#and i dont want my thoughts that be dismissed again

[thatneoncrisis]

DID YOU KNOW: BULLYING is not the correct way to start a discussion about the treatment of people of colour real and fictional in fandom spaces?

DID YOU KNOW: white knighting usually ends up badly?

DID YOU KNOW: that when you create an environment where it's acceptable and even expected to gang up on the people you dislike and their art that you are BEING RANCID? that you're ruining fandom culture for everyone by creating an environment of fear?

DID YOU KNOW: that pounding feeling in your heart right now, the anxiety in your stomach when you open any inbox and find the number of messages in them WILL GO AWAY when you grow up, take responsibility for behaving really inappropriately, and take some time to think about why you're lashing out at strangers on the internet about PENIS SIZE?

DID YOU KNOW: 20k words of hate fanfic is basically fanfic and a sign of being A MEGA ULTRA CRINGE HATER

Did you know: it's more fun to create out of love and joy? that fandom is about sharing something you like with others who like it? that it's not a space to spray shit like a gassy hippo and ruin everyone's good time?

ONLY YOU: can take some time to reflect on YOUR BEHAVIOUR! Only you can find the joy within yourself and chase out the lame stank ass hater.

Go for a walk and name five bugs you see.

god bless, namaste, llap

why are you acting like im denying any of this. why are you acting like you know anything about what i do or how i feel outside of this one instance. why are you acting like i named the fics i dont like or that theyre unique in any way outside of trends that are common in literally every fandom. why do you act like ive never expressed frustration with how gideon and others are written on my blog. why are you acting like feeling upset or nervous when i see someone mad at me is irrational when i understand they have a reason to. i havent told anyone theyre being unreasonable or acted like they should just move on

i cant stop you from feeling like this. i dont want to. but there is literally nothing that can be done. ive explained it fifteen times at this point either you like it or you dont. and the fandom already had hostile people in it- i saw people sending rude anons and talking about a good friend of mine on twitter because it didnt like their ship and called it weird after specifically being asked about it. and as for the 20k thing. it doesnt take me that long to write. i write very long things this felt incredibly brief to me because my perspective is skewed and i wanted to write a complete story even outside of the critical element

[tianshiisdead]

im happy my post is garnering discussion but honestly i wasnt around for 2018-2021 fandom on tumblr and i was mainly talking about how its kind of silly to get mad at people for portraying colonizer countries as mean, or calling it demonization and stuff. like its okay not to like personally portraying ur fav characters as mean or part of the state, but getting irritated at the fact that it exists or is popular imo kind of misses the fact that this… is the state and nation personification fandom. and its hard to say its not canon when canon did once portray the characters in uniform and at times involved in their state activities… like the early strips discussing western imperialism in china is literally ‘china being bullied by the allies’ ‘france wanting to grope china’ ‘china being treated like a maid’ etc etc like they were very much. the state LOL also china and japan’s canon relationship, as much as I have my issues with it, has an entire thing about china being stabbed by japan… i do feel like hetalia started out as a history nerd’s history exploration that blended humour with ‘what i find cute’ with satire etc etc, which inevitably involves illustrating the personifications as vessels of state and culture, and although the modern strips have deviated quite a bit… well, different people will approach this series for different reasons, right? Whether its serious or comedic content showing the characters as mean or imperialist or unpleasant, it’s not something that deviates too far from canon (if we take all canon eras into consideration) nor is it surprising given how history laden the topic is.

[gifti3]

Im cursing [REDACTED] right NOW

[girl-bateman]

Blood-work came back fine which either means I really do have a mysterious deadly illness OR its my mental health that's fucking up my physical health. Now my dilemma for my upcoming appointment .. do I mention how neurotically devastated I've been feeling these last months, knowing the doctor might be relieved to blame it all on hysteria instead of doing more testing ? Or do I just... not say anything about that.. lol

[zeena-athena]

Man I love apparently talking in such a way that no one gets what I'm saying, or acts like I'm talking in a different language or conversation to them. It makes me feel so fucking loved and cared for. I am succeeding at communication and definitely do not want to throw myself into the nearest lake and become the next bog witch. Never ever. /s

[storiesoflostdays]

“Do we even want Silent Hill to come back?”

Yes next question

[luminousbeings-crudematter]

folie à deux

or: the toxic ex boyfriend Ghost AU

PAIRING: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader 

WARNINGS: || 18+ only MDNI || Toxic masculinity || Possessive & obsessive behaviour || Slut shaming || Groping || Gaslighting || Implied & referenced cheating || Mildly dubious consent

w/c: 5.7k (Read on AO3)

a/n: this was supposed to be like 5 paragraphs, so PLEASE if y'all hate it i dont want to know

It starts with a knock on your front door when you’re only half expecting to see Simon Riley.

He even knocks with a sense of entitlement, and it enrages you.  Three hard raps, and that’s it.  He won’t knock again.  If you don’t open the door, he’ll kick it down to get to you—those were rules you’d learnt the hard way.  

You mentally reinforce your motivation when you fling the door open: You’re scared he’ll break your door down, again, and this time, when they try to evict you, Simon won’t be around to terrify them into letting you stay.

How on earth you’d ever found the prick attractive is beyond you in that minute.  Except, no sooner does the thought enter your mind do you dismiss it.  Of course you had—and still—found him attractive.  That had never been the problem.  

He wore his military career on his face, much easier to see than the chest candy he bragged about but no less attractive to you–scars and burns, healing and the not-quite healed bruises plain to see on his face, a cacophony of yellows and purples.  A nose that had spent more time broken than not, its slight curve most likely a combination of never having been set by a professional nor the opportunity to heal without being broken again.  A thin scar dissected his lip, went all the way up the side of his face to his brow, almost like someone had taken a knife to him, carved him up like a piece of meat.  You’d never asked, and it’s not like he’d ever volunteered the information.  

It just sat there along with the three thousand other things he’d deposited in the chasm that stretched between the two of you. 

“You…Jesus,” he breathes, and slams the door shut behind him, making you wince.  “Where are you off to, then?”

“N’ wearin’ that?” He prompts again when you don’t answer, motions to your body with his chin.  

You roll your eyes when he pulls you into him and plants a hard kiss on your mouth, ignoring your squirming.  “Fuckin’ about to spill out, little dove.” 

“Spill?  Simon, I’m sewn into this dress.”  You pluck at his shirt that has deliciously little give where it sits on his hard chest, leaving your palm there as a little treat for yourself.  “You would know.  You capable of wearing shirts your own size, or does the SAS make it mandatory to have your tits straining against them?”

When he doesn’t respond, you push away from him, and step back, crossing your arms against your chest, definitely not pushing your tits up slightly, and he mirrors your movement.  He’s leaning against the wall by the front door now, blocking your exit, and you can only roll your eyes at the foreseeable display of machismo.  

“Your stuff’s in the front room.  Grab it and go, I have to finish getting dressed.  I have plans.” 

“With a pimp?”

Back when you were blissfully ignorant of Simon’s penchant for keeping you destabilised at all times, unconditionally wanting the last word, his crass words would have made you sputter and struggle to respond.  Oh but you know him so much better now.

Now, the blatant transparency in his delivery just makes you laugh.  

You interrupt his next words with a wave of your hand and turn to retreat to your room.  “Get your shit and leave, baby.”  

You hear his harsh exhale at the dismissal, and once upon a time, the repercussions of dismissing Simon in the middle of a conversation would have excited you.  You used to do it to get a rise out of him, instigate him into chasing you around, fucking you silly when he caught you.  Now, you just do it because you can. 

“No need to be a bitch.  I’ll be on my way in a second, just wanted to check on you, little dove.”

Your laugh is breathy, and you have to pull your mascara wand away from your eyes so you don’t end up stabbing yourself with it.  “‘No need to be a bitch’ says the man currently being a bitch about me not telling him my plans.”  Your laugh is mocking when you turn back to the mirror.  “You ever tire of this routine, Simon?  Because it’s tiring to me.”

Your words only make Simon’s eyes soften, and he looks at you almost indulgently, patronisingly, as though you were a child throwing a tantrum to get an adult’s attention.  “Could never tire of you, little dove.”

“Stop calling me that,” you snap, but he only snorts in response.  

It’s all a game to him, you know that.  He makes it very clear how much amusement he derives from watching you fumble and fall, how much he gets off on the stress he gives you.

And yet, you’re drawn to him, every single time.  Every single time, you play mental gymnastics to find a reason to write off his bad behaviour because, well, it’s Simon.  He’s…like no one else you’ve ever known.  

Your choices have always been limited between a cruel, mercurial god and inane, paltry men.  

Except today.  Today you hold your response back, try not to rise to the obvious challenge.

“Come on then, I’ll drive ya.”

“Are you insane?” you screech.  “You’re not driving me to my date, you’re not driving me anywhere, what the fuck is wrong with you, Simon?”

A glimpse of his Adonis belt as he stretches his arms above his shoulders and cranes his neck from side to side briefly grabs your attention. 

“Don’t be difficult, little dove,” he gently scolds you, and your eyes snap back to his—yours wide with incredulity, his calm and collected in that beautiful, honey brown.  “What were y’gonna do, take the Tube with y’tits out like that?  If the prick ain’t pickin’ you up, I’ll take ya to him.”  He jerks his chin in your vanity’s direction and plops himself on your bed to watch.  “Come on, love, finish yer preenin’ then.”

“Preening,” you mutter under your breath as you turn back to the mirror.  “Fuckin’ weirdo.”

