple god in the heavens. Nothing highly praised, but important enough to be recognized and worshiped.

Of course you kept your meetings a secret and you enjoyed every small moment you had with him, after all, he is a very busy man, one of the four calamities in the ghost realm. You understand the workload.

You love him though with all his perfect and imperfections.

But…

You noticed a change as of late, and it all started when crown prince Xiè Lián arrived in the heavens for the third time apparently.

You knew very little of him initially, but you gathered the opinions of others due to the nasty things that were spewed from one mouth to another.

Obviously this wouldn’t do, so you opted to help him with the case in Mount Yujun, and you weren’t alone. Two “junior” officials also join you as well, and though they’re incredibly amusing, they’re also a headache as usual.

Anyways. While on this mission Xiè Lián was anything but what was being said in the heavens by the other gods. He’s incredibly humble, kind, has strong morals, and is charitable. A perfect friend to have in your life.

You don’t pry into his history, and you can tell he’s appreciative of that.

Once the mission is over with you come to your own conclusion and don’t regret it. You planned to even come visit him and help him out at his shrine until that familiar presence has you frozen in place.

What is Huā Chéng doing here..?

You left before you could be detected, fleeing back to your little palace and drowning yourself in your duties while unwillingly being stuck in your thoughts as well.

As days go by you note that when your beloved finally comes to you, it’s after his highness returns from another mission…

Huā Chéng is overwhelmed with emotions, that much is obvious when he grabs you so tight, his body tense and shoulders trembling just faintly.

His turmoil distracts you from your unsteady heart and you offer to remedy his burdens by being the one to lovingly service him.

But he turns your offer down.

Instead he resorts to his usual, just putting you on your hands and knees and then making you ride him with your back facing him when he grows tired of doing the work.

You’ve… Never had too much of a problem with this, the positions always hitting you deeply in those special, toe curling spots, and honestly he fucks you dumb to the point you got no thoughts.

But this didn’t soothe your paranoia, and you weren’t sure how to bring it up to him.

So you resort to soothing yourself.

‘It’s just insecurity. I’m just blowing it out of proportion.. Huā Chéng loves me.’

It only works for so long.

After that night Huā Chéng became distant again and soon did the unthinkable.

He snatched Xiè Lián from his palace where he was made to be confined in, and made a nice little show about it in the communication array.

You were dazed and hurt, not sure what his plans were and why he’s so infatuated with Xiè Lián. You weren’t sure if he wanted to hurt him or…

Or…

Your chest is heavy, but you push through and go with Fēng Xìn and Mù Qíng to find the runaway duo.

In the end, you wished to have just stayed tucked away in your palace, distracting yourself with your work for a moment longer than seeing this .

There’s many.. Many statues of Xiè Lián, all depicting a specific moment in his and Huā Chéng’s lifetime, or just because Huā Chéng wants another beautiful image of the crown prince.

It’s sick and painful. Your body trembling and your mind sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss that’s your proven thoughts.

Some can say it’s romantic.. Other can say it’s creepy. Pick your poison. But you felt humiliated above all else. It makes you question whether your relationship was even real this entire time.

When Huā Chéng makes his sudden appearance, he doesn’t even look ashamed, his attention and concern solely on Xiè Lián.

When you finally managed to leave Ghost City, like usual, you locked yourself away and finally exploded, taking your anger out on some of your furniture before sobbing on the cold floor, nothing but the shadows on the wall to comfort you in your grief.

All along Huā Chéng has been devoted to and in love with Xiè Lián.

The times you’ve had sex you’re sure he’s imagined him in your place.

In the meantime you were just something to keep him occupied until he had his chance.

You felt used and foolish and you had a tidal wave of resentment for Huā Chéng at his callousness.

And unfortunately you couldn’t help but have a little resentment for Xiè Lián…

You only distanced yourself from him and his party of growing allies, ignoring the hurt in his eyes when you brush him off, and ignoring him when he came to your palace asking for you and checking on you.

Your bitterness was just too immense.

You assume that no one knows still about you and your one sided relationship with Huā Chéng, otherwise you’re sure your doors would’ve been blown open and you’d be dragged into court for an interrogation by now.

Huā Chéng has yet to face you, and it hurts, but you’re not surprised either. You’re sure you’re not going to get an apology either.

Love truly can be a curse…

But for now you’ll let yourself mourn and stew in your anger. You’ll throw a small pity party for yourself and be a little destructive.

“Hi…! I know it’s late and this is completely random, but is that offer still available…?”

“Of course, come right on in~.”

You only hope that Péi Míng doesn’t pry too much…

[ravenqueensspecialboi]

I feel like people have heard about the time Bram Stoker sent his tinder bio to Walt Whitman but haven’t actually read the tinder bio so in honor of Dracula Daily’s return (and me finding my copy of Dracula that actually had the correspondence between Bram Stoker and Walt Whitman), here’s Bram Stoker’s pass at Walt Whitman:

I am not Shelley and you are not Godwin and so I will only hope that sometime I may meet you face to face and perhaps shake hands with you If I ever do it will be one of the greatest pleasures of my life. If you care to know who it is that writes this, my name is Abraham Stoker (Junior). My friends call me Bram. I live at 43 Harcourt St, Dublin. I am a clerk in the service of the Crown on a small salary. [’How did I get the impression that he was still in college?’] I am twenty-four years old. Have been champion at our athletic sports (Trinity College, Dublin) and have won about a dozen cups. I have also been President of the College Philosophical Society and an art and theatrical critic of a daily paper. I am six feet two inches high and twelve stone weight naked and used to be forty-one or forty-two inches round the chest. I am ugly but strong and determined and have a large bump over my eyebrows. I have a heavy jaw and a big mouth and thick lips - sensitive nostrils - a snubnose and straight hair. I am equal in temper and cool in disposition and have a large amount of self control and am naturally secretive to the world. I take a delight in letting people I don’t like - people of mean or cruel or sneaking or cowardly disposition - see the worst side of me. I have a large number of acquaintances and some five or six friends - all of which latter body care much for me. Now I have told you all I know about myself. [’And a mighty graphic picture it is too: I seem to see you not as in a glass darkly but as in the broad day lightly: I do, I do!’]

Bram Stoker originally penned this in 1872, but only sent it to Walt Whitman along with a second letter in 1876 after attending a meeting at Dublin’s Fortnightly Club, where he had, in his words, participated in a “hot debate” over Whitman’s poetic “genius”

[zot3-flopped]

Reading that article from the sunday times and just gagging:

"Upstairs, in a corner room, was where she asked for three books to be read and five songs to be played to her every night",

"According to family friends they drove a Chevrolet Suburban — an SUV fit for the secret service — sent Christmas cards showing their impressive holidays and brought their daughter’s pony to school for show and tell.",

"The family would also give teachers the keys to their holiday home as a thank-you present.",

"They had a hot tub on the patio, a jetty with a boat from which they waterskiied and two jet skis. They were also members of the sailing club.",

"“When Taylor was young, the family came over for dinner and the kids were all swimming,” Hand says. “They [Swift’s parents] asked me if I had the Disney channel and I said no. There was some country singer on that was Taylor’s idol — and so they got up and they left.”,

"Her father, Scott, now 72, grew up nearby. He was a financial adviser at the investment firm Merrill Lynch. Swift’s mother, Andrea, now 66, was a marketing executive born into a wealthy family who grew up between Singapore and Houston, Texas. Andrea’s father was the president of a construction company, her mother an opera singer.",

"A third-generation banker and former radio salesman, he updated them on which songs she had cut (I am told he spent $10,000 on building her a recording studio at their home); which singles were coming out next (by the age of 15, Taylor had a record deal with a company in which Scott had bought a 3 per cent stake); where she was touring (he had bought Cher’s former tour bus for her); and the awards for which she needed votes.",

"During the long, hot summer days Swift would walk through town, her guitar slung across her back, much to the judgment of the local girls.",

"Swift gave out wallet-sized photos of herself as Sandy to the kids in the years below her at school",

"Her notebook, he claims, was filled with pages of her own autograph.",

"Many, however, thought she was “a bit of a brat”, from the moneyed side of town and modelling clothes for Abercrombie & Fitch. At 16, Swift bought a Lexus SC430 convertible, the car driven by Regina George, the meanest girl in Mean Girls.",

"Swift made an entrance when she first arrived at Hendersonville High School, says a former classmate, telling people she was going to be a star. “We kind of rolled our eyes because, being in Nashville, we hear that a lot,” she says. “It was just such a strong statement for someone of that age.”

Underdog who??? Tbh it's not just TS being obnoxious, rich, spoiled brat flaunting her wealth left and right, it's her entire immediate family.

“There were times when, in middle school and junior high, I didn’t have a lot of friends,” she told the Great American Country network in 2008." damn, I wonder why. /s

Classic nepo baby.