It’s only when you’re dabbing perfume behind your ears do you catch his eye just as he brings a cigarette up to his mouth, and you squeal.  “Simon!  The fuck are yo—don’t smoke in my bedroom!”

“Our bedroom—”

“What?!”

“—’n ya didn’t care before.  Y’wanna share, ‘s that it, little dove?”

“Oh my god.”  You turn around slowly, your hands against your lips, joined together as though in prayer.  “Simon.”

“Yeah, baby.”

“You don’t live here anymore.  This isn’t your flat, it’s mine.  This isn’t your bedroom, it’s mine.”

Simon just continues to smoke as though he hadn’t heard you, dark eyes taking the slow, leisurely route back to meet yours. “Y’look good, baby.”  His voice is hoarse, the words slow and deliberate and raspy, and…you can’t deny it.  The pull he’s always exerted on you, the undeniably ruinous sirens call—you burn hotter and brighter than accretion, you’re a helpless sailor caught up in his thrall 

“Simon” 

“Did’ya always look so good?”  The way he looks at you as though in a trance…you know he’s not listening, seeming to just be thinking out loud.  When he stands up, you take an automatic step back, then cringe when the vanity hits the back of your legs.  Nowhere to go to escape his looming presence.  “No…not like this. Somethin’s changed.”  He puts his hands on your shoulders and turns you around so you’re both facing the mirror.  

The back of your neck feels particularly warm as he pushes his entire front to your back, and you can feel him there, hard and insistent against your lower back.  When eyes meet in the mirror, he looks at you like you’re a puzzle for him to solve.  “Nothing’s changed,” you whisper.  “You’re still a dick.”

“Hmm,” he mutters, then lifts your face up with one hand around your neck, and brings his cigarette around to your lips with the other. 

Your instinctive inhale makes him shift against you slightly, and your eye twitches from how good he feels pressed up against you like this.  How he smells to you—that familiar mix of aniseed and icy menthol, fingers eking that potent hit of nicotine straight into you from where his fingers dig into your skin.  “Definitely somethin’ different.”  He pulls one strap of your dress down, and you exhale as he places one warm, lingering kiss on your exposed shoulder.  “‘S good.  Whatever’s different is good, little dove.”

“We can’t—,” you whisper, and his eyes glint at you with interest and arrogance through the mirror.  “We can’t do this.”  

“You’re so pretty all dressed up like this.  Always were so pretty.  So soft, and—” he inhales deeply at the spot just under your ear “—always smell so fuckin’ good.”

“You can’t,” you moan in response, but press yourself closer to him, anyway.

“But I can,” he responds gruffly.  “‘Nythin’ I like, little dove.  And I know y’like it too.”

“Fuck, just—”  He interrupts you by giving you another hit, and this time you turn around in his arms to exhale in his face.  He doesn’t even flinch.  “What are you playing at, Simon?  What do you want from me this time?”

Simon continues to look at your mouth as you speak, and almost as if on auto-pilot, slips his thumb into your mouth.  You want to bite him for his audacity, you almost kick him in the shin, almost almost almost…  But what you really end up doing is accepting it, licking the pad of his thumb and letting him push it into your mouth.  

Your initials on the space between the base of his thumb and index finger catch your eye—it’s a new tattoo, and you know this entire game is a ruse to draw your attention to it—but you don’t react.  You may be stupid horny for him, but you’re not stupid.

“Always such a good girl for me,” he praises, and it brightens you up on the inside, sparks hot and bright under your spine.  “Tell me, love…still me you think about when you touch your pussy?”

Your harsh exhale and slightly narrowed eyes are the only indication you give of having heard him at all.  In response, his thumb moves slightly deeper, sitting heavy on your tongue, and you let him.  

Your stubborn silence makes him chuckle, and he stubs out his cigarette on the ashtray you (still) keep on your vanity, pushing your dress up over your ass so he can grab your cheeks possessively.  The movement is so quick, so fluid that your protest turns to ash on your tongue when he finds bare skin and squeezes hard.

“Forgot somethin, did ya?”    

“No.”

“No?”  His hands grip you tighter and pull you harshly into him.  The angle makes you grind into his cock, and you know that he’s not even half as unaffected as he pretends.  “Gonna put out on the first date, then, like a slut?  Don’t remember you givin’ me any the first time I—”

“It’s not my first date with him.”

Simon pulls back to look into your eyes, and you’re graced by the first genuine smile on his face all evening—the most brilliant of Rayleigh scatterings put to shame.    “It is your first date, love.”

The blunt, matter-of-factness in his words gives you pause, your mind still coming to terms with what he’s just said, your heart starting to race at the barely concealed confidence about your whereabouts.  “How do you—what are you saying to me right now?”

“Truth, little dove.  Like I promised.”

The casual, off hand remark to one of the most devastating conversations in your life gives you whiplash and you have to physically shake your head to get rid of the feeling of something crawling up the back of your neck.  You put your hands firmly on his chest and push him away, and he steps back easily.  

“Are you…Simon.  Are you having me followed?” 

“Don’t need to.  I know you, little dove.”  He takes another step back from you and cocks his head at your dazed expression.  “Put some knickers on.  The white ones, y’know ‘em.”  When you don’t move, he motions towards your underwear drawer with an expectant expression—as though you’re frozen because you’ve forgotten where they are rather than because you’ve just learnt that your ex boyfriend’s stalking you.

When he crosses his arms, you’re jolted to action.  In a daze, you pick up the first pair your hands grab and pull them on.  He thrusts your purse at you, and leads you out your front door with his hand clasped tight around yours.   

You wish you could say that your ex boyfriend driving you to a date with another man is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you, but that’s not realistic for a life lived around Simon Riley. 

***

The drive is silent, but one big hand remains on your inner thigh.  His fingers are so long that they almost touch the seat on either side of your leg.  It feels invasive but it’s also familiar, so you don’t say anything.  Classic— he never had to try hard to get what he wanted from you.

When he asks you for a smoke, you light one up for him and stick it into the corner of his waiting mouth, and he kisses your fingertips as they retreat.  You still don’t say anything.  Instead, your eyes stay determinedly on your initials tattooed on his skin, his warm hand almost a brand on your thigh, and you think about your life with him in the .

The implication that things were normal in the before is wildly misleading, and a genuine disservice to the shit he’d put you through.   

Once upon a time, you’d been delusional about your place in Simon’s world; now it just leaves a bad taste in your mouth.  He threw special forces and taskforce and lads need me in your face every opportunity he’d gotten, and worse. Simon Riley was not a man who did or could be convinced to do something he didn’t want to—and you’d hardly ever asked for any explanations from him but still, the excuses were on the tip of his tongue, ready to be flung at you at Mach speed.

You’d bargained with yourself for weeks—oscillating between wanting to proactively end the relationship yourself or allowing its inevitable heat death.  He was one of a kind.  No one had ever made you feel like he had.  No one had fucked you like he had.

No one had fucked you over like he had either, but on good days, you show yourself some grace and let that thought slide.

***

You find yourself falling into old bad habits easily—you wait inside the car until he’s on your side, opening your door for you and practically lifting you out of his car.  

The warmth of his hands seeps through the material of your dress, through the skin on your hips, superheating the bones underneath.  He squeezes the flesh there appreciatively, and though his expression remains hidden to you, you can safely guess the smirking just by the creased skin by his eyes.  

“I never want to see you again.”

The words make Simon pause.  He considers you for a second, the smirk never dropping.  “Go’n, give us a kiss, then, if this is the last time.” 

“I would never,” you insist, finger poking at his hard chest, and he retreats from you, puts his hands up in mock-surrender.   “You’re a manipulative bastard, Simon,” you hiss at him.  “And I’m going on this date.”  With your piece said, you walk away from him.

“Never stopped ya, little dove,” he calls out, a hint of an aggravating laugh in his words.    

 You flip him off without even turning around.  “Drop dead, Simon.”

To your great disappointment, your words don’t inspire the heavens to smite him where he stands immediately, and when you quickly shoot one last look back at him over your shoulder, he stands against his car, arms crossed, looking for all the world like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Asshole.

It wasn’t even that Simon was a bad boyfriend to you—though he was certainly the fucking worst—it was the fact that a) he was a bad person and b) you’d become a bad person by osmosis.

Case in point: you wanted to leave your date mid-meal, battling the intrusive thought of just putting your drink down and walking out the front door, but you couldn’t even say why.  Your date had kindly acquiesced when you’d insisted on the worst table on the floor.  The one overlooking the car park.  The window overlooking the only car parked there—the massive black one, with illegally tinted windows and a suspiciously missing owner.

At least the bar was nice.  Great ambience, dim lighting and pretty interiors, it should have been the perfect first date.  Your date himself was fine too—nice enough with a sweet smile he flashed at you, politely having taken to talking at you when you’d made it clear with your apathy that talking with you wasn’t going to happen.  

After just two drinks, you start to have flashbacks—even an hour spent in Simon’s company clearly manifesting as literal madness—which was disconcerting by itself, but the uncharacteristic subject matter has you really worried.  Every time you blink, you see Simon’s face…or his cock…and when your date asks if you’d like to share dessert, you answer, “Simon…” before hearing yourself, and feeling the heat of shame dance on your cheeks.  Your date just looks confused.

A quick glance outside the window shows the empty car park and…nothing else.  No car.

Had he fuckin’ left?

The thought incenses you, and the irrational nature of the anger makes you feel even more shame.  Why should you care?  When had he ever done what you’d expected of him?  And when had he ever been there for you when you’d needed it.

Fuck it, you think.    

Maybe you were finally free of Simon and his toxic, shameless, unbreakable hold on your life.  Maybe it was time to move on.

You allow yourself a satisfied smile when, in what feels like divine approval of your plan, your date offers to take you home.

***

There are cracks in your ceiling that you’d never noticed before.

You resist the urge to wince, then try to moan but give up when it gets stuck in your throat, and your date misinterprets your sigh of boredom and discomfort as one of pleasure, choosing to go down on you with more enthusiasm than before.  Things could not be worse for you—the man between your legs is clearly in need of a compass and a map and trying so hard that you feel guilty about the whole thing—but you’re determined to tolerate it.  So that the point is made.     

When your date finally leaves, your shaky smile and poorly concealed look of relief convinces neither of you of a second date.  You suppose you should be grateful that he left without a fuss, but you’re just relieved that he’s gone.  You’re contemplating—holding your head in your hands while your elbows rest on the kitchen counter—when you hear him.

“This is pathetic, even for you.”  You turn around, and yep.  It’s him alright.  Sitting at your dinner table, your flimsy chair all but invisible behind his massive frame.  “Breaking in, Simon?  Seriously?”

“Y’gave me a key, little dove.”

“Yeah.  When we were dating.  A key that you’d returned?”  

When there is neither a response, nor any change to his posture, you turn around and start to pour yourself a glass of water.  Then change your mind and grab two whiskey tumblers and your decanter.  “Pathetic,” you repeat.  “How long were you planning this?”

His sudden breath on the back of your neck makes you exhale harshly, and he steadies your trembling hands by placing his on yours.  Together, you pour two glasses of whiskey, but his hands don’t leave yours even when you’re done.

“How was the date?”

“You tell me, Simon.”

“Wasn’t invited, was I?”

“It didn’t stop you.”

He places a small kiss behind your ear in response.  “No.”   His hands knead at your breasts and your head falls back to his shoulder with a sigh, and he grinds into you.  “Feel that?  What even your fake little noises do to me?”

“You were listening?”  The thought is…unbearably hot, and you stubbornly refuse  to examine it any further in your mind.  

“You belong with me, little dove, you know this.  You’ve always belonged to me.  All of you.  Every single inch.  Where would I go?”  

You reach behind you to touch him, and he’s thick and warm to the touch, even through the layers of fabric, and it’s familiar, it’s all so familiar to you..  “This is fucked up.  You were here listening when another man fucked me?”

In a quick succession of lithe, almost impossibly quick movements, he’s picked you up and placed you on your kitchen counter, one glass of whiskey shattering on the floor.  “Made your point, baby?”  

Your robe is off your shoulders and pooling around your waist in a second, and Simon doesn’t even bother hiding his smirk when he pulls off your panties and pockets them.  You don’t bother protesting.  It even feels like trouble when he runs a single finger over the seams of your cunt—you’re damningly wet and if you had enough withal to curse your body out for it, you would.

“You've got such a pretty pussy, little dove,” Ghost says as he fingers you, his voice half-muffled because he's pressing a possessive kiss to your forehead.  “And so wet baby, you’re dripping on my fingers.  All of it fo' me?  Or was it that twat, hm?” 

You're seething inside, raging that your plan backfired like this.  “It was him,” you say, before you can help yourself.  “You heard him fuck me, yeah?”  

“Fuck you?” Simon’s chuckle is dark and ruinous.  “He didn’t fuck you, baby.  He just stretched you out for me.  Good man. Saves me the work, innit.”

Before you can react, before you can breathe, he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, picks up his glass of whiskey in his other hand, and brings you to your bedroom.  Fuck, your sheets are still rumpled, dress and bra strewn on the floor, sandals sitting like a death trap of heel and straps by the foot of your bed.  The room even smells of sex and the cologne your date had worn—it’s disorienting.  You almost feel bad.  Almost.

But…Simon’s presence is all over your bedroom too.  The smell of his aftershave lingered in the air, noticeable if you closed your eyes and breathed in deep.  Other signs too—the faint bitterness of his cigarette from earlier that evening, it’s corpse in the ashtray on your vanity.  When he sets his drink down on your nightstand, he sets it on the coaster you keep there—they’re strewn on almost every surface on your flat.  Mementoes from Simon from different countries he’d go to on deployment.  

“Told you he fucked me,” you say, cheekily—trying to dissuade your mind from leading you towards sentiment—and get a smack on you ass for your trouble.

“‘Course, little dove,” Simon drawls in response.  “‘N you enjoyed it too, yeah?  Tryin’ t’make me jealous.  Took him to the same place we used to go, huh?”  Another smack on your backside, this one hard enough to make you gasp.  “Think I’d forgotten, baby?  Fucked you in that car park, didn’t I?”

“Were you jealous?”

“Why should I be?”  He sets you down gently on the bed so you’re sitting upright, then takes a sip of his whiskey.  “Y’want this.”  

“I didn’t think you were giving me much of a choice.”

“I’m not.”  He takes another sip, and when he leans forward to kiss you, the whiskey floods into your mouth, rich and smoky and bitter.  He continues to kiss you and you have to swallow around his tongue, which makes him kiss you harder.  He’s a bully in every aspect of his life, and kissing you is no different.  His fingers clamp around your cheeks and you have no choice but to kiss him back.  Even in this he dominates you, trying to win even where there is no fight to be fought.

When he pulls away, your heart throbs at how he looks through the lights of the street outside pouring in through your window.  You’ve seen his face before, you’re one of the trusted few that can say they know what Simon Riley looks like, but it’s been a while since you’ve seen him like this.  The harsh lights from outside almost soften where they kiss the harsh angles of his face, where the sharp line of his clenched jaw disappears behind his ears, accentuating his thick neck.

He’s beautiful and cruel and bad for you and every adjective you can think of under the sun.

“Y’want this,” he repeats.  

“I want this.”

And then Simon moves so suddenly.  There’s no preparing for it, no accounting for speed that has no build up—one second you’re sitting upright looking up at him the next you’re on your back and he’s hovering over you, fingers making quick work of his zipper before, in one push, he’s buried in you.  Your breath feels like it’s literally been punched out of your chest.  He’s so deep in you, you can feel him in your throat—he allows you one deep breath before he’s got a large hand wrapped around your throat.  The one with your tattoo on it.

The thought of it incites something foreign deep in your belly, low and simmering hot—you can’t believe he’s tattooed your name on his hand after telling you that he didn’t think you were what he’d wanted.  

You can’t imagine your expression right now, but he tightens his fingers around your throat and it drags your attention back to him.  He’s gritting his teeth, his jaw clamped tightly shut while he grinds his pelvis into yours, each thrust driving you further and further away from him and towards the centre of the bed.  You don’t even understand the movement of his hips—you’re displaced and jostled from the sheer power of his thrusts—but the motion itself feels like it’s more of an up and down motion, dragging against your walls, punching into your G spot.  When your head falls back on a low moan, he jerks your body to alertness just by your throat, and you clench at the feat of strength even when he’s buried in you as far as he can go.  

Simon groans in response, the noise sounding like it tears through his throat on its way out, but you’re helpless to do anything at all, just trying to breathe through the foreign sensations inside you right now, clamp tighter and tighter around him, threatening to break.  You’ve given up trying to look up at him anymore, the pleasure making you squeeze your eyes shut, one hand intertwined with his by your head, the other clawing at his forearm.  

“Shit, baby, hold on, fuck, jus’ let me—” He moves to adjust you, grabbing one thigh to spread you open, push himself deeper inside you, when he freezes.  

“Wha—Simon, what—”

“The fuck is this?” His voice is pitched lower than usual, dark and dangerous.  You follow his line of sight and he’s transfixed, eyes unblinking, looking at a spot on your inner thigh.  You know what he’s seeing, and in the midst of everything that’s happened, everything that’s about to happen, you wonder if you’re seeing the evidence of the existence of a just God.

“You weren’t…you weren’t meant to see it.  It’s from ages ago…”  He reaches out a slightly trembling hand towards it, stops inches away from it—and oh this is better than anything you could’ve imagined—before he brushes two reverent fingers over the little skull you have tattooed there.  “Simon?”

When Simon looks back at you, he seems more determined, somehow.  Like the final part of a puzzle has clicked into place, somehow, and a decision has been made.

This time when he moves, it’s deeper, more powerful but equally as deliberate.  The hand around your throat moves to your face, brushing sweaty strands away from it, and framing the entire side of your face where it rests.  “Got my mark on you, yeah?  Want t’keep me, is that it?”

“I want…want to keep you,” you nearly whine at him, and his hips kick up, hammer into you, in and out, in and out— “Want to keep you Simon.  Want to be yours.”

He bends over you, his grip on your thigh unyielding, long fingers digging into the tattoo on your skin.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I—” He uses your neck to muffle his own sounds for a second and then leans to kiss you.  But it’s more than that.  You feel Simon’s surrender in that kiss—the acceptance of the inevitable, your months of torturous longing for your torturer finding release—and when you come, you bite down hard on his lip.

It feels like your body is hot enough to melt the world into soft, sepia tones around you, and you don’t even understand what he’s doing to your body right now as he fucks you through your orgasm.  He readjusts your hips as you come, and the slightest brush of the coarse hair at the base of his cock against your clit makes you vibrate from the shock of what feels like your second orgasm bleeding into your first.