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

~*~

1. Itmf the warmest, comfiest wangxian fics that feel like snuggling up next to the fire with a blanket and a cup of cocoa/tea. @vi-sky

🧡 paint smears on sunny days by SnowshadowAO3 (E, 53k, WangXian, Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Everyone Is Alive, Modern AU, Dadji, Mutual Pining, Happy Ending, Brief Alcohol Mention, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Accidentally co-parenting with your son's art teacher, Fatherhood)

The Art of Communication by mrcformoso (G, 4k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Meet-Cute, Engineering Student WWX, Music Student LWJ, Swimmer WWX, Martial Artist LWJ, POV Outsider, POV WWX, POV LWJ, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Communication Issues, But Wanxian Makes it Work, LWJ has limited words, WWX has too many words, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Love Languages, Requited Love)

box your errors by mellowflicker (T, 42k, WangXian, Modern AU, single dad lwj,   Domestic Fluff, Family Issues, Slow Burn, Kid Fic, let lwj have friends agenda, Hurt/Comfort, Pining)

Worship you till morning comes by feyburner (E, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, Meet-Cute, First Dates, First Time, Fluff, Kissing, Hand Jobs, Falling In Love)

I know what my heart wants  by yakuso5u (Not Rated, 28k, WangXian, Modern AU, Single Father LWJ,   Fluff, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Accidental Child Acquisition, Domestic, Slice of Life, Christmas references)

Many happy returns. by orange_crushed (E, 25k, WangXian, Modern AU, Mistaken Identity, Misunderstandings, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Parent(s), Implied/Referenced Suicide, Past Suicide of a Parent, References to Depression, Anxiety, Therapy, References to Anti-Depressant Medications, Escort Service, Loneliness, Everybody’s Abandonment Issues, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Moving In Together, Oral Sex, Penetrative Sex, Hopeful Ending, Recovery, References to Escorting/Sex Work but No Actual Escorting/Sex Work)

can you feel it by lanzhancore (E, 5k, WangXian, Modern AU, Awkward Sexual Situations, Established Relationship, Hospitals, Slice of Life, Fluff and Humor, Idiot Lovers, Crack Treated Seriously)

I'll buy you the moon (I'll buy you two) by Thesaurus_with_no_words (E, 27k, WangXian, Science Fiction, Space, Rebels, Space Opera, On the Run, Promoted To Parent, Robots, Androids, Mechs, Battle Mechs, Hurt/Comfort, Technopathy, Willful and Deliberate Baby and Wife Acquisition, Porn With Plot, Mpreg)

~*~

2. Itmf wangxian fics where a) sizhui saves WWX b) best big brother nie mingjue and c) the lans take in WWX and are super supportive (similar to Where is home? and Stunted, Starving Juvenility)

2A)

Would You Come Home? by s6115 (Not Rated, 46k, WangXian, Family Feels, good uncle JC, Canon Divergence, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Junior Quartet, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It)

~*~

3. hello! i would like to know if there are new wangxian mpreg fics especially pregnant wwx, please!

The Legend of Moonflower by JJSIN2020 (E, 94k, wangxian, 3zun, A/B/O, Emperor LWJ, LWJ FUCKS, he has a whole harem of male omegas so of course he does, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Beta LXC, Omega JC, Omega XY, Omega XXC, omega SS, Omega OYZZ, Beta NHS, Mpreg, Wolves, Angst with a Happy Ending, Imperial China, Character Death, Fighting, Blood, WIP)

My Heart is a Cavern of Longing, Please come home? by LadyVamp (E, 50k, wangxian, rape/non-con, graphic depictions of violence, A/B/O, Non-Traditional A/B/O Dynamics, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, Bitch WWX, Forced Marriage, Accidental Baby Acquisition, YLLZ WWX, Oblivious WWX, wangxian Get a Happy Ending, Forced Bonding, Forced Pregnancy, Depressed WWX, Sex In A Cave, Uncontrolled heats, JZX Lives, Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Pining, LSZ is a Ray of Sunshine, Child LJY, LJY is WangXian's son, alpha to omega, Unplanned Pregnancy, Pregnant WWX, Mpreg)

The best kept secrets (taste the sweetest) by h0peless_oblivion (T, 13k, wangxian, A/B/O, Canon Divergence, Mpreg, Unplanned Pregnancy, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Child LSZ, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Fluff, Angst, It's angsty for like 5 minutes then it's happy endings from here on out I swear, Secret Baby, Past pining while fucking, Happy Ending, WWX doesn’t lose his golden core, ossible SA (not between wangxian), Madam Lán Backstory, Good Uncle LQR, WIP)

there is a lantern shining dark (upon this winter's day) by AnnaAphrodite (T, 21k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LSZ & LWJ, LWJ & OFCs, major character death, Not Everyone Dies AU, Mpreg, A/B/O, Omega LWJ, Alpha WWX, Omega WQ, Beta WN, Pregnant LWJ, Implied Bottom LWJ, Supportive LQR, Supportive LXC, Good Uncle LQR, Good Older Sibling LXC, Good Uncle LXC, LWJ & NHS Friendship, LWJ & WQ Friendship, Thirteen Years of WWX's Death, Bitching, Minor arranged marriage between LXC and a female oc, LXC does have a slightly morally grey moment, but he means well)

~*~

4. ITMF canon era fics where wwx is:

A) Artist

B) musician

C) dancer @constellationdks

I'm here for recently ITMF post #4: thnx for all the suggestions but they are not what I'm looking for. In my post I said Canon era, all the fics suggested are modern.

4A)

🔒 Away from Trouble by Ilona22 (M, 15k, WangXian, Not Jiang Family Friendly, WangXian gets a happy ending)

A Life Without Regrets by naqaashi (M, 74k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Crack Treated Seriously, musical cultivation, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Murder Husbands, Happy Ending, PTSD, BAMF WWX, Cultivation Sect Politics, Worldbuilding, Módào Zǔshī & The Untamed Combination, No Yīn Iron, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Artist WWX, Musician WWX, Bad Parent JFM, Bad Parent YZY, Cultivation Theory, Sentient Burial Mounds, Dysfunctional Family, Grief/Mourning, Parent-Child Relationship, Angry WWX, Angst, No Golden Core Transfer, BAMF LWJ, Idiots in Love)

obscura: ink stain by AvoOwO (M, 20k, wangxian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Canon Divergence, Emotions, Heavy Angst, Painting, Temporary Amnesia, Drugs, Drug Use, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Drink Spiking, Victim Blaming, LWJ Has Feelings, LWJ Has a Crush, Soft wangxian, Holding Hands, Blood and Violence, Good Sibling JC, Protective JC, WWX is a Mess, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Politics, Protective LXC, Good Sibling LXC, Good Uncle LQR, LQR Tries, OCs, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, WWX Needs a Hug, someone gets punched a lot, LWJ contemplates murder for a moment, JC almost gets it done, not quite about romance, as much as romance elements there, more so about the small things, LWJ loves how WWX smells, some nasty things are said, WWX def needs a nap, he gets one dw, LQR Gets Shit Done, NHS Is A Little Shit, Scheming NHS)

( 不忘 | Don’t Forget by dragongirlG (E, 50k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Reincarnation, Fix-It of Sorts, Identity Porn, Social Media, Devotion, Reunions, Feelings, Family, Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Bondage, Names, References to Canon, Modern Era, Artist WWX, Sexual Content, Pining, POV Multiple, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note) is a canon/modern time travel fic with artist!wwx. )

the best of you by sysrae (E, 41k, WangXian, XuanLi, Modern AU, College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, slightly undernegotiated kink, but in a very soft and consensual way, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, JFM and Mdm yu's A+ parenting, Dysfunctional Family, Mental Health Issues, Reference to animal attacks/animal cruelty, descriptions of past violence)

For a Good Time, Call by ScarlettStorm (E, 170k, WangXian, Modern AU, Getting Together, Pining, Porn, like in the writing and also as a plot point, onlyfans au, repressed LWJ, sex worker WWX, Minor Angst, major shenanigans, Background ChengQing, background NieLan, background XuanLi, Nonbinary NHS) photographer and sex worker

To See You (Again) by FrameofMind, Jo Lasalle (Jo_Lasalle) (E, 84k, WangXian, Modern AU, London, No Magic AU, lan zhan FUCKS, But Like Bottomji Fucks, Friends to Lovers, Self-Discovery, Pining, Grindr, Light Bondage, mild D/s themes, Experienced LWJ, Less Experienced WWX, straight boy wwx)

adoration by Lunarieen (T, 12k, WangXian, Modern AU, Artist/Model AU, Childhood Friends, Sensuality, Hurt/Comfort, Reconciliation, Art as Love Language, Character Study, Friends to Lovers, Gender Exploration, a little bit of dissociation)

4B)

Across the street to another life by danegen (M, 99k, WangXian, Modern AU, unleashed au, Family Fluff, Set in America, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Addiction, Crime, Amnesia, Ableist Language, another fridged mother, POV Alternating, past wwx/ofc, past wwx/omc, Medium parent YZY, A-Yuan is wwx's biological son, Musicians, Happy Ending)

When the Lights Come Up by brooklinegirl (E, 50k, WangXian, background 3Zun, Notting Hill AU, Modern AU, famous WWX/non famous LWJ, Break ups and make ups, Musician WWX, bookseller LWJ)

4C)

A Flower in Bloom (or Wei Wuxian Crashes a Party) by UmbrellaMartialGod (E, 30k, wangxian, Post-Canon, Crossdressing, Humor, Fluff and Smut, Established Relationship, Festivals, Dancer WWX, Insecurity, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Porn with Feelings, mild possessive behavior)

The Darkness Before Dawn by PsycheStellata707 (M, 113k, wangxian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, BAMF WWX, Attempt at Humor, PTSD, Oblivious WWX, WWX-centric, Blind WWX, Sentient Burial Mounds, Everyone Lives AU, Except Those Who Deserves to Die, Oblivious Pining, Not Canon Compliant, WIP)

4c dancer wwx fic: canon era wwx is raised by a group of traveling performers. I believe he was a fan dancer and possibly a musician as well

notes on a scene by wishingswell (M, 27k, WangXian, Modern AU, Ballet, Fluff)

space, skin, muscle, bone by tombenough_and_continent (T, 23k, WangXian, Modern AU, Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake, Non-Linear Narrative, Dance, Background SongXiao, background NieLan, a surprising amount of texting, gratuitous use of ballet terminology)

Falling to the Rhythm by Selenay (E, 128k, WangXian, Modern: No Powers, Dance, Strictly Come Dancing Fusion, Ballroom Dancing, Dancer!WWX, Violinist LWJ, Pining While Dancing, Oblivious WWX, Gratuitous Costume Descriptions, Gratuitous dancing descriptions, Slow Burn, [Podfic] Falling to the Rhythm by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona))

Unstrictly Ballroom by Ariaste (T, 47k, WangXian, SongXiao, Modern AU, Everyone's alive, the gang defeats systemic heteronormativity, Stripper AU, competitive ballroom dance AU, really stupid misunderstandings, Yearning, Mutual Pining, the wrist grab, lwj makes a friend (who isn't wwx!), modern au but it's still set in Fantasy China (Gusu/Yiling/Lanling) rather than Real China, LWJ's pov, Erotic Handholding)

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5. Heyy ! I am in the mood for a fic where lan zhan is a therapist ! (wether wx is his patient or not isn’t relevant ) thank youuuu @sebyyw

Deep Dive by MimiSpearmint (E, 24k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Modern AU, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Feels, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng are Bad at Communicating, LWJ is a Panicked Gay, Therapy, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending, Career Ending Injuries, counsellor!lwj, background NieLan, Melbourne, Eventual Smut, Crack, Baby JL, domestic abuse is discussed but does not happen, Baby LSZ, Baby LJY, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Good Sex Practices, Implied Slight D/s, WangXian Have a Breeding Kink, Cameos by various minor characters)

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6. hi! i would like to know if you know any fics where

A) someone goes off about how demonic cultivation is dangerous/immoral etc and gets their argument refuted

B) wwx teaching other people demonic cultivation

C) kind of an overlap between the two above, but any fic where wwx considers demonic cultivation worth pursuing even after the book's end/has some pride towards his accomplishments of creating it @chellsky

6A)

Cradle by Dragonesque (T, 196k, WIP, Canon Divergenc, Adopted children, Yiling Wei Sect, BAMF WWX) For #6 a & b, forgetting the name but it's super long ao3 qiongqi path au, for want of a nail, Jin zixuan lives and wwx gets hurt. Accidental yilingwei sect. Wwx gives a bunch of wen's the wei surname, it was inspired by a 2ch incomplete fic. Anyone know what I'm talking about? / I think 6A OP is talking about is Cradle by Dragonesque on AO3?

6B)

no one ever said the single-plank bridge had to be walked alone by rosemu (T, 124k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Yílíng Wèi Sect au, Fix-It, Not Everyone Dies, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, Fluff, Angst, Domestic Fluff, Canon-Typical Violence, Found Family, Slow Burn, LWJ and WWX get to be Dads together, the healing power of homoerotic flute/guqin duets, Happy Ending) WWX takes on MXY & XY as disciples

Death of a Ghost by Gotcocomilk (E, 107k, WangXian, WWX & JL, Canon Divergence, Ghost WWX, Hurt/comfort, Family bonding, Fluff, Angst) if I remember correctly, has ghost!WWX teaching mxy demonic cultivation

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7. I’m in the mood to read a great many things, but I’d really appreciate it if you could do a rec list of fics where wwx gets to flex being a talisman master/a badass with talismans(knowingly or not) or an updated list for Immortal Lan Wanji x either reincarnated wwx or also immortal wwx. I feel like generally the first just isn’t tagged and that I’ve already read all the good ones under the other.

Btw, I’m not asking for both unless you want to compile both. Just whichever list sounds more fun to make/ find fics for.

Help expanding my library would be very much appreciated.🙏 @omgnectarina

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8. If you do find this fic, would you also recommend something in this similar theme? LWJ doing things for family and not being happy and LQR finds out and regrets his actions? @lailan-rosie (last part from a FF)

Tempo Rubato by Spodumene (E, 107k, WangXian, Modern AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Romance, Persuasion au, Separations, Mutual Pining, Depression, Miscommunication, Emotional Roller Coaster, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Reconciliation, Eventual Smut, Jane Austen Fusion, Underage Kissing)

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9. Hiiiiiiiiii, How are you guys?

Im in the mood for a modern au fic where lwj and wwx are in a committed relationship but break up due to wwx over-committment to the wens or jiangs. It can be because they dont get to spend enough time together or its taking a toll on wwx and they fight about it. Whatever it is - i want wwx to be the one who realises things and has to make amends. Happy endings ofcourse.

I have seen many fics along this plot line BUT lwj is always the one apologizing and putting in the extra effort to be accommodating. It might just be me but i dont think thats fair. So pleeeeeeease recommend some fics where wwx puts in the work to fix things

KILF (Knits I'd Like To Fuck in) by ScarlettStorm (E, 168k, wangxian, modern, sex work, fiber arts, 2nd in series) is a long fic but it has a fight at the end of chapter 17 which is related to WWX being overcommitted (partly to JWY, I guess), and he has to be the one to try and make that right. They don’t break up, but it is a significant fight.

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10. Hey! I’ve never really done one of these but figured I might as well give it a shot. I recall in one of your posts you recommended Stunted, Starving Juvenility. Long story short, I took it and ran away with it. Now I’m pleading for any similar Fics like Stunted Starving Juvenility (Preferably no slow burns unless it’s really good) @neverforgetyou-1

Silenced With A Kiss by NinjaKK (E, 120k, WIP, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Flirting, Teen Romance, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Soft WangXian, WWX in WWX’s Body, Secret Relationship, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Dates, Inventor WWX, Genius WWX, Canon Divergence, Protective LWJ, Protective WWX, Ripple Effect, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Optional Smut, Supportive LWJ, BAMF WWX, Inappropriate Use of Gūsū Lán Forehead Ribbon, Has an Angry LWJ Kink)

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11. heyyy sorry for bothering you guys. itmf for more fics like Concord by deastar (currently in the angsty mood, specifically wwx feeling sad) thank you for your hard work! @aquiver-heart

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12. In the mood for fics where either lwj/ wwx is something akin to butler in A) canon era/ canonverse B) modern or 19XXs or future ✨

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13. Hi! Any fanfic about junior shenanigans saw how scary wwx is? (Especially when they saw the Yiling Laozu Era)

Thank you so much! @just-for-browsing-stuffs

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14. Itmf fics where person X is " as long as I'm here, no one can hurt you... " To person Y

A) X= lwj and Y= wwx

B) X= wwx and Y= jc and/or jyl

C) X is anyone, Y is wwx

Haha sorry for this format of asking, but I can't help it, I've been doing maths for hours now...

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15. Hello! For the next itmf I was looking for a fic where NHS asks WWX for help with NMJ’s saber cultivation problem and WWX manages to save him and prevent him from dying. Ideally with 3zun too but it’s fine if not. Thanks!

The Core Issue by Hauntcats (T, 21k, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Canon Divergence) It's WWX going to NHS asking for help, but otherwise fits the request

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16. First part added to a Finder post ~Mod L // Also I would like more fics where wwx has a tiger/lion, i don't mind it being modern

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17. I want to read Wangxian future series watching fanfiction. Can someone suggest me few fanfiction in these genre @abz18699-blog

Characters watching/reading their series fic comp

Reaction_fanfics collection Try Oracle of Pearl . It's Future Viewing series of Wangxian.

Wangxian: Oracle pearl by Abby18699 (G, 183k, WIP, Wang Xian, ChengQing, NieLan, XuanLi, Sunshot Campaign, Golden Core Reveal, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Future, Time Travel Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Güsü Lán Juniors Dynamics, JC Needs a Hug, Characters React to Fandom, Canon Divergence, Post-Canon, Pining LWJ, Soft LWJ, LWJ Needs a Hug, Inventor WWX, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Oblivious WWX, Characters watching future, Implied Mpreg)

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

[shadesofmauve]

It all fits: The asari as conservative capitalists

[Thanks to @swaps55, @comeoniwantacoolname, @shadoedseptmbr, and everyone else who contributed to this wild red-string-connecting ride. Don't know all the tumblr names]

The asari: galactic influencers known for elegance and diplomacy. The only full natural biotics, powerful, graceful, and attractive to everyone they meet. The species at the pinnacle of advanced biotic technology.

And holders of immense wealth, acquired over 1,000-year life spans spent playing capitalist chess with galactic society.

Yes, the asari are the most technologically advanced race in the galaxy, but they're not innovators. They're ahead because protheans masquerading as gods gave them hot civilization tips that equated to a millennia-long head-start. They're ahead of the rest, but they move slowly. Within a few centuries — well within the life-time of most asari living today — they'll lose that technological advantage. From asari board rooms to Thessian political think-tanks, this is seen as a looming disaster.

Thankfully for the asari, long life-spans also mean the opportunity to amass huge amounts of wealth. You don't need to be an innovator if you can hire the best minds in the galaxy and lock them under a brutal non-compete contract. Buy out the competition entirely if you can; if that won't work, steal their secrets. You know how the council prohibited genetic modification and AI research because of 'ethics' and 'galactic safety'? Those laws also just happened to effectively quash scientific study in two areas where the asari were already starting to lag behind.

Ever wonder why the volus,creators of the whole financial system, don't have a seat on the council!? Who would want to keep the people who understand financial systems away from power, if not the people who are successfully gaming that system?

The asari reputation as master negotiators is chalked up to experience, skill, and empathy, but the unspoken threat is their ability to stop any negotiation dead in it's tracks. They are the masters of stalling, stonewalling, and passive blockades. Other species might filibuster. An asari can walk away from the table and wait for you to die.

It may look like galactic civilization is a multi-species effort gracefully guided by wise elder asari. It's actually a bunch of shorter-lived species being held over a barrel by sexy blue Mitch McConnell.

Sure, their kids go out and dance at bars or get involved in mercenary groups. That's fine: other species tend to underestimate you when all they see is your trust-fund kids tearing it up on their decades-long spring break. And it's not that risky. Mamma can always buy junior's way into the best armor (or out of jail).

A vastly-longer life lends itself to even more unethical behavior, though. Y'know that super popular dating site? Did you know if you dig through the front companies it's asari-owned? Did you realize when you submitted your genetic profile to 'help find your perfect match using proprietary technology' you also signed away rights to your own genome? No, of course you didn't — the fine-print is forty-six pages long! Forty-six pages is nothing to an attorney with a thousand-year life span! And they REFUSE to share their matching algorithm. Why?! Because they're BREEDING US. They can choose the traits they want using your own genetic code, and only match you with mates likely to pass them on! It's not a service, it's eugenics via tindr. It doesn't matter if doing that via dating app is wildly inefficient; when you have 1,000 years inefficiency doesn't matter!