And when he comes, he slams his hips into you like he’s trying to crawl inside of you.  His groan is long and tortured, and for a man who’s usually silent when he fucks, the sound is delicious.  You never want him to stop.  “Fuckin’ shit,” he murmurs, and traps you as he collapses on top of you.

In the aftermath, there is quiet.  

Simon lifts his head, once, to try to feel his way to the glass of whiskey on your nightstand, all while kissing you deeply.  Turns out, fucked out of his mind Simon is clumsy as hell, and so you grab it for him, draining it yourself before offering him the empty glass.

“Fuckin’ whore,” he mutters, unimpressed, before burying his face in your neck.  

“Says the man who slept with the entire British army in a matter of six months.”  You kiss his sweaty hair and his grip on your hips tightens.  “Bunch of slags.” 

“Don’t call my sergeant a slag.”

“Your serg—” you gasp, feeling your restart its pounding in its cage.   “Not Johnny!  You slept with MacTavish?  He fuckin—he fuckin’ offered to meet me for coffee so many times when we were broken up!  I thought he was being nice!”

“Was bein’ nice, innit.  Lookin’ out for his CO’s girl.”

Your head falls back to the bed as you stare up at the ceiling again.  “This is messed up.”  His casual tone feels like a barb, reopens old wounds and threatens to ignite a fresh wave of hostility inside you.  But before you can stew in your bitterness any longer, he kisses the side of your neck and moves off of you.

“Can’t keep doing this, little dove.”  He says, gathering your clothes from where they’re strewn all over your room.  

You get up on your elbows and cock your head, feigning innocent confusion.  “What do you mean?”

“Gonna have twats all over town stretchin’ you out fo’ me before I fuck you?”

“Why?  You offering to put the graft in yourself?”

“Maybe,” he mumbles, and when he stands up to face you, he’s got a cig hanging off the corner of his mouth.  “Y’got a light around here somewhere, can’t find mine.”

You roll your eyes, reaching over to the nightstand to grab one and throwing it at him.  He catches it deftly, and lights up his cigarette.  “What’s next for you then, Simon Riley?  Off to the pub to find the next victim for the evening?  Send me a recording of when you fuck her in the disgusting toilet?”

“Victim?  Shit baby, give me ten, we’ll go again,” he says, exhaling a cloud of smoke.    

“You’re staying?”

He leans forward, smushes your face with his large hand.  “You got me inked on you.”  You squirm away from him and he lets you go.

“It’s just a skull, Simon.  Not my initials on your hand.”  When his eyes narrow, you gasp theatrically and your hand flies up to your chest.   “Or was I not meant to see that?”  You lean up to pluck the cigarette from his fingers and take a long drag.  “Obnoxious, by the way.”

He leans forward and kisses you, hard.  You inadvertently end up blowing smoke in his mouth, but he doesn’t move, kissing you until you melt.  “Love you, little dove.  You're a massive bitch, though.”

“Pot meet kettle,” you whisper against his mouth.

You know what they say about history repeating itself.  You’ve been through this cycle before, you and Simon.  And you know what he promised you when he fucked you—he may have asked you if you’d wanted to keep him, but you hear what Simon doesn’t say.  And what he doesn’t say is that you don’t have a choice in any of this.  Simon operates like a bully, thinks like a bully because he is one.  Like with most other things, Simon brute forces your relationship, moulds and bends and twists to his liking, does not care if anything breaks.  You have no doubt that in two or three weeks’ time he’ll be across the world from you, bouncing someone else on his cock but it hardly matters.  You’ll get your lick back.  It’s what he’s taught you, afterall.        

[dantakeyoman]

You Want Your Avatar To Become Fully Na’vi, But Neteyam Is Firmly Against It (SFW / Slight-Angst)

Reader is Fem! Avatar

CW: Angry Neteyam, he means well, he’s just scared :’), reader is in her avatar body during argument, things for the humans of Pandora aren’t doing so great, this was NOT meant to take this long, i dont think this came out well

“Absolutely not! It is out of the question!” Neteyam harshly dismissed, turning his back on you.

“Neteyam, you are only looking at the possible downsides. I-.” “I do not find your death a downside, (y/n),” he cut off, whipping back around in anger.

He could not believe you were suggesting this, knowing how he felt about the subject.

You wanted to make the change, to ask Eywa to bond your human soul with your Na’vi avatar.

But there was no guarantee that the Great Mother would accept this request. 

In fact, it was highly likely that she would deny it, taking you to join her sooner than planned.

Like so many had before you.

“Well, living in my human body is not much different from death, is it?” you huffed, angrily crossing your arms.

“Do not talk like that,” Neteyam glared, pointing a warning finger at you, saying Eywa forbid in his head for good measure.

“It’s true! I am a human, Neteyam! Living on a planet where anything and everything can kill me! My bones aren’t reinforced with carbon like you!” you burst, throwing your hands up in frustration.

“All it takes is one misstep, one wrong move, one place I’m in at the wrong time. And I’m done. Finished.”

“I will protect you, then! But there is no way I can let you go through with this!” Neteyam exclaimed, his eyes having the tiniest flicker of...something.

It was fear.

This conversation was truly frightening him. 

You seemed dead set on this, not budging a single inch even after the screaming match you two had been having for the past hour.

“There is no guarantee that you will survive the transfer.”

“There is no guarantee that you will be there every time I need saving,” you countered, sharply.

“I WILL BE!”

“BUT WHAT IF YOU WON-?!”

“KEHE!” he loudly hissed, silencing you mid-sentence.

You looked at him, blankly. Shocked.

He had never hissed at you before.

“I will not listen to this any longer,” he said darkly, turning around and getting ready to walk out.

You could not let the argument end like this. 

And you knew you had to share with him what you had found out from the scientists.

"There’s been talk, Neteyam,” you started, the Na’vi boy stopping in his tracks.

He was listening.

“I overheard Norm and Max talking about the oxygen tanks that were left over from the first Great War. They said that they can only last for so long. And with no way to replenish them, they’re guessing we only have about a year and a half of air left before it completely runs out.”

Neteyam’s eyes shot wide as he turned around, looking at you nervously.

Fearfully.

“That is why I have been so persistent with this. If I do not make the transfer, I will either be sent back to Earth-.” You paused, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Or I will die.”

The horrible word sent Neteyam’s head spinning, his mind already coming up with images of you laying on the forest ground, gasping for air that was no longer there.

Both options were unbearable.

Your death was obviously out of the question. But going back to Earth? 

He’d never see you again. 

You’d go back to living with your people. And no doubt some human man would try to sweep you off your feet.

The very thought made his blood boil, and his heart burn.

Not you. Not his love.

He didn’t think he could physically function without you by his side.

Who would braid his hair? Who would cuddle him when he was tired? Who would help patch his wounds after battle?

The poor boy was so lost in his imaginary grief, that he didn’t even notice to walk up to him, until you cupped his cheek in your hand.

“Do you see now? The choice is death now, or death later-.” “Please,” Neteyam stopped you, pleadingly, his voice cracking as he rested his forehead on yours.

“Do not speak like that. Do not bring those pictures into my head.”

You sighed, allowing your thumb to caress his cheek as you placed a feather-light kiss on his lips.

“I will not go through it without your blessing, my Neteyam,” you assured, giving him a sad smile.

If Neteyam did not feel comfortable with you making the transition, then you would respect his wishes. 

Neteyam took a deep breath, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into a tight hug.

“You promise you will come back to me?” he asked, muffled as he lowered his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

You cheesed, a small chuckle escaping your lips.

“I do not believe Eywa brought us together if she did not plan for me to.”

...

“Tìng mikun ayoheru rutxe, ma Nawma Sa’nok!” Mo’at exclaimed to the People, the Sully family, and the entire clan connected to the Soul Tree.

“Srung si poeru, ma Eywa,” the clan chanted in unison, the bioluminescent ground pulsing on beat.

You, and your avatar body, lay naked at the base of the tree, unconscious as the undergrowth made tsaheylu with the nape of both your necks.

Neteyam kneeled nervously before you, saying his own quiet prayer to Eywa for your good health.

To everyone else, he seemed surprisingly calm about this, as if the whole ceremony didn’t faze him in the slightest.

But on the inside, he was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

If you were to die, he didn’t think he could take it.

He wasn’t strong enough.

When he watched the beautiful eyes of your human body shut, it felt as if his heart was being ripped out.

What if that was the last time he could look into them? 

His hands shook as he continued, the only one seeming to notice being his mother.

She knew how she felt.

She was in his exact place at one time. Years ago.

“Pori tireati, munge mì nga,” Mo’at walked over to your human body, shaking her hands above you.

“Srung si poeru, ma Eywa,” the clan chanted in unison.

“ulte tìng ayoer nì’eyng ngeyä ya!” she shifted to your avatar, shaking her hands above her as well.

“Srung si poeru, ma Eywa,” the clan chanted in unison.

“Tivìran po ayoekip,” Mo’at held her hands up to the air.

“Srung si poeru, ma Eywa,” the clan chanted in unison.

“Na Na’viyä hapxì!” she shouted, whipping her hands out to the People.

“Eo Eywa oe’ia. Eo Eywa oe’ia. Eo Eywa oe’ia.”

Mo’at’s eyes rolled in the back of her head as she continued to chant, Neteyam practically sweating bullets.

It’d be quite a funny sight if the stakes weren’t so high.

“Lu hasey!” she shouted, silencing the crowd.

The ceremony was done.

Quickly, Neteyam crouched over you, carefully removing the oxygen mask from your face and placing it next to you.

He leaned down, placing two, gentle kisses on each of your eyelids.