WAKE UP!!!!

[la-tour-de-babel]

Brodyr - Fiction : Human!AU

DISCLAIMER : Ceci est la première partie d'une série de OS, autour des frères Gibson. A savoir, Cambrien, dit Cormag, Gallois, dit Carwyn, et Cornique, dit Merryn. On est dans une version idéale où les trois frères sont en vie, et sont humains. Basiquement, donc, ce sera juste une série de petites scénettes, pour bien planter le décor, et étudier un peu les personnages de Cormag et Merryn- que je n'ai jamais écrit, ahah. Vous trouverez donc la suite dans les reblogs de ce post, au fur et à mesure. Le dessin que vous avez en début de post est évidemment une œuvre de @mimmixerenard !

PAIRINGS : Pour l'instant, SecretSignes seulement. Ca viendra avec le temps, quand les protagonistes ne seront plus des enfants. On ne shippe pas les enfants.

TRIGGERWARNING : Dans la première scène, description d'une crise d'angoisse, meltdown, shutdown. Harcèlement scolaire sous entendu. Je ne pense pas qu'il y ait de TW pour la deuxième partie, néanmoins.

----------------------------

C’est le son des rires qui l’attire, d’abord, dans le vestiaire du collège.

Cormag est lui-même d’une nature rieuse. Ses parents, toujours, lorsqu’ils parlent de lui à leurs différents amis, le présentent ainsi : ah ! Cormag ! Mais oui, c’est notre petit soleil. Toujours si souriant… il vous illumine toute une pièce vous savez. Tenez, le voilà. Et puis, immanquablement, on répondait quelque chose du genre, mais c’est vrai qu’il a l’air très sympathique. Quelle bonne tête !

Oui, Cormag est rieur, Cormag est sympathique. Il est de ceux qu’on qualifie aisément de Bon Pote. De ceux à qui on s’attache très vite. Qui est ami avec tout le monde, même les professeurs, qui connaît tout le monde, et qui aide tout le monde. Mais Cormag, aussi, prend de la place. Il est bruyant, souvent. Il parle beaucoup. Il sait écouter, mais il a souvent l’impression que les gens, tant fasciné par son apparence de Bon Pote, n’en ont pas vraiment pris conscience : on ne lui dit jamais rien d’important.

Ce qu’on dit à Cormag, c’est comment s’est passé le dernier week-end. C’est combien notre nouveau chiot est adorable. C’est les notes qu’on a eues, ou pas. C’est quel prof est une tête de con, et quel prof est ultra chill. Ce qu’on ne lui dit pas, c’est les vrais problèmes qu’on a. C’est les secrets Très Importants, pour tout ces enfants de onze à quinze ans. Cormag est un Bon Pote, voir un Très Bon Pote, mais ce n’est pas Le Meilleur Ami. Vous voyez, il parle beaucoup, Cormag, et il connaît tout le monde. Ce n’est pas le genre de personne à qui on veut confier ses Grands Secrets.

Cormag est le Bon Pote de tout le monde, et le Meilleur Ami de personne. Sauf, bien sûr, de ses deux petits frères : mais Carwyn et Merryn sont tout, tout petits, et si Cormag est évidemment flatté de se voir pilier des Très Grands Secrets des p’tits bouts de chou, ce n’est tout de même pas la même chose. Cormag n’est le Meilleur Ami de personne.

Et puis, vient aujourd’hui. Le son des rires, dans les vestiaires du gymnase. En temps normal, Cormag est déjà naturellement attiré par le son d’un rire. Comme un papillon attiré par la chaleur et la positivité. Seulement, voilà : ce ne sont pas des rires gentils. Ce sont des rires moqueurs. De grands éclats, ahahah, qui s’entendent depuis la salle de sport où Cormag, jusqu’ici, discutait tranquillement avec le professeur.

(M. Gimenez venait d’avoir une petite fille. Elle s’appelle Clàudia, et c’est ce qu’il est en train de raconter à Cormag.)

Alors, parce que ce sont des rires, mais surtout parce que ce sont des rires moqueurs, Cormag s’excuse de la conversation, et trottine vers les vestiaires. Il est le Bon Pote de tout le monde, mais il est aussi le premier a reconnaître que certaines personnes sont tout de même de vraies têtes de con. Ce n’est pas pour autant qu’il cesserait de leur parler ; chacun ses défauts, et Mam dit toujours que les enfants de leur âge peuvent toujours changer, avec les bonnes fréquentations.

Cormag croit tout ce que lui dit sa Mam, bien évidemment. Mais tout de même, pense-t-il, en posant les yeux sur le spectacle.

C’est une petite foule de garçon, en cercle, autour d’un autre qui est tombé par terre. La petite foule rit trop fort, ahahah, et la respiration du garçon au milieu du cercle est affreuse. Il prend de grandes, grandes inspirations, comme s’il se noyait, et s’étouffe dessus à chaque fois. Cormag ne le distingue pas très bien, derrière les bras, les torses, les tee-shirts gorgés de sueur, mais il en voit assez pour comprendre qu’il est recroquevillé, et qu’il est couvert de quelque chose de gluant. Ca ressemble à la peinture que cette tête de con d’Alexis a piqué à la prof d’art plastique.

Cormag est trop jeune pour savoir ce qu’est une Crise d’Angoisse. Mais il est assez Grand pour savoir que c’est pas normal de respirer comme ça, et que ça doit faire mal à la poitrine. Et que ça doit pas être très drôle, de pas respirer bien et d’être entouré par une foule de garçon hululant des rires méchants. Alors, Cormag se fraye un chemin dans la petite foule.

C’est pas difficile. Il est grand, plus grand que les autres garçons, et il est large d’épaules. Tu seras rugbyman, mab, disait Dad. Un grand gaillard comme toi. Cormag ne sera bien sûr par rugbyman : il n’a jamais aimé le principe d’une mêlée. Mais la carrure reste là, et ses camarades le constatent bien ; ils le laissent passer, et certains, même, se taisent.

Au milieu du cercle, c’est Simon.

Cormag connaît tout le monde, mais Simon, pas très bien. Il est dans sa classe, ça c’est sûr, et il est très doué en maths. Cormag le sait, parce que le professeur ne cesse de le répéter, à chaque devoir. Et il sait aussi qu’il est très mauvais en français, parce que ça aussi, la professeure le répète. Simon est très discret. Là où Cormag parle beaucoup, et n’a pas souvent l’occasion d’écouter, Simon ne parle jamais, et ne fait qu’écouter. Il reste dans son coin, avec son petit costume trop formel pour un môme d’onze piges, avec ses lunettes carrées de secrétaire austère, et ses petits stickers de Mon Petit Poney partout sur ses stylos, sa règle, sa trousse. Avec son petit chiffon, qu’il utilise pour nettoyer chaque surface avec laquelle il doit rentrer en contact.

Les autres garçons trouvent que Simon est bizarre, et les garçons de cet âge, eh bien ! Ça n’aime pas beaucoup ce qui est bizarre.

C’est sans doute pour ça qu’il est dans cette situation. Respiration de sèche-cheveux en fin de vie, des grands hhhhhh, hhhhhh, hhhhhh. Se balançant d’avant, en arrière, avant, en arrière, les mains plaquées sur ses oreilles pour bloquer le bruit des rires, doigts crispés si fort que les ongles se plantent dans la peau, les yeux fermés très forts pour éviter la lumière aveuglante des vestiaires, grosses larmes coulant malgré tout, la chemise couverte de peinture verte- jusque dans les cheveux, jusqu’au verre des lunettes.

Simon tient beaucoup à la propreté, et a du mal avec certaines textures gluantes- précisément comme la gouache qui le couvre. Cormag ne sait pas ce qu’est un Meltdown, mais il voit bien que ce n’est pas quelque chose dont il faut rire.  Il n’y a rien de drôle, là-dedans.

« Vous êtes des cons, » braille-t-il, une fois passée la première seconde de choc. « Laissez le tranquille ! Barrez-vous ! »

Les rires méchants s’éteignent enfin. Ça bougonne, ça proteste un peu : Alexis, tête de con par excellence, lui décoche un regard dépité. Mais Cormag étant le Bon Pote, celui que Tout Le Monde Kiffe, on l’écoute. La petite foule se disperse ; les garçons récupèrent leurs affaires, se rhabillent, et laissent un peu de place à Simon.

Alors, Cormag se trouve un peu comme un con. Il ne sait pas comment réagir, maintenant : c’est la première fois qu’il voit ça. Simon ne se calme pas. Il se balance, se griffe tout seul, respire pas bien du tout.

« Eh, » dit Cormag, « ça va ? »

C’est bête comme question. Simon ne répond pas, et c’est même à peu près sûr qu’il a juste pas entendu du tout. Cormag s’agenouille à son niveau. Il y a de la gouache jusqu’aux paumes de ses mains : il pense qu’il a dû essayer d’essuyer ses vêtements, sans succès. Hhhh, hhhh, hhhh, fait la respiration du garçon. Les autres, autour d’eux, commencent à quitter la pièce.

Cormag tente de le toucher. Une main sur l’épaule, pour rassurer, comme il le fait toujours avec ce p’tit bout de chou de Carwyn, quand il tombe et s’égratigne le genou. C’est souvent bien suffisant pour sécher les grosses, grosses larmes, comme celles de Simon maintenant ; les grosses larmes qui plissent tout le visage et le rende tout, tout rouge. Ça marche presque toujours avec Carwyn.

Ça marche pas du tout avec Simon. Simon devient tout raide, comme un bout de bois, et avant même qu’il ne puisse vraiment voir ce qu’il lui arrive, Cormag se fait poussé. Fort. C’est à son tour de tomber, cul par terre, sur le sol mouillé du vestiaire. Ça s’infiltre dans son pantalon, et il grimace.

Il ouvre la bouche pour protester, sourcils tout froncés de vexation. Mais il s’arrête tout net, parce que les mains de Simon sont revenues à ses oreilles, et qu’il continue à se balancer, et que cette fois, c’est sa tête qui se secoue. Droite, gauche, droite, gauche, droite gauche. Non. Le message est passé : pas toucher.

« Tu veux que j’aille chercher le prof ? » tente Cormag, toujours sans succès.

Droite, gauche, droite, gauche. Cormag n’est pas sûr que Simon l’ait entendu, mais il n’a pas envie de prendre le risque. Ça reste un non. Il y a toujours des rires, de la part des derniers garçons à quitter le vestiaire. Cormag les ignore, et, finalement, les voilà tout les deux seuls.

Il sera complètement en retard en cours de SVT. Mais c’est pas grave. Il n’aime même pas ça.

Et puis, il lui semble que Simon commence à se calmer. Maintenant que tout le monde est parti, que c’est silencieux, et que quelques-unes des lumières détectrices de mouvements se sont éteintes. Il se balance toujours, mais sa respiration est moins moche. Hhh, elle fait. Hhh. Hhh. Alors, Cormag reste.

Enfin, Simon se calme. Il ne pleure plus beaucoup, et il respire de nouveau comme il faut. Ses ongles arrêtent de griffer la peau, derrière les oreilles. Il se balance, avant, arrière, plus doucement, plus lentement.

Il ne regarde pas Cormag, et il ne dit rien du tout. Mais puisqu’il ne l’a pas poussé de nouveau, et qu’il n’a d’ailleurs rien fait pour lui faire signe de partir, Cormag reste.

« Ça va ? » demande-t-il, encore, toujours aussi bêtement.

Droite, gauche, mais juste une fois. Question bête, réponse simple. Simon évite son regard, et, de la main droite, essaye une nouvelle fois de chasser la peinture de sa chemise. C’est trop tard ; c’est imbibé, et ça a même commencer à sécher.

Il laisse échapper un drôle de bruit. Un gémissement, ou un couinement.

« Tu… » commence Cormag, avant de se taire, et de bien réfléchir. « Ça part à la machine, tu sais. »

Droite, gauche. Non. La main passe, et repasse. Elle tremble beaucoup, et elle est tâchée, elle aussi. Il faut que ça parte, et que ça parte maintenant.

« Je peux te prêter mes vêtements, » continue-t-il. « Je peux rester en jogging, et toi, tu en auras des propres. »

Simon hésite. Ses yeux sautent, de la chemise sale, à ses pieds, à ceux de Cormag qui reste assis devant lui. Il ne le regarde pas dans les yeux, mais Cormag a l’impression que c’est le contact visuel le plus direct que Simon puisse supporter, pour l’instant.

Haut, bas. Oui.

Cormag sourit, tout en dent et en fossette. Enfin, ils arrivent quelque part !

L’opération leur prend quelques temps, bien sûr. Parce que Simon ne veut pas, ou ne peut pas se lever, et qu’il ne veut pas ou ne peut pas être touché, et qu’il est trop crispé et fermé et complètement fatigué pour retirer ses vêtements tout seul. Mais ça finit par se faire. Cormag comprend, au fur et à mesure, que Simon, pour l’instant, ne peut pas parler. Il apprendra plus tard que c’est normal. Que ça arrive. Que parfois, les mots ne veulent plus venir, et qu’ils se perdent et s’oublient. Il comprend aussi que la texture même des vêtements de Cormag, le jean, en particulier, semble être d’un contact insupportable ; il apprendra plus tard que, paradoxalement, c’est dans ses costumes guindé que Simon se sent le plus à l’aise.

Les vêtements sont trop grands, pour Simon, qui a l’air de se noyer dedans. Mais quand, enfin, sa tête passe le trou du hoodie, l’air proprement épuisé comme s’il avait passé le mois à courir sans s’arrêter, le regard darde brièvement vers celui de Cormag. Bref contact visuel, et Cormag comprend que c’est beaucoup d’efforts fournis : ça lui arrache un nouveau sourire, très large.

Il a l’impression que Simon voudrait bien le lui rendre, mais qu’il ne peut pas. Pour l’instant, du moins.

Pour la première fois de sa vie, Cormag sèche les cours. Il reste avec Simon, toute la journée, caché dans les recoins les plus calmes du collège. Il porte le sac du garçon, et le laisse serrer très fort, dans ses bras, une espèce d’énorme peluche d’un des personnages de ce qu’il apprendra plus tard être sa série préférée. Il accompagne Simon, le soir, vers la voiture de son père, tout content de l’entendre articuler quelques monosyllabes, maintenant.

M. Saulter le salut, l’air singulièrement curieux, et Cormag le salut en retour, avec l’aisance des gens qui savent être sociables. Simon, dans la voiture, lève les yeux vers lui- et le voilà, le début de sourire qu’il n’avait pas pu esquisser, ce matin.

La voiture part. Cormag, guilleret, rentre chez lui. Le lendemain, Simon s’assoit à côté de lui en cours.

« Merci, » qu’il dit, très neutre et très solennel, comme un président devant l’Assemblée.

« De rien, » répond Cormag. « Tu captes quelque chose au cours, toi ? »

Alors, la vie reprend, comme auparavant. Cormag n’est plus tellement le Bon Ami de tout le monde ; Alexis, en particulier, ne daigne plus lui adresser un regard. Ce n’est pas grave, parce qu’il a quelque chose de bien mieux : il est le Meilleur Ami de Simon.

-----------

Faut pas croire, mais y’a un code d’honneur chez les pranksters. Un genre de code des pirates, vous savez ; mais plus cool, parce qu’après tout, Paul est un prankster, et non un pirate. La clé, c’est que tout le monde peut être pranké, pas d’problème ; mais si tu teams avec un camarade de la noble maison de la Prank, tu peux pas lui coller un couteau dans le dos. Tu peux pas l’inclure dans la merde, alors qu’il a participé à la rendre bien puante. Ça se fait juste trop pas.

Paul, du haut de ses neuf ans, est excessivement attaché au Code D’Honneur des Pranksters, même s’il vient tout juste de décider qu’il existe. C’est qu’il a jamais subi de trahison, auparavant. Déjà, parce que c’est pas souvent qu’il accepte un complice, et deuxio, parce que quand il le fait, ses complices sont toujours géniaux.

D’abord, y’a Merwyn, son best bro parmis les best bros. Ils se connaissent depuis la couche culotte, pour s’être pouillé dans le bac à sable du parc public quand ils avaient deux ans- et puisque que le daron de Paul peut faire ami-ami avec n’importe quelle personne qui n’est pas Francis Leroy, et bah, ils ont basiquement grandi ensemble. Merwyn, c’est son Gars Sûr, c’est le sang, c’est la sauce, quoi. C’est Merwyn qui l’a accompagné dans son (humblement) hilarante idée d’arracher tout les C, L, et E des petites lettres qui affichent les noms des salles de C.L.A.S.S.E, parce que ça fait A.S.S, et que c’est trop poilant. Est-ce que Merwyn l’a trahi ? L’a dénoncé ? Lui a volé quelques petits C ? Trop pas. Merwyn est son Best Bro. Ils ont partagé le butin, et quand on les a interrogés, ils se sont serrés les coudes.

Ensuite, y’a Simon. Simon est moins un best bro que Merwyn, même s’il est son Vrai Bro, parce qu’il a pas officiellement prêté allégeance à la Grande Maison des Pranksters, et qu’il est donc juste un membre honoraire. Et puis, vu que Simon est le Grand Frère, il a parfois l’impression que ça veut dire qu’il doit être un Mini-Daron : ce qui veut dire qu’il peut contempler le pitch parfaitement hilarant d’une superbe prank de Paul et hausser le Sourcil Du Jugement. Mais c’est quand même Simon qui l’a aidé à poser toute une pièce montée, prévue pour le mariage de Papa et Maman, sur la porte de la salle de fête pile avant que Francis ne la franchisse. Est-ce que Simon l’a poussé dessous, dites ? Est-ce qu’il l’a dénoncé ? Bien sûr que non. Simon l’a entraîné loin, très loin, là où la crème les tâcherait pas, et là où ils verraient quand même la scène. Simon avait assuré à une nuée de gens en costard que c’était complètement un mystère pour lui, cette histoire de pièce montée sur la tête de Francis. Simon est un Vrai Bro.

Après, y’a Papa. C’est un membre convaincu de la Maison des Pranksters, Papa, mais c’est un membre délicat, parce qu’il est supposé Montrer Le Bon Exemple. Ca veut dire qu’il doit faire sembler de froncer très fort les sourcils quand Paul remplace le sucre par le sel et les chocapics par les crottes du lapin de la voisine, et qu’il doit se mordre les lèvres pour ne pas rire. Ca veut aussi dire que Papa est un membre Vraiment Très Expérimenté, et qu’on a tout intérêt à l’avoir en Camarade de Prank, si on veut que ça marche. C’est un peu le mentor de Paul en matière de Gaudriole, même si, apparemment, Paul est vachement plus impliqué que son daron. Du coup, lorsque Paul avait remplacé le mot de la maîtresse, dans son cahier, par une copie très bien calligraphié du poème Con Large Comme un Estuaire, et que la maîtresse, l’ayant vu, s’était offusquée, c’était Papa qui avait assuré, avec un très large sourire, que Oui, Madame, c’est moi qui est écrit ceci, et que Non, Madame, ce n’est pas vulgaire, c’est de la poésie, ou même, encore, Bien sûr que je fais lire cela à mon fils, c’est de l’Apollinaire, quel grand poète, n’est-ce pas ? Papa ne l’avait pas balancé. Papa, lorsqu’ils étaient rentrés, avait lu le poème pour la première fois, parce qu’il ne le connaissait pas, et en avait pleuré de rire derrière le volant de la voiture. Tant que les pranks de Paul font de mal à personne, Papa est complètement on board.