You looked so peaceful.

Moving over to your avatar, he carefully caressed her face, looking down at her so lovingly.

Don’t get him wrong, your human body was beautiful. One of the prettiest he’s ever seen.

But when it came to your avatar.....well....let’s just say your features, and a Na’vi woman’s features, mix very well.

“Please wake up, my love. I am right here. I am waiting for you,” he encouraged, raising your hand to his cheek as he sadly smiled.

He knew passing through the Eye of Eywa was very tiring, but he would be there to cheer you on the whole way.

And just like that, you gasped, your eyes snapping open.

The entire clan went up in uproarious cheers.

This was the first time the transfer had worked in a long time.

“My (y/n)!” Neteyam sighed, relieved as he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug.

He was at the brink of tears.

He was so, so proud of you.

That’s right. His soon-to-be mate was the one that survived. 

She was a strong, beautiful, and tough woman, Na’vi or not.

“It....worked!” you looked down at yourself, turning over your hands to get a good look at them.

I had truly worked. You were Na’vi now.

And you had seen Eywa.

Oh, she was so gorgeous. Her beauty was divine, and beyond complete comprehension, but she was still soft and kind, like that of a mother.

You would have to tell Neteyam all about it when you got a chance.

Speak of the devil.

“Neteyam!” you squealed as the boy quickly scooped you up bridal style, turning to the clan with a smirk on his face.

“AUAUAUAUAUAUAUAU!” he ululated happily, holding you close as he paraded you down the aisle, his smile nearly blinding you.

You laughed, wrapping our arms around his neck as the people of the clan cheered, some letting out their own shouts of joy.

As you two approached his ikran, you smirked, sitting yourself down on the saddle.

“I told you I would make it back,” you teased, earning a playful eye roll from the warrior as he hopped on behind you.

“I am happy you proved me wrong,” he smirked, turning your chin with his thumb and index, landing a passionate kiss on your lips.

It was the type to leave you breathless when you separated.

Which it did.

As you stared at him, stupidly...lovingly. He smiled, a small chuckle escaping his lips.

“What am I going to do with you?”

...

taglist !!

@vane28282, @remutoast, @p1nkprint, @ladyorchidia, @anthonys-viscountess, @karmz-7319, @cantbuysophialove, @scarabruhs, @an0th3rsss, @deloe18, @mariiyoushi, @av1xar, @alexxcorona113, @may-and-lay, @overlyfancybreakfastfoods, @harshita-hiranyamayi, @qui-02, @myheartfollower, @morks-watermelon, @bangtanxberm

[changetyre]

Hiiii, uhm i dont know how to ask this hahha but could you maby do a smut fic with Lance Stroll, you can do any Story you want but i just cant find any fluffy or smut stories with him, plsss (only if you want, but smut pls , would be much appreciated)

SUMMARY: Being a personal assistant to Lance Stroll was complicated considering certain leniencies, when he misbehaves you take all the hear, which naturally caused tension between you both.

WARNINGS: **18+**, not proofread

A/N: Again sorry it took so long but hope you like it ;)

You sat in the meeting room, trying to hide your annoyance but it was clearly evident in your face as well as many others. You looked at your watch indicating you were almost reaching the 40 minute mark of waiting for one person to start.

You would’ve worried if this wasn’t such a common certain for a certain member of the team who was so secure in his position he truly didn’t care for punctuality, no actual punishment for his lack of professionalism.

"This is the 5th time this week alone he's been late to his meetings y/n, I thought you said you handled it the first time-" A team member muttered beside you.

You would've answered if it weren't for the door opening soon after.

“Morning everyone, sorry I’m a little late ran into some traffic.” Lance finally walked into the room.

There was a shared sigh of relief from everyone although for you his appearance only made you angrier reminding you of yet another date you were at risk of canceling because of having to wait for this brat to show up.

“No worries, let’s start right away.” No one dared to scold Lance, even less when the older Stroll was present who didn’t even bat an eye at his son’s tardiness.

The meeting started as Lance took a seat next to you giving you a wink completely dismissing the furious look in your eyes. Lance's hand went to rest on your thigh as he so often attempted to do but was quickly swatted away by your hand as usual.

"So Lance you haven't come in for sim work this week which we really need, are you able to stay for about an hour this evening?" Mike asked him.

"Right I would love to but I think I have an important meeting tonight right y/n?" Lance turned to look at you hoping you would once again pull him out of his duties but you'd had enough.

"No actually, you're all free this evening, as well as the whole day tomorrow...I made sure to clear your schedule." You cockily smirked loving that everyone was here for this as Lance looked at you annoyed.

"Oh are you sure I mean-" Lance tried to push once again.

"100%" You quickly cut him off.

"Perfect, we expect you this evening then." Mike was content as he continued on with the last details of the meeting all while Lance glared at you.

Once the meeting was finished you were quick to pack your things up and head out but Lance was quick to stop you before you could leave.

"What the hell was that?" He asked you once everyone else had left the room leaving you both alone.

"It was me doing the job I am paid to do successfully for the first time in a while." You bit back.

"Fine, but where the hell do you think you're off to in a rush?" Lance watched as you continued packing things up quickly stopping you by pulling you close to him by your waist. He was touchy you knew that and eventually grew used to it.

"Unlike you, I'm done for the day so I'm hoping I can still make it to my date." You attempted to walk by him but he blocked your path.

"A date?" He scoffed. "You're not going anywhere, if I'm staying you are too." he cockily smiled as his hand gripped your waist tighter.

"I was meant to finish over two hours ago I've done my job so no excuse me-" Once more you attempted to walk past him only to be stopped again by him pulling you into his chest.

"You knew this job didn't have strict working hours, you're my personal assistant, and I say when you're done. You get paid generously for every extra minute." He got closer repeating every word right up in your face. You could feel his breath on your lips.

"You're a dick." You shoved him back which only humored him.

"You better cancel that date if you want to keep this job sweetheart." Lance laughed.

You were furious, he knew you couldn't afford to lose his job and he was right in the fact that you always got paid for every single hour you worked.

_____________

After the previous rough evening, you found yourself once again back in the AM headquarters waiting for Lance to show up for more testing which he was late to.

"I thought we said 8am sharp." One of the team analysts looked at you, obviously annoyed.

"I told him to be on time, I gave him his schedule, he knows-" You started explaining.

"Your job is to make sure he is where he needs to be when he needs to be and you have failed to do so for months now." Mike who had also been waiting for Lance to arrive threatened you. "After today you're fired."

"Please I-" You didn't have a chance to defend yourself.

"Morning everyone, let's get started." Lance arrived, smiling as if he hadn't just arrived over an hour late.

Everyone else faked a smile just for him, just to keep him pleased while you were left concerned for yourself.

_______

"You have a marketing day tomorrow, you need to be there at 7am on the dot." You looked through Lance's schedule stressed about everything he had lined up praying for once he would listen to you.

"Hmm...I'm having a late night tonight so might be a little late but-" Lance started ready to approach you with his excuses as he changed out of his uniform.

"NO LANCE!" You blew up. "Fuck." You fell back onto the couch in his room in defeat realizing you had been way too loud. "For once will you just do as you are asked...even if it's the last time." You looked down.

"What are you talking about?" Lance approached you trying to hold you as he normally did but this time you pulled back.

You looked up at him and he noticed the fiery look he normally found in them was missing.

"Mike fired me this morning." You revealed to him too bothered to get angry at him anymore. "I finish today then I'm gone."

"He did what?" There was obvious fury in his voice. "Why would he-"

"Because you never do what I ask you to do." You didn't even let him finish.

"You're saying this is my fault?" Lance asked.

"You know what whatever Lance, do whatever you want. I'm done" You threw the iPad on the couch grabbing your stuff ready to leave.

"Stop." Lance grabbed your arm. "You're not going anywhere."

"I don't think that's your call anymore." You dismissed him but he held you tightly.

"I hired you. So trust me it's my call." Lance cupped your cheek making you look at him. "You're not going anywhere."

"But Mike-"

"Mike does what I say." He didn't even let you refute it.

"Don't worry...you're not going anywhere." He repeated pulling you closer and placing a kiss on your forehead.

"So you're just gonna keep paying me for not being able to do my job well enough?" You looked up at him.

"I would pay you to just keep you around me looking all pretty sweetheart." Lance smiled down at you placing a kiss on your cheek.

"You're infuriating-" You met his eyes again.

"Shut up" Lance kissed you roughly pulling you tightly against him.

"What do you-"Lance deepened the kiss, "think you're-"He began taking your coat off "doing?" you finished asking him between kisses with no real attempt to stop him.

"What I've always wanted to do." Lance quickly answered as he pulled his shirt off before pulling you back in and slipping his tongue inside your mouth.

"We shouldn't do this." You said as you pulled your own shirt off letting Lance unbutton your jeans and begin pulling them down.

"I love doing what I shouldn't." Lance finished pulling your jeans down before pushing you back onto the couch.

"And I hate you for it." You reminded him but were quickly shut up when he went down on you. "Agh fuck-" You moaned as he began to kiss your clit over your panties.

"I thought I told you to shut up." Lance cockily smiled between your legs as he pushed your panties aside licking up your slit before you could even bite back.

"Mhmm...please Lance." You gripped onto his hair.

"Please what baby?" Lance licked and sucked at your clit driving you crazy. "Fuck you're so wet-" Lance drooled at the sight in front of him.

"Don't stop-" You begged him as you could feel your orgasm nearing.