Enfin, y’a Stefan. Ça compte pas de fou non plus, parce que Stefan, son bébé frère, il a deux ans, bavouille plus qu’il ne parle, et participe rarement plus à une conversation qu’en babillant un « kouillon ! » que Paul est très fier de lui avoir appris. Stefan est un Apprenti Prankster, et Paul a bon espoir de lui montrer Le Droit Chemin. Et il apprend vite, le môme. La preuve : quand Paul avait pété la fenêtre du deuxième étage de chez l’Oncle Edward avec un caillou (c’était trop pas de sa faute, il avait vu ça dans un film, et apparemment c’était grave romantique, donc il voulait voir si ça éblouirait Alphonse), c’était Stefan, qui jouait avec le résident de la chambre visée, qui avait planqué les preuves en tentant de bouffer le caillou. Est-ce qu’il l’avait craché ? Oui, mais sans faire exprès, et c’est l’intention qui compte. Stefan, Paul le sait, ne trahira jamais le Code Des Pranksters.

Paul n’a jamais été trahi par l’un de ses camarades de blagues. Alors, il accordait une confiance aveugle à toute personne qui lui donnait le feu vert pour être, globalement, un p’tit merdeux.

Et puis, vient Merryn. Là-dessus, Paul s’est comporté comme un bleu : mais quand même, ça se fait trop pas.

Déjà, il s’était fait avoir, parce que Merryn ça ressemble à Merwyn, et que, du coup, Merryn pouvait qu’être un type vachement bien, puisqu’il était à une lettre du best bro de la life, pas vrai ? En plus, Merwyn a sept ans. C’est deux de moins que Paul. Paul est donc le Grand, le Mentor, et c’est pas au vieux singe qu’on apprend à faire des grimaces ! Sans compter que le grand frère de Merryn, c’est Cormag, et que Cormag est le best bro de Simon, et que donc, logiquement, c’est un peu comme si Paul est destiné à être le bon bro de Merryn. Et puis, Merryn a v’la les bonnes idées poilantes, contrairement à son jumeau Carwyn, qui, lui, est juste chiant de gentillesse. Merryn est un parfait Membre de La Confrérie des Pranksters, et Paul, naïvement, a cru qu’il respecterait le Code implicite.

Du coup, logique ! Lorsque Merryn, invité pour la première fois à la maison avec son jumeau tout chiant et son grand frère trop cool, lui propose de monter un Prank, Paul est grave hypé. Ils avaient déjà comparé leurs exploits prankesques lorsque Simon l’avait emmené avec lui chez les Gibson, parce que Papa et Maman étaient chez le médecin des bébés avec Stefan, et qu’aucune babysitter voulait jamais gérer Paul. Paul, à ce stade, a déjà décidé que Merryn est Hyper Cool. Paul, donc, a suivi son Nouveau Bro comme un chiot content, et est allé avec lui gonfler toutes les bombes à eau possible.

Le but, c’est ensuite de se percher en haut des escaliers, de là où on surplombe un peu les adultes qui papotent en prenant le thé, et de bombarder, comme les allemands en l’an 40, qu’il dit, Merryn, même si Paul sait pas trop à quoi il fait référence. C’est un super bon plan, parce que Papa est suffisamment loin pour ne pas être touché (Code d’Honneur, Toujours : pas de Pranks envers le Grand Prankster Expérimenté), et que le Papa Gibson est pile à portée de bombe.

C’est un super bon plan. Et ça marche très bien, au début. Le Papa Gibson pousse un piaillement de fillette quand l’eau lui éclate sur le eau du crâne, et la théière se renverse sous la deuxième bombe. Le thé éclabousse la maman de Paul, muette autant par nature que par stupéfaction, et la Maman Gibson, en plein sur sa belle chemise à fleur. Son daron, bien sûr, Membre Expérimenté autant que Vétéran Des Blagues Paulesques, s’est levé dès le premier bombardement, et contemple le carnage d’une œillade qui s’efforce de ne pas être trop amusé. En tout, c’est dix bombes à eau qui sont lâchées, partout sur le tapis et la petite table du goûter : c’est le temps qu’il faut pour que les adultes repèrent les deux criminels, et ne commencent à préparer quelques Sermons Courroucés.

Normalement, là, c’est la parti du plan où on se barre en courant et en gloussant, avec son Camarade, et qu’on se planque jusqu’à ce que les adultes soient calmés. C’est limpide.

Sauf que Merryn est un absolu petit bâtard. Pour la première fois de sa life, Paul se fait honteusement trahir par son Camarade : parce que, quand Papa Gibson gronde « Vous deux ! », Merryn se contente pas de tourner les talons, et de détaler. Non, non. Paul se retourne vers lui, tout prêt à monter les escaliers à sa suite : mais au lieu de voir le dos de son comparse fuyant, il ne voit que le latex bleu du ballon qui se précipite vers sa propre tronche. Et qui s’y éclate, PAF, une explosion d’eau pile dans les yeux, le nez, et la bouche, et qui le détrempe aussi sec. Sous le choc incommensurable, Paul vacille, ébahi, incapable de comprendre cette terrible trahison ; et, à sa grande horreur, se sent tomber en arrière.

Dégringoler les escaliers n’est clairement pas l’expérience la plus sympa de sa vie, clairement. C’est pas la première fois qu’il les dévale, d’ailleurs, et c’est bien pour ça qu’il ne se pète rien en y tombant dos et tête la première : les bords des marches sont tout couvert d’une épaisse moquette, et les coins sont soigneusement rembourrés, parce que Papa et Maman ont eu bien assez d’une crise cardiaque en contemplant Paul, cinq ans, se prendre les pieds dans son jouet camion en essayant de fuir la salle de bain, se bouffer les marches de l’escalier. C’est pas la première fois qu’il les dévale, donc, et ça fait même pas tant mal que ça avec l’énorme moquette, mais c’est la première fois qu’il les dévale mouillé par le fruit de la trahison, et sous le rire d’un Camarade Prankster qu’il aurait dû pouvoir partager. Et c’est pas un truc qui devait arriver. Pas à lui ! Pas à un pro, comme lui ! Ça se faisait trop pas.

Il se retrouve bien vite le cul par terre, tout endolori, pendant qu’en haut résonne les pas fuyant de Merryn. Qui va se planquer, tout seul. Et Paul est un Grand Garçon : il a honte d’avouer que là, en bas des escaliers, mouillé, misérable, et l’épaule en feu pour être mal tombé dessus, il est à deux doigts de chialer comme il a jamais chialé. Jusqu’à sa mort, il niera d’ailleurs l’avoir fait. Aussi bien qu’il niera avoir braillé dans les bras d’un Papa et d’une Maman affolés, sanglotant comme un nourrisson. Il a une dignité, après tout.

Plus de peur que de mal, pour être v’la honnête. Même : la chute spectaculaire a le mérite de distraire très vite les adultes de la blague précédente, et il se fait même pas engueulé pour les bombes à eau. Il passe l’après-midi devant la télé, bien installé sur le canapé, entouré des coussins les plus douillets qui soit, avec un bol de crème glacé dans les paluches. Y’a que Merryn qui se fait engueuler, et c’est pour avoir causé sa chute ; en soit, c’est un moyen efficace pour échapper aux conséquences d’une prank.

Mais Paul est Très En Colère. Il est Furibond. Parce que Merryn, ce p’tit bâtard, a brisé le Code : et Paul est d’une nature très rancunière.

Merryn ne sera pas du tout son Bon Bro. Au contraire. Désormais, il considérera Merryn comme son Pire Ennemi.

A SUIVRE....

[nanawritesit]

Yuqi Girlfriend Headcanons!

Regardless of your gender identity, she’ll most likely play the “boyfriend” role in the relationship

She isn’t super romantic or affectionate all the time, but she definitely makes you feel loved by taking care of you

She’s a big acts of service lover, she likes to help with chores, help you go shopping, cook you dinner, etc.

She’ll also occasionally surprise you with a small gifts whether it by flowers, a stuffed animal, or chocolate!

This girl is super strong, so you never have to worry about opening a tight jar 😤

She also kills bugs for you 💀

Yuqi insists on paying for everything while you’re out, claiming that she makes more than enough money to pay for the two of you

Pretty much the only time you get to really spoil her back is her birthday

You cook all her favorite foods for her, including jokbal, hotpot, pickled radish and sweet zongzi 🥰

You also make sweet zongzi whenever she’s feeling homesick

Her favorite gift you’ve ever given her was a huge stuffed corgi that took up the entire corner of her bedroom 💞

Although, she almost cried when you surprised her with a trip to Beijing to see her family 🥹

They were so grateful that they offered you Yuqi’s hand in marriage 💀 (It was a joke but you were ready to put a ring on it 👀)

She was a bit intimidated to talk to you at first because she found you so beautiful (like she did with Miyeon LOL) but due to her outgoing nature, she was able to get over it and approach you

Thank god she did, because now she couldn’t imagine living without you <3

She likes to be called “cutie” :)

She struggled to find a nickname that fit you for a while, but eventually she decided on “cookie” 🥰

You’ll help her reach things on high shelves because her arms are so short 😭

She’s not very good and realizing when she’s working too hard, so you’ll have to be the one to reign her in

She randomly dances around the house ALL the time

You also catch her rapping various lyrics to herself

She really needs something to fill the silence okay 😤

Yuqi really doesn’t like being alone so even if you guys aren’t around each other, she’ll call you to at least hear your voice and check in on you

She’s told you several times that you can literally call her 24/7 and she’ll always pick up for you ❤️

She’s super goofy, so you’ll never be bored with her around. It also makes her really good at cheering you up when you’re sad :)

Her making you listen to Super Junior all the time (I hate them bc they’re so problematic but who am I to disagree with Queen Yuqi)

Her joking that Ryeowook is her “REAL boyfriend” 💀 You’ll literally have to square up with his poster 👊🏻

You guys love teasing each other and getting on each others’ nerves

You go back and forth annoying each other, but it’s all in good fun (she’s really hot when she’s angry too)

She can get you to anything by asking you in her deep, husky voice (She knows it’s your weakness)

Although, you know her weakness as well… if you call her “noona” or “unni,” she’ll be putty in your hand 👀 She usually hates formalities like that but when it’s from you, it gets her going so fast

She’s super outgoing, so she’ll constantly push you to try new things and move out of your comfort zone

There’s no secret you could ever tell her that she wouldn’t keep. She’s super trustworthy and will take it to the grave

While she’s super patient, she can be a little possessive. Especially if she feels threatened by the person who seems to be interested in you

She never gets mad at you, just at the other person

Her expression alone is enough to scare them off though 😳 She can be super scary when she wants to be!