"Nah ah, sweetheart. You're cumming on my cock-" He stopped just before you could finish making you whine in annoyance.

"Lance! Please." You begged annoyed, a tone he was more used to but in a completely new context.

Lance didn't bother to go slowly as he sank fast and deeply into you, your eyes rolling back in pleasure.

"Aghhh shit" you moaned as he began thrusting into you.

"Does that feel good baby?" Lance asked you as he toyed with your tits.

"Fuck Lance...feels-" You struggled to speak through the pleasure. "Feels so good." You got lost in the feeling.

"You're not going anywhere, baby. I'll make sure of it." Lance whispered to you a quiet reassurance while he fucked you harshly, the first time of many.

[kadwrites]

office scandal | T.S

previous part | next part

or check out the series masterlist

summary ; polly takes you with her to run an errand.

warnings ; arranged marriage trope, bad writing?!! , typos maybe (english isn't my first language)

a/n ; i almost lost my mind writing this. hopefully the accents are better and polly is well portrayed? lmk what you think <3

_

you're still on your bed, your friends are on it too this time. madeline and fiona , are on either side of you, kneeling on your mattress.

"what do ya mean y're gettin' married ?" madeline looks at you with a crooked smile, she thinks you're messing with her.

fiona is just staring at you with her head tilted

"i mean i am to be wed, betrothed, spoken for,"

"okay stop." fiona puts a hand up , "when did ya decide to do that? i thought ya were waitin' to get swept off yer feet"

you sigh, leaning back and letting the back of your head hit the bed frame "it just ... 'appened..."

madeline and fiona look at eachother before looking at you

"what are ya not tellin' us?"

"yeah , what are ya hidin' ?"

you look at them both, you contemplate telling them. you haven't really spoken about this whole ordeal to anyone , not really. and its been a week and a half already

"i um" your eyes drop to your hands "my parents chose 'im for me"

"yer parents?" fiona asks with a raised brow "and how exactly did they convince ya to do that?"

"its a long story" you wave a dismissive hand

"so ya know who he is?" madeline copies fiona, tilting her head too "do we know 'im as well?"

"i think everyone in birmingham knows 'im" you mutter under your breath

"who the fuck are ya marryin'?the king of england?"

you just stare at them, you lick your lips "ya got to keep yer knickers intact."

they both nod,

"its thomas shelby"

"what?" fiona's face drops , her voice does too.

madeline just snorts a laugh and then then goes quiet and just looks at you, "y're jokin' right?"

you take a deep breath "no , i am not jokin' "

"what do ya mean y're marryin' thomas shelby?" madeline gets closer to you "how?"

"i don't know..." just look back at them, your voice soft too.

"do ya want this?" madeline asks again

"it's complicated really..."

"no its not, ya either do or ya don't" fiona's hands grab yours "do ya not want this?"

you lick your lips, you take a moment to think , howare you going to even phrase this "i do,"

"ya do know who he is right?" madeline stares at you with a confused look "he isn't just any man"

"i know who he is..." you sigh

"then how are ya willing to marry 'im?" fiona never spoke so seriously before

"i 'ave my reasons"

"i hope that they're good enough for ya to put yourself through this" madeline chimes in again

you just close your eyes and let yourself plop back against the mattress, fiona and madeline share another look.

" 'ave you seen 'im?" madeline laid next to you

"yeah" you say with a chuckle , your mind flashing images of him on the sofa.

"is he really a dish?"

madeline smacks fiona on her arm and fiona rubs it with a frown "what! ya were thinkin' that too!"

you roll your eyes, but a small smile plays at your lips "he isn't bad lookin' i suppose."

madeline looks at you with a raised brow

"fine, he's a dish, happy?" you mumble , as if it pained you to admit it

"at least one of us will be fuckin' someone attractive"

"i thought ya liked callum" madeline frowns

"i love ya madeline i do, but callum isn't exactly a sight for the sore eyes"

"when's the weddin'?"

you look at madeline "i dont know , we 'ave yet to speak about that"

"i bet it's gonna be grand , ey?" fiona wiggles her brows

"well if i'm marryin' one of the wealthiest man in birmingham i might as well make at an occasion"

"wait , did you 'ave an engagement party already?" madeline asks, with a gasp and a hand on her chest

"if i did, ya would've been there."

"he has a son , ya know" fiona's voice goes back to its soft tone

you hum and nod "he told me about 'im"

"he did?" madeline asks with a smile

"what did he say?"

"that he wants a wife that can take care of 'im,"

"won't be long till you start poppin' out babies too" fiona mumbles

"whats that supposed to mean?" you ask with a chuckle

"with a husband this good lookin'? i give ya three months, and ya'll have a little one in that belly"

"don't speak that into existence!"

"i mean..." madeline says with a smirk "look at celest, she got pregnant with sarah , what? 4 or 5 months after she got married?"

"please don't open this topic of conversation" you beg as you rub your hand over your face "im stressed as it is."

all the of you turn to look at the door when you hear is open and celest's head peaks in "polly gray is here"

madeline and fiona turn to look at eachother then at you

"why?"

"i don't know but she's waitin' for ya" celest shrugs

"i'll be right there" you get off the bed and open the doors to your closet, looking for something to wear

"polly gray ? she's the shelbys aunt isnt she?"

"what does she want with ya?"

you change your clothes in a hurry, mind racing with possibilities "im not sure" you just mumble as you put on your blouse.

they watch you as you fix your hair and then go downstairs.

"mrs gray" you say with a polite smile as you walk into the living room "to what do i owe the pleasure"

she looks at you with a look thats eerily similar to her nephew's,and you try to not turn and walk back up the stairs

"we 'ave some business to attend to"

"we do?" your brows furrow "at this time?" it was 6 in the evening after all.

"yes"

"okay." you try not to snap your own neck at that response.

you get into her car as she drives, you two sitting in awkward silence "where are we goin' ?"

she glances at you before glancing back at the road and you just don't ask again but then you see your destination, shelby company limited and you think you might just not get out of that car but you do. your heels click against the floor when you walk through the dark halls.

there aren't many people there considering the work day has already ended, but you see a woman. she's young, around your age maybe. and she greets polly, completely ignoring you but you chalk it up to maybe the fact that it's polly gray is standing next to you.

"good evenin' , mrs gray" her voice is almost sickly sweet

"do you know who this is?" she asks her, nodding at you.

she looks you up and down and then shakes her head "nah, i can't say i do."

"she's tommy shelby's fiancé."

"i didn't know he was engaged" her lashes flutter and her lips twitch as she tries to maintain her smile.

"ya do now , don't ya?" polly stares that woman down "an' i hope it doesn't escape yer mind"

you just watch as the color drains out of her face as she excuses herself and scurries back to her work.

"what the fuck was that about?" it escapes your mouth before you even think, polly turns to you "that poor girl"

"in a place like this , ya either put yer fucking foot down and let everyone know what yer place is before they decide for themselves." her voice is stern, its firm and it makes you stand straighter "an' that poor girl wants to fuck yer fiancée"

"what?" your voice is squeaky, its high pitched. "how could you possibly know that?"

"anyone with eyes can fuckin' see that."

"i.." your words die when you look at her and you realize, she's helping you. "why are ya doin' this for me?"

"i know ya might not had the control that ya wanted over who yer husband is" her tone doesn't change when she speaks "so i'll give ya one piece of advice, ya can't marry tommy if ya don't 'ave a backbone. it'll be easier for ya to kill yerself than to live with 'im."

you know polly, but not well. she and your father knew eachother as children , your father is part gypsy himself. you remember meeting her a handful of times as a child but you were always too scared to talk to her for very long.

ironically, your mother didn't like the lifestyle her nephews led, she didn't want her children to be involved in it so you didn't get to see polly much throughout your life.

but you do remember one thing vividly and its her telling you to bite your brother back whenever he bothered you "or ya'll just show 'im that he can treat ya like that for the rest of yer life, ya dont want that now do ya?" . and you did do just that when abraham tugged on your braids a mere 10 minutes later, and polly winked at you , as she sipped her tea and you just stood there smiling proudly even though your mother was yelling at you for making your brother cry.

when you hear another pair of steps walking towards you, you both turn to see tommy. he's in his usual getup sans the jacket, a cigarette hanging from his lip and his glasses are on , his hands in his pocket.

"are ya done terrorizin' my secretary?"

polly just looks at him and walks past him "i'll leave ya two to it then."

and you were left there with him, blinking at that interaction.