But you don’t notice anything, and just smile at her innocently 😊

Her stealing your clothes on a regular basis

She’s not super into PDA but she does enjoy holding your hand while you walk places together

Speaking of which, one of her favorite activities to do with you is taking walks together. It eventually becomes a daily habit whenever you guys have time!

Behind closed doors however, she’s the biggest cuddle bug :) She’ll cage you in her arms and not let go of you for HOURS while you watch dramas together

Yuqi is 100% a big spoon!

If you rub her neck, shoulders, and back for her after a long day, she might get down on one knee right then and there 💀

In the end, you’re super lucky to have Yuqi as a girlfriend. She always takes such good care of you, never leaves you feeling lonely, and constantly keeps you entertained. She’s so in love with you and wouldn’t have it any other way 🥰

[silverjirachi]

How were you a cult leader for a week?

Okay so this is going to be a looooonnnggg story and I never even really sat back and thought about how batshit insane it was until I started talking about it with other people. Which is more recently than you'd expect for the fact that it took place over ten years ago. But back then I also didn't have the life experience to see how.. weird and creepy it was until well, well afterwards.

Another thing that contributed to the fact that I never really thought or spoke about it because that was actually a core tenant of the program. If you talk about it, you're ruining the "sacredness" of the experience if someone else might go through it. So you gotta keep it secret so it's not spoiled for them. Which was a way bigger deal at my school than it now is like, out in the wild. And when I said that first part out loud "So like, oh! I'm not actually supposed to talk about this, BUT" I realized this was some cult shit.

Like I said, long story so I'm gonna put it under a cut for people who wanna read.

Alright so. This story begins at my co-ed Catholic high school. Each year as part of our like, religious enrichment, we went on "retreats" or missions to different areas locally. Freshmen didn't have one, though their was like 1 day of service out in the community. (We went to a retirement home and passed out valentine's cards all day if memory serves).

Sophomores and Juniors got to participate in the more coveted, multiple-day religious retreats that were school-sponsored excuses to get out of school. And they were mandatory, even if you were not Catholic.

What's important to know about these retreats is that they were FAMOUS at our school. They were surrounded with so much mystique, hype, and infamy. People spread rumors about them. People spread lies about them. People spread gossip about who did what with such and such during these retreats. One common, straight-faced lie that almost ALL seniors told about the Senior Retreat was that you all "got naked and danced around a fire" (this will be relevant later). The Naked Fire Dance was like a schoolwide JOKE about this very famous, very infamous senior retreat called Kairos.

What added to this hype, particularly around Kairos, is that once you completed it, you got this special (though rather plain-looking) cross that was given out at the end of the retreat. ALL the seniors who had been through Kairos wore them, EVERY DAY, and groups of students were taken on retreats in groups of 40-50, so not the whole class got them at once. It was like a gradual progression watching these crosses appear around peoples' necks. And like, they got to miss ALMOST A FULL WEEK OF SCHOOL. Come on now. That's amazing.

I actually broke down crying when my own Kairos cross broke during band practice and my percussion instructor fixed it for me. That's how important these things were, both as an emotional AND a status symbol. Wearing a Kairos cross was on an equal level with having a class ring - if you wore one, you had MADE IT.

So I was naturally STOKED when I discovered I was selected to take part in Kairos at the end of my JUNIOR YEAR rather than my senior year. Looking back on it, this absolutely was not random. Kairos retreats were split into different dates for a very particular purpose, and that was to make sure there was always a fresh influx of students to become the next set of "leaders" on these retreats. The first round of Kairos actually began in May or June of the respective class's JUNIOR YEAR so that there would be some classmates to lead the next Kairos that would begin in the proper senior year in the fall. I was selected for this first session because they ABSOLUTELY had already scouted me out as a potential leader and wanted to make sure I had the chance to. I had good grades in religion, participation in church, etc, and kind of had a reputation for it.

Funnily enough, these were all numbered, and I was on Kairos 68. I led Kairos 69, which they changed to Kairos 70. Do the kids these day know? Do they even know their whole numbering system is off because their school refused to allow Kairos 69 to exist?

BUT WHEN ARE WE GETTING TO THE CULT SHIT? Ok. We'll get into the cult shit now.

So the first thing to know about these retreats and therefore also Kairos is that they take place in the middle of the woods. They're at a spiritual retreat center led by some monks about 30-40 minutes away from the school. So you are ISOLATED in what is essentially a large cabin but feels more like a retirement home. Everyone gets their own tiny little room that basically only had a bed, a dresser, and your own sink in it.

They take you into this cabin in the middle of the woods and of course you have to give up all your electronics. Your phone is confiscated from you if they find you have brought it, etc. Not only this, but then you find that they have covered up all the clocks. So you start to develop this immediate sense of restlessness and time blindness because all the clocks are covered with a white sheet and a sign that says "GOD'S TIME." Your entire day structure and even sense of TIME are now at the mercy of the cult leaders, excuse me, I mean student leaders and teacher chaperones on the retreat.

There are no parents here. It's just about fifty 17 to 18 year olds and about 7 teachers. And about 6 student "group leaders" who had a very, very central and important role in the whole event.

What essentially happened was for the next 4 days, we sat in this group conference room at round tables listening to talks and having breakout discussions about Jesus all day. Church in the morning and evening. You got max like, 1, maybe 2 hours of free time after lunch. Literally just living that #monasterylife. But there was something very... particular... about these talks that are things I definitely do not think go down at a monastery.

Each day, a handful of the teachers and student group leaders gave talks surrounded a particular topic or theme of the day. I can't remember all of them, but they'd be things like Piety, and Service, and Charity, and Forgiveness, etc. Christian values. Each talk had a name centered around a particular value. Mine was Piety.

The thing about these talks though, is that they were incredibly, deeply, invasively personal.

Now, I'm going to be upfront and say no one was forced to go up there and spill the deepest darkest secrets of their life. All the student leaders had signed up for this KNOWING they'd be asked to write an incredibly personal sermon on their assigned topic. But there is something addictive about that cult mentality when everyone is getting up on that pulpit oversharing well, you wanna spill your whole life story too. (However, we'll get back to some insider secrets about this later).

TW next paragraphs off-hand but not graphically mentioning suicide, suicidal ideation, self harm and cutting, domestic abuse, etc.

Teachers went up there and talked about their marriages and divorces and how such things brought them closer to God. About how their drunken fathers beat them. Student leaders got up there and gave talks about their suicide attempts or being abused and how being saved from these things brought them closer to god. I learned the intimate ups and downs of my teachers' and fellow classmates' lives in a way I NEVER thought I would and it would all be wrapped up in a little lesson about god. They'd play a little meaningful song of the speaker's choice before and after the sermon to set the scene and help everyone reflect and pray. Mine were Uncharted by Sara Bareilles and The Unwinding Cable Car by Anberlin. Very deep and meaningful stuff to me at age 17.

As the week progresses and the students drink more of the kool-aid, the participant students are even allowed to go up and say a few words too. And I am not kidding when I say each night there would be at least 1-2 confessions of suicidal ideation or suicide attempts, a handful of mentions of cutting or self harm, and a handful of mentions of actively being abused, even in relationships with other students not on the retreat.

No trigger warnings because this was like 2012 and those were only JUST becoming a thing.

Now, looking back on it now as someone who has taught middle and high schoolers, I can only say: WHaT THE HELL? Teachers absolutely were not required to report these confessions, and I think actively were encouraged not to. I know for a fact student leaders were not supposed to report anything. Because it was supposed to be a safe space where people could say anything. To know someone might take action outside that world would violate the sacred trust we were building with one another, and the closeness we were getting to god. People could reach out to someone individually after the retreat, but unlike in a lot of other cases where it would be MANDATORY for an adult to report certain things, no such enforcement here existed. As a teen, that seemed awesome. As an adult who has taught and looked after children now, I am horrified. I know it's a complicated nuanced topic, but holy hell batman.

And as a 17-year-old retreat leader, I felt responsible for my flock. One girl confessed to me about her mom who was being actively abusive, and I, at the tender age of 17, was suddenly put in a position where I felt like I had to do something for her. I'M NOT EQUIPPED TO DEAL WITH THAT!! I'M SEVENTEEN!!! But she confided in me and now I wanna support her in any way I can. I went over to her house several times after that retreat and honestly almost got myself into some horrible, dangerous situations because I felt like I was obligated to because we had shared this soul-baring bond at Kairos. I TOLD NO ONE. I GOT HELP FROM NO ADULT ON THIS.

BUT THESE TALKS WEREN'T EVEN THE ONLY WILD AND WACKY THINGS THAT HAPPENED THAT WEEK!!

One of the other biggest events at Kairos was "letters night." This happens on like the second night of the retreat when all 50 teenagers are herded into a dark room lit only by a few candles and sit in silence for a few minutes. We're all sitting there wondering what's going on. Then, all of a sudden, one of our teachers starts reading a letter addressed to someone. At the end of the letter, it's revealed its from a parent or loved one of at student in the room. They're called up to receive their letter and a hug of comfort if they want it, because of course half of us are sobbing at this point. This goes on for all fifty students in the room. Each of us gets a deeply personal letter from our parents or loved ones about our life stories read in front of forty-nine of our other peers. I can't even imagine how this must have felt for someone without loving parents, but they made it work so everyone had a meaningful letter read aloud.