"terrorizin' ? thats a bit of an exaggeration"

_

@tardisloverz , @optimisticsandwichgladiator

[gaoau]

would rather kms than make my only winbre post be about Suo's stupid ass, so it's time to talk about Nirei cause i love him. i read a post and my blood started boiling i dont fuck around so now i gotta defend him with my life. also cause im sick and tired of him not being deemed marketable enough to be included in merch and collab illusts when he's a whole—if not the most important—third of the main trio. (theres something to be said about Tsugeura too, considering they don't use him but love using Kiryuu, but that's a different conversation.)

anyway, on Nirei and the exceptionality of being ordinary.

manga spoilers btw also disclaimer im not eloquent at all i just say things.

there's something about Nirei that just simply isn't special and i think that's wonderful. not in a mean-spirited sense; Nirei is the most regular out of anyone in Furin, so much so that he had to buy an ugly shirt he didn't even like to stand out. he's just a kid with a notebook and a simple backstory trying to follow a hero's example. he's nothing extraordinary, especially seeing the people he's surrounded by. physically, he's very limited, which he knows and doesn't ignore at all, so he can't do much in fights. no one is more acutely aware of his own limits than Nirei. i was reading the first couple chapters again and it breaks my heart to hear his efforts be dismissed as "playing hero," because Nirei is the biggest hero in this whole manga.

it's true, yeah, he can't fight. he's more like another average citizen of Makochi than he is a Bofurin member sometimes. he lacks fighting abilities, his diplomacy isn't particularly the best, and he's two seconds away from going into cardiac arrest at almost all times. but it's not like he gives a shit. every single time he gets beaten into the ground, he picks himself back up immediately. he takes hit after hit, time and time again, because no matter how battered or defenseless he is, his drive to stay and protect the town is ridiculously strong. he does go down when he can't take any more (keel), but it's with improvement and training that he manages to throw his first—albeit useless—punch (noroshi or whatever this arc is called idk). improvement that, mind you, comes from recognizing his own limitations.

some have called him reckless (Suo), but i disagree, because Nirei is right. i know the kids would rather look out for him and have him uninjured by the end of a scuffle, but he doesn't need to be coddled. everybody else jumps into a brawl and gets a broken nose regardless of their fighting skills. Nirei isn't any different. he knows he's limited, he knows he can't fight, he knows he's nothing special. he risks it all anyway, because even though he wasn't built for fighting, he's more than prepared to try over and over again until his efforts are enough to make a difference. he's looked at Sakura's back and thought he couldn't match him, that Sakura gets back up even when he's almost fully tapped out, that he's not needed because Sakura's stronger and will be okay without him.

maybe he's right about this, too. i'm inclined to disagree, but i understand where he's coming from. Nirei chases, Nirei can't stop running because he'll fall behind all these phenomenal beasts that can hold their own. i'm so glad the conclusion he reached was "okay, i gotta step up my game," but i'm not really surprised. this is Nirei Akihiko we're talking about and, i think Suo put it best, he wants to become stronger more than anybody.

he's been at a disadvantage this whole time, "playing hero" rather than being an "actual" hero, but he has a goal. if he has to tear himself apart to stand next to Sakura, he will. he doesn't have to, of course, he's already more than useful the way he is, but when you're so ordinary that you get lost in the crowd, standing beside someone so exemplary makes you want more.

honestly, Nirei's fucking wild. lil bro's actually crazy. we've seen characters go apeshit, but no one in this entire manga is nearly as insane as he is. i appreciate Suo telling him to slow down and chill out, cause he was fully intending to kill himself learning how to fight with zero foundation. my guy was more than ready to actually fight Endo. he meant that. it's a good thing he's properly learning how to defend himself, considering he probably lacks the muscle to go on the offense. those are his limits and he knows that. it frustrates him, but it definitely does little to stop him, because look how big his back is. i hope somebody tells him, after all of this is over, that he's doing more than enough, more than great.

to be fair, fighting isn't even where he shines, and that's okay. he's not strong enough to beat anyone's ass and he doesn't need to be, either. he doesn't need to be a leader like Sakura or a devotee like Sugishita or mimic whatever the fuck Suo's got going on. in the words of my favorite pink curse, the real heroes are the ones who support from the back, and that's exactly what Nirei does. he's said it himself, he wants to guide Sakura all the way to the top and he can, because he thrives in being another citizen of Makochi. he's a regular person and i think that's what makes him so compelling and important.

there's something so fascinating about his simplicity. he really is nothing more than just an ordinary kid. put him in a normal high-school classroom and he'll pass his midterms with a 75. he recognizes what he's good at, of course, he knows the town inside out and it's very useful, especially to Sakura. he's amazing support. it really doesn't seem like it and people love to completely dismiss him, but i wanna be outrageous and call him the backbone of these kids. he was Sakura's first friend and he continues to be the one pushing and prodding to make sure he stands back up every single time. he's more necessary than anyone gives him credit for. i have no doubt in my mind that, if it weren't for him, Sakura wouldn't be able to do half the things he's managing. even Suo, who's out here acting like he knows the secrets of the universe, has to stop and reorganize his ideas when Nirei talks.

if Suo is the heart (debatable, but okay, whatever bro says) and brain, i'd like to think Nirei is the spirit and the soul. there's no chance the kids would work so smoothly without Nirei around—which, yes, arguably the same could be said of all of them, but i've seen Nirei be dismissed as a Zenitsu looking ass gag character and i've never had to hold back a kys so hard. idk for sure what the general consensus on him is cause i've only ever seen him used in the context of ships and never on his own, which honestly makes me a little sad. especially after seeing the popularity poll cause he didn't even make it into the top 5 with not even 1k points personal offense tbh i need a word with the voters. what i've gathered is that aint nobody gaf about his ass im devastated Suo has to fuck off (13k votes is crazy gang come on). which i don't understand. take him out of the equation and everything falls apart. Sakura's the sword, Suo's the strategy, and Nirei is the ambition, the desire, the force, the feelings.

there's much to be said about how he's treated, not only in-universe, but also by the people consuming the media and the pr team. i don't fuck with shipping, but when i'm scrolling through my timeline, Nirei only exists in the context of somebody's favorite ship. and don't fucking get me started on the mischaracterization. look me in the eye and tell me Nirei doesn't have more conviction than any of these dumbass kids. yes, he gets scared and he's fucking horrified most of the time, but motherfucker he's fighting. he's out there in the frontlines, making himself useful, biting more than he can chew and then some. i dare you to treat him like wittle baby that needs protection.

if not for his uniqueness, look at him for his regularity, because i find it endearingly wonderful. i think there's something so special about the ordinary. he deserves a lot more than what he's getting so these mfs better put him in all collab illusts cause if i have to see Kaji in his place one more time i will personally book a flight. okay thank you thats all i promise ill never come back here have day.

[starrclown]

Silly little double post cause I thought of this SECONDS after my original post bitching about the Hotel.

I have a theory on why people don't complain about the black characters designs of Hazbin Hotel. (I'll talk about it at the end)

Let's talk about the 4 black characters of Hazbin Hotel that people defend the designs with their LIFE.

First up:

ALASTOR

Alastor has been confirmed to be a mixed Creole man from Louisiana. Does he look like it? No. No he doesn't. If you told me this man has the whitest parents this side of hell then I would believe you. There I nothing visually that gives away he may have black features. Nose shape, lips, not ashy grey skin (something well see just you wait), thy couldn't even be dammned to give him curly hair or nothing! He doesn't have no black features and it's really off putting.

People argue that he has a white parent, a part that could play in him not having black features. I will remind you all again that I am not mixed. I am white. Mixed people can look any way. There is no specific way for mixed people to look. But cmon. No black features at all? Nothing? Personally I believe that Alastor want designed to be black. I believe that Vivziepop only made him black to justify him using voodoo. This is only speculation but to each their own.

Side note but the way yall attack people, mostly on Tiktok, about redesigns or re imagines is actually depressing. Could make a whole rant on that in general.

Next up:

VELVETTE

Thir is similar issues with Alastor and Velvette. No textured hair, no nose shape, no difference in her lips, ashy grey skin. While I like that Velvette changes hair styles every episode, personally I think that Velvette should have more black hairstyles. Like Velvette with braids or dreadlocks would be so cool. To this shows credit, Velvette did have a afro in episode 8. Honestly that should be her starter hair before she changes it. That would be so cute. Manifesting Velvette with a afro.

3rd:

Sera

Sera I would argue is the best designed black character. She actually has more pigmented brown skin and her hair I think is supposed to resemble dreadlocks. Personally I think their is room for improvement. She could be browner, less ashy looking, since she actually had a nose it could be a different shape then just straight, their could be more detail for her hair. While she's the best designed character, their is room to grow.

Side note: Y'all hating Sera too much. I see fanart and animatics of her being this blood thirsty killer that is jus destroying hell. Yall she is actively shown in the first 2 minutes of Hazbin not agreeing with the exterminations and actively frowning at the idea of murder. Sera is great I don't know what yall are on.

Last and certainly least because oh my god:

Emily

This is not a black woman. No I don't care that Viv said she's or that her Bible page says she is. Where is any black features? Her skin is gray, she has pencil thin lips like me, a white boy, she has stringy straight hair, and no nose at all.

This goes along with Sera as well but people say that they are angel's and don't have to look like black women because their angels and don't have a race. Which 1. Is wrong because Emily's Bible page said she was a youthful 20 something black woman and 2. If their angel's that dont have races then that fine. But.

DON'T SAY THEIR BLACK WOMAN AND THEN NOT DESIGN THEM LIKE IT.

If Viv just left them raceless then the would have been fine. But that not what she did. She made them black and then back peddled when people said that they didn't look like black woman. She tried to have her cake and eat it too. No, I don't care their angel's, if your going to give them a race then commit to it.

Let's get on to my conspiracy theory. I've noticed something in the Hazbin Hotel fandom that I think is the reason for the dismissal of the black characters no having black features.

Fanart.

I'm going somewhere with this is swear.

Go to Tumblr or Tiktok and see the art people create of Hazbin Hotel. You'll notice that people give Alastor and Velvette brown skin, they give Emily curly hair, they give Velvette full lips and different black hairstyles.

People make their art of the black characters looking black so when people see it they associate it with the show.

This is of course just a theory but I've noticed it alot and I think it's a pretty damn good explanation.

Sorry if this isn't as good as my other rants, I tried to get this out quickly because my theory was bothering me.

Asks are always open, art is always here, commissions are open, black lives matter.

- ⭐️StarClown⭐️

[smiley-positivity-potato]

i have something to say, for all young transmascs or newly transitioning transmascs: just know the "womanhood" you had to endure will be used against you EMOTIONALLY as a trans masc. And not in the way many have spoken about. when you speak up on the abuse, trauma or experiences you went through growing up, people will make excuses of having thought you were just an "emotional teen girl", despite you trying to explain it to them- as an adult trans man. you try to tell them you just wanted help and presently want people to recognize their wrongs. like how they taught you as a child.

but instead they'll make excuses on how they each don't know how to take accountability, for the past or present. they'll say how you seemed like "your mother" at that age, so they thought it was a phase. so now they don't even want to hear or learn how they hurt you. they don't even want to know how to get help or therapy to communicate with you better. AND THEY DONT EVEN WANNA HEAR THEIR OTHER OPTIONS EITHER. they feel like you should just "let it go" when you bring up how it has effected you as a trans man growing up NOW , they dismiss you or blame your behavior on YOU INSTEAD. the reactions of a child, are labelled as an inconvenience, that you should take accountability for when you held no power. they did. so now that they don't, they don't even want to TRY to understand you-

all in all: they will use your past unchosen childhood to label you as an emotional "woman" who is hanging onto the past. when that is not it. it is NOW the accountability of the PRESENT. you want PRESENT ACCOUNTABILITY AND APOLOGIES. YOU WANT ACTUAL ACKNOWLEDGEMENT AND GENUINE EMOTIONAL REFLECTION. and every person in this world deserves that. do not fall for this lack of effort and communication- do not endure it to feel loved as a transmasc. the fact that you are younger AND have tried your best to understand EVERYONE around you all your life is enough. the fact that they won't even try to do it on their own FOR FIVE GENUINE MINUTES, says enough.

saying they don't know how to NOT say awful things to you- is a lack of effort alone. if they can watch you try to get help to understand them for YEARS, they should AT LEAST TRY to find a professional or group or ANYONE to learn how to mend the relationship they damaged or broke with YOU, if they are able. they should NOT use your past or present emotions AGAINST YOU- indirectly defining you as just an "emotional, hormonal, traumatized woman". but they will try. do not let THEM gaslight you or trick you into thinking they can't at least put SOME effort into respecting you as a MAN with FEELINGS FROM THE TRAUMA THEY MAY HAVE DIRECTLY OR INDIRECTLY CAUSED. they can AND they should put effort into rebuilding what they destroyed. because let me tell you something i've learned:

"If you stepped into a puddle and forgot to wipe your feet before you entered a loved one's house; then the tracks you left are still your's. No matter where you go in the house they will always be yours- and it's up to you to not keep leaving them."

whether they meant to or not, they still left filth on your floors- and we all know who's tracks they are. we all saw it, but the question is: will they return and do it again, with cheeky pride and their head held up high, or will they clean up the floor apologetically, and reflect on every time they left tracks accidentally, or purposely, in your house. will they think about how YOU felt; how they put you into a position of having to speak up for yourself to keep your "house" clean and respected? will they acknowledge all the other times they wouldn't listen or will they dismiss them? as said by ALL my medical professionals, the LGBTQIA community AND my chosen family, you have a RIGHT to cut these people permanently out of your life, and out of your emotional "home".

and if the next time you see them is at their funeral, that's ok. because you have a right as a TRANS MASC HUMAN BEING to put your safety, sanity, well being, respect and emotions FIRST. you have a right to PROTECT yourself from that negativity and pain. do NOT sacrifice yourself to PROVE ANYTHING to ANYONE. do not overexert yourself trying to get them to understand you when all it does is cause you to breakdowns- AND it hurts.

you KNOW who you are. and that is ENOUGH. KNOW IT WILL ALWAYS BE ENOUGH. for you are a transmasc who has EMOTIONS, A PAST AND PRESENT, PAIN AND TRAUMA. You are a VALUED, LOVABLE PERSON AND YOU DESERVE TO FEEL RESPECTED AND SEEN IN THIS WORLD REGARDLESS OF WHAT ANY "LOVED" ONE SAYS- and if your "family/loved" ones have too much pride to acknowledge that- LEAVE.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

okay, so ive got a weird one

WIBTA for basically anonymously harassing someone who was into me?

i (15x) stopped being friends with these two people, who i will call grape (19x) and celery (17m) around half a year ago. celery cheated on my best friend mango (17x) with grape for apparently the whole time they were dating. celery is polyam, but never said anything about him and grape. i know he had to have been going behind mangos back, because ive had conversations with him about not telling one of your partners about another partner being cheating (this was a conversation initiated by him. he literally agreed.)

now. i knew celery vaguely in middle school, and our relationship was strictly platonic, established on both sides. he said i was too young for him, and mango also took that stance. this is where it gets a little weird.

i met grape when i was 13. they were 17. theyre just a year ahead of me in school, but they failed a grade and i skipped one. its basically the same gap between a freshman and a senior.

around may of this year, before school ended, they confessed that theyd been into me for a very long time. i asked how long, and they couldn’t even count. the whole thing threw me off. we had a lot of casual intimacy before this (being really, really close to each other; they laid their head on my lap a few times) and i never thought different of it because 1. our whole little group was autistic and me, celery, and grape were all very casual with touch and 2. im aro and grape admitted to being arospec, which made me more comfortable around them because i was sure they understood!

grapes mom had even approached me about this at an event once, saying i was far too young for them and giving the implication that i was into grape. i dismissed this very quickly.

after the celery/mango incident, mango & i were still friends with grape despite them also hanging out with celery. shortly after the grape incident, i cut complete contact with grape and mango basically did as well.

none of this is what im wondering if im the asshole about. i dont care too much.

what i think i could be the asshole about is sending an anonymous drug search to grapes house. i know theres definitely a bunch there and i cant call them on the other illegal shit like being into minors, so im sure i could get them back another way. think of it as a treat. besides, it doubles as payback for celery cheating on mango, because grape and celery are still disgustingly close emotionally and physically and i dont want celery to think that just because he butts into my conversations with other people that we’re ever anywhere close to being friends again. wibta?

What are these acronyms?

[c1oud999]

hi

i just wanted to come on here and talk about my experience with spirituality. warning: longggg post ahead.

basically ive been in the spiritual community for YEARS now. ive had existential crisis since the age of 11 and ive gone through many phases of many different spiritual trends. from law of attraction, to witchcraft, to religious devotion, to law of assumption and now finally non dualism. i read books, meditated for hours and hours, talked to spiritual ppl from all walks of life and watched all the episodes of ganga upanishad (a show i still highly recommend, you can watch on youtube). all this childhood trauma and mental illness made me crave for sweet relief. but nothing really made sense until law of assumption. i thought that that would be it yk. i thought i was done searching but i think that was when i was searching for things the most. i do know i have it in my 4d, when will i see it? i thought i would get all my desires but did not meet success. and then the non dualism trend began and i hopped onto it like pretty much everyone else. i was bewildered at the stuff teachers kept saying. what do you mean everything's an illusion? there's no way that's true. my very real surroundings are causing me VERY real pain and suffering. oh no no there must be a deeper meaning behind all this. and so i read all the books in 4dbarbies drive, but nothing clicked. yes it made sense intellectually, but i didnt want to believe it bc where is the materialisation satisfaction here? also i felt none of the euphoria that was supposed to come with self realisation. which means i must not be a realised being. and then i cried and cried and cried, isolated myself, literally stopped going to school and just lay in bed all day. but ofc, i continued to read the tumblr posts like i had been doing for the past several years. and yesterday i read 4dkelly's post about giving up. it made sense. by the time i had finished reading the post i had truly given up on everything. on wanting, hoping, fearing, striving etc etc. i was SO tired. so i gave up. fell asleep. i woke up really late as usual and missed the school bus. i ate breakfast in silence, switched the tv on and lied down on the couch like always. and like always out of compulsion and force of habit i reached for my phone and looked up non dualism on twitter. and then i came across a tweet that said a simple sentence only- "nothing is ever actually happening." woah. that kinda drove me to the edge of the cliff i desperately wanted to jump off. i turned on some dnb background music and turned the shower on. i stood under the boiling hot water like some dramatic bitch and started piecing together the "puzzle". it all made so much sense now. i got out of the shower and left the house for the first time in months with a cute outfit and makeup on and everything. i went to the mall, bought candles, stickers, eye masks, coffee, and a doughnut with absolutely no social anxiety at all. i sat by window, read some poetry on my e-reader, cried, peered down at the floor below me and cried some more at the sight of little kids sitting on santa's lap and taking pictures and marveled at all the christmas decorations around me. it was insane. i decided i was going to be neutral towards everything but im in love. maddeningly so. in love with this dream that i thought did not love me back. but love is all there is. I AM ALL THERE IS. and i need you to take this literally. there is nothing happening. there is nothing here except you. nothing to fear, nothing to desire. ik a lot of people are going to dismiss this post because it's not a "materialisation success story" but i honestly dont think i can ever want anything physically bc in all its true essence, what is there to materialise? i am already whole and complete. i am lying on this cold hard floor, but i have never felt warmer. also ik there may be a lot of things ive written you might not agree with but again, this is NOT REAL. I AM. i hope this post helps you.

thank you to all the blogs ive come across and all the pointers they have shared: @se1f @realisophie @itgomyway @4dkellysworld @4dbarbie-backup @infiniteko @iamthat-iam and many more i cannot thank enough.

lots and lots of love (more than you can ever imagine), and good luck.