After that LONG, LONG process, we do one final meditation and are led back to our rooms for sleep. It is then we discover BOATLOADS of letters from other students that have been dumped all over our rooms and our beds. Letters of love, encouragement, well-wishes. Confessions of love or admiration. Letters of apology. Truly anything your upperclassmen friends, relatives, or others might want to write about you. The letters night is kept INCREDIBLY secret and is actually one of the reasons I never talked about Kairos. Because, as personal as it is, it was also an incredibly powerful, formative moment for me. It made me feel more loved and more valued as a person who made a difference on this earth than anything else in my life at that point, and I hung on to my Kairos letters for a very long time afterwards. And the not knowing anything, the surprise of it all really contributed to that. It was like getting hit with a truck with nothing but sheer love, especially at a time in my life when I felt worthless and unwanted and was, myself, actively considering suicide. Writing letters to my group members and friends going on Kairos was my favorite part of the whole process.

And then there was. The moment you have all been waiting for. THE NAKED FIRE DANCE.

Now, thankfully, this was not an actual naked fire dance. But the joke was at last revealed. It is called the naked fire dance, because it is at this point that THE STUDENT LEADERS, and ONLY the students leaders, NO TEACHERS, take their small flock back UNSUPERVISED into these small breakout rooms and they have... the naked fire dance. All the lights are off. It's the middle of the night. The small room is lit only with one candle, and everyone sits in a circle as the teenage cult leader starts with a single prayer. Then she opens up the floor. Now all the students, heart to heart, sit around this single candle for the next hour sharing secrets about themselves. Confessing things to each other. It's called the naked fire dance because you "take off your masks" (aka "get naked) in a circle around "a fire" (candle).

Again, this was an incredibly moving and formative experience for me. I was in a group with jocks, cheerleaders, people I'd NEVER interact with normally. And I felt so loved and connected to them. But that's a big component about how cults work. They feel good!!

Then, you all go back for one final group prayer and are released to bed. The next morning is the 4th day where they do some wrapping up, and you find out the whole retreat is structured around Jesus' 3 day death or whatever. And then you, on the 4th day - rise again. You live the fourth!! And you also talk about it to no one. Ever. That is a very important component of Living the 4th: Don't you dare fucking talk about it.

You go back to the school on a bus for your parents to pick you up and you are led into the chapel for one "final prayer" it's then that you are stampeded at down the hallway by all the other students who have already been through Kairos. That was also very special, like the letters moment. Just a WALL of over a hundred other teenagers running straight for you screaming. My boyfriend was there and picked me up and spun me around it was really sweet and nice. Trainwreck of love.

AND NOW FOR SOME INSIDER KNOWLEDGE FROM SOMEONE WHO SPENT A WEEK AS A CULT LEADER STUDENT DISCUSSION LEADER:

Every night after we'd send the students to bed, all the teachers and student leaders would convene in this other, side cabin like a high council. It was there that we'd review how the day went, how our breakout and small group discussions went, things we were observing in our flock student group, things we wanted advice and guidance on, etc. They were nice meetings. We'd have snacks. It'd be fun etc.

BUT. MY FAVORITE PART OF THESE MEETINGS. WE'D TALK ABOUT OUR NEXT TARGETS. WE'D TALK ABOUT WHO IN OUR GROUPS WE THOUGHT WAS CLOSE TO "BREAKING." AKA OPENING UP TO BARE THEIR SOUL AND CONNECT TO THE OTHER STUDENTS. TO LIKE. SPILL ALL THEIR BEANS.

WE WOULD DISCUSS STRATEGIES TO HELP BREAK THEM.

"Oh yeah I think letters night tomorrow is gonna break Chris enough to open up at the naked fire dance."

"Kelsey is SO CLOSE to getting there I think she'll break through tomorrow morning."

"Yeah I think Ryan just needs his space but I can tell he'll come around so we'll not push we'll just gently continue to offer."

HELLO???

I'M SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD AND IN A ROOMFUL OF OTHER STUDENTS AND MY TEACHERS TALKING ABOUT HOW TO PSYCHOLOGICALLY MANIPULATE OTHER STUDENTS INTO SHARING SECRETS ABOUT THEMSELVES???

And again, never even thought that was weird or culty until now. Just thought I was helping my fellow students get the most out of Kairos. And you're not supposed to talk about Kairos, btw.

Anyways. TL;DR it was a really great experience for me and taught me a lot about empathy for others and self love, however there were definitely more than a few ethical violations and things that now raise a number of concerns for me as an adult that I think will never get fully addressed.

And that's how I helped to lead a cult for a week!

[darkmaga-retard]

Each time we wonder “what more can happen in this bizarre presidential campaign,” an answer seems to come with another remarkable event.  Less than a week ago, it was a second assassination attempt on Donald Trump in a little more than two months.

With continuing scrutiny over the Secret Service’s protection strategy, I asked Trump if he’s ever scared.

“I can't be scared,” Trump told me in an interview at his Florida Mar-a-Lago home to be aired on Sunday’s Full Measure on the Sinclair Broadcast Group network. “Because if you're scared, you can't do your job. So I just can't be. I have thus far had somebody protecting me because you almost think it couldn't have just been two times.”

I also asked Trump what specific positions he’s discussed offering to former Democrats Robert F. Kennedy Junior and Tulsi Gabbard, and to X (formerly Twitter) owner Elon Musk.

Kennedy, nicknamed “Bobby,” is the lifelong Democrat who left the party when it blocked him from running a primary campaign against President Joe Biden.

Kennedy ultimately dropped out of his independent run and endorsed Trump. Kennedy says Trump has offered him the opportunity to pursue a “MAHA” or “Make America Healthy Again” mandate.

[azrielslostshadow]

Modern!Azriel Headcanons

Modern! Azriel/ Navy Seal! Azriel x reader

Wordcount: 900ish

Warnings: annoying drill sergeant, couple curse words, not super gendered (like one mention of a dress)

A/N: az is a cutie in this one too :)))

Modern!Azriel who grew up in the same trashy neighborhood as you and cass and rhys. 

Modern!Azriel who was determined to make it out despite what his shitty father and half-brothers had to say about it. 

Modern!Azriel who was somehow top 10 in your graduating class despite missing like half of junior and senior year to work and help his mom pay the bills. 

Modern!Azriel who got a 1500 on the SAT and a 96 on his ASVAB (Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery) test. 

Modern!Azriel who knew that his best chance out of the hood was the military (also probably not the best way to work out all his anger)

Modern!Azriel who convinces cass to join him and they both enlist in the battle buddy program together. (they both deploy together so they always have a homie to rely on)

Modern!Azriel who is a fucking 6’4” unit and is recruited by the navy bc he’s massive and a genius and secretly speaks like 5 languages (bc his mom is an immigrant and they’re like that) 

the drill sergeant just about dropped and foamed at the mouth at the sight of azriel and cassian (drill sergeant goes on a tangent about finally getting some “real sailors” and the rest of the unit literally hates them bc yeah he’s right they don’t compare)

Modern!Azriel who (alongside cassian) gets asked to apply to seal school and they graduate with some of the highest BUD/S scores the navy has ever seen (his mom is super proud and makes him mole de pollo bc its his favorite and she loves her son and his friends)

Modern!Azriel who makes it to captain in six years instead of the average nine bc he’s just that good

Modern!Azriel who always remembered you as his kind coworker from his trashy minimum wage dishwashing job in high school and definitely not as his friend’s cute younger sister.

Modern!Azriel who remembers every time you brought him dinner and badly lied about how you hated to waste food and didn’t know what to do with the leftovers so he wouldn’t feel bad about eating it (bc times were tough in HS and he really wasn’t eating enough at all)

Modern!Azriel who just kind of slowly blinks at you when him and his unit walk into the museum that you’ve been working at. 

Modern!Azriel whose chest tightens with something strange when your whole face lights up after recognizing him. 

Modern!Azriel who has only had casual flings (mostly bc he was always away for work) but feels his heart drop to his feet when you press your lips to his left cheek and give his arms a little squeeze. 

Modern!Azriel whose whole body relaxes when you pull him into a hug. who’s knees almost give out when you rub your manicured hands up and down his biceps and whisper about how you missed him–how you were worried about him. 

his whole team will harass him later about his reaction and beg for the details behind your history because even though they’re navy seals they’re really just chismosas on the inside. 

Modern!Azriel who is seriously so confused as to how you (someone who was so kind and loving) could be involved in counter-terrorism.

Modern!Azriel who is shocked when you explain to him that the art world is full of criminals and that terrorists especially love to use expensive art as methods of payment for whatever horrible acts they want to commit. 

Modern!Azriel whose chest puffs with pride when he hears you tell your boss that you have full faith in his unit and their abilities bc “azriel isn’t the kind of man who lets people down”

Modern!Azriel who is supposed to be paying attention to the baroque painting on the wall but can’t take his eyes off of you in your beautiful, floor-length, velvet gown. 

Modern!Azriel who takes out two things in one night: a secret terrorist cell and you to dinner. 

Modern!Azriel who realizes he hasn’t been able to have a serious relationship bc he’s been in love with you this whole time (read: since he was literally 9 years old and you told him he had the prettiest eyes in the world)

Modern!Azriel who wears the matching bracelet you got him every single day. especially when he’s deployed bc a photo of you might actually be too dangerous for the field

Modern!Azriel who never tells you exactly what he does just that he’s the captain of a navy seal unit bc its classified, but you still worry (especially bc you’re a historian and can almost immediately tell where he’s been in the world based on the souvenirs he brings you)

Modern!Azriel who almost bursts into tears when you tell him you love him first bc he’d  been struggling to get the words out for weeks

Modern!Azriel who gets to experience softness from someone other than his mother for the first time in his life

Modern!Azriel who is in a healthy, positive relationship with someone who loves all of him including his flaws. 

Modern!Azriel whose partner teaching him about emotional maturity and communication and slowly walks with him down his healing journey

Modern!Azriel who is pathetically in love with his partner and can’t wait to start their life together.