#hold the power to dictate peoples private lives

[beachesgetpeaches]

saw a few posts be like "but why did the people mag have to state she was not swayed by fans wtf"

bcs she wants you to know that you cant bully her in or out of her private relationships (be it romantic or platonic), but no one is picking up on that.

you've been told you were wrong (whether it's bcs you don't have all the facts, or any other reason) twice so far:

the "ive never been happier" - which could have been anything; her addressing Joe breakup cryptically and hoping people would stop hoping he'd do something, her addressing Matty rumours and how she is happy (and between the lines we don't know the whole story), or just trying to get everyone to back off speculating about her private life...

and now with this people sentence/quote/statement you are once again being told that the level of energy you've directed there has been misplaced, for whatever reason. be it that matty healy is not in fact all these horrible things you have all decided to call him, or that it wasn't that serious, or maybe it was serious but there was no need for such public vitriol.

either way - I think thats what that people magazine statement was for. to very indirectly say "hey guys that was fucked up". but as always, there are people going "wtf why would they put that out as well"... it's for you.

[ruins-of-gods]

Something that I think Warhammer 40,000 storytellers miss sometimes is the sheer scale of their setting. I mean, don't get me wrong - I love the big, dramatic clashes, the characters you can buy in mini form and their convoluted, interwoven lore, the dramatic combats against unstoppable foes across a thousand ruined worlds. But that's the top of the setting, as it were - the most powerful beings in the universe, all fighting for supremacy. And at ground level, the level of the ordinary person, are so many other stories.

Did you know that a Lunar-class void cruiser has a crew of 95,000? Nearly a hundred thousand people, aboard a spaceship five kilometers long. A city, flying through outer space to wage war. Many of those people are proper trained soldiers, fresh from some academy or veterans of long, grueling campaigns, and many more are pressed into service, begrudgingly laying their lives at their Emperor's feet. But, unless the ship is currently actively involved in a really bloody campaign, most of those people were born aboard that ship. Most of their parents were born aboard it. And their grandparents. And their great-grandparents. Lineages stretching back centuries, so far that the original soldier who came aboard has been forgotten. A lot of those people probably know, on some level, that they're aboard a ship flying through space - but a lot of them probably don't, and I guarantee you almost none of them understand what that means. This ship is their world. To look out the window means madness so often that they avoid it - not that windows are readily available anyway. Most of them probably barely even understand that they're fighting. All they know is that when the readouts on their analog instruments display like so, when they hurry to obey the blared orders through the klaxon, the Emperor is pleased with them. They were born into that world. When they were children they did smaller tasks the adults couldn't. Their entire existence was winding metal corridors, laid out according to some archaic design, any logic that might dictate their layout long since degraded after millennia of ignorant maintenance, lit only by emergency lights that have long since become the default. They learned how to read an angle readout or how to relay an order perfectly the way another child might learn history or math. When they grew up, their service was flawless, born of pride and ignorance, and when they grew old and died, their legacy was remembered until it was forgotten. Many were killed in battle, but who cares? They gave their lives to the Emperor - a name whose meaning they don't understand, but whose importance they believe in wholeheartedly, all but synonymous with the commanding officers up above.

Sometimes, the klaxons sound a specific command, and every person on board who understands what it means feels a deep, awful dread as they run to their battle stations. They don't know what a warp jump is. They don't understand they're going from one place to another by the fastest way available. All they know is that, for a time, the ship dips into hell. The corridors go wrong. Things and people might not be where or what they were before. Daemons stalk the halls, and must be killed by any who can hold a lasgun. The overcrowded berths, the little nooks that families find for themselves - they are not private anymore. They are not safe. Things drift through the shift that do not care about the laws of physics, but that delight in killing and torturing human beings. Vast energies shake the ship and tear parts of it away - their home, their world, their existence, the biggest thing they can imagine, assaulted by something bigger. Is it the Emperor's punishment for failure? Is this what battle is? What's going on? They don't know, and no one who does can be bothered to tell them. The dread of those who have seen this before is even worse, because they don't know how long it will be. It might be just a few hours. It might be days, or weeks, or months, or years, or decades. It might be centuries, as the captain of the ship goes hunting daemons deep in the warp - the officers live that long, after all, and have little care for those who don't. There will be people born in hell, who spend their entire lives fighting from the day they can stand, and who die in hell, as old age and need catch up to them and they curl up in a corner to perish. To them, it isn't even hell. It's just the world. The world is death and pain and cruelty, an infinite metal box through which monsters stalk, and sometimes you must run to a battle station and do as you're ordered to do. And sometimes, as they reach forty or fifty or even a ripe old sixty, the ship drops out of the Warp, and, for the final years of their life, they are granted a life of relatively safe service better than anything they ever hoped to dream of.

Those are the kinds of stories I want to see more of. Super-soldiers fighting each other is cool, yes, but I want to see this universe explored. I want stories from the perspective of those that keep the Imperium going, or the aeldar, or the tyranids, or anyone, really. There's just so much potential in this setting. It deserves it.

[iznsfw]

Manic Robotic Dream Girl

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 4 - Choi Yena

IZ*ONE's Choi Yena x Male Reader Smut

8,311 words

Neon lights dance like flames around you. There’s no need to touch them when you’re already burning. Burning with something that’s not a fever but a kind of pain that never goes away. 

Sweat pricks the sides of your face and you’re aware of the blots of perspiration running down your jawline. Nights at the Rogue are often hot, but then they surprise you with a sudden burst of windiness, so you never bother to take your coat off. Whatever and wherever, you’ll always be here yet you’ve not once been able to predict the temperature.

That’s what happened when WAKE12 took over. 

Apparently, they decide if people are under the weather by controlling it by them-fucking-selves. Kwon feeling shitty? Looks like rain then. Maybe she’s feeling happy? Alright, let the clouds find balance. Angry? Take a fucking hailstorm. What a privilege, one bigger than the lives of the rich men in the North. But everyone forgets about that fact after she sends out minimal alms—canned goods, a Bible, something. Then it’s back to President Kwon is the best! President Kwon can never fail us! President—

“Vodka.”

“Same as yesterday?” asks Yuri, smiling a little bit. 

“Same as yesterday.” For a hologram, Yuri can be quite the social butterfly. 

Online wallets are all the rage nowadays. The AI voice in your head offers you said option to pay, and you can hear your balance privately spoken. Somehow your brow prevents from creasing as you hear it. You lack funds but somehow have a few extra bucks to drink. 

Choose that. You want to save your Wizes for other things. Lock eyes with Yuri and your balance goes down. You’ve paid. 

Online and digital wallets modified with embedded signals and readers were in use before you were even born. Of course, there were already such payment options in the twenty-first century, but how WAKE12 changed everything, not just ordering options with telepathic payment, can easily be read in a sixth grade history textbook. 

In October of the year 2918, Kwon Eunbi rose in the ranks as a scientist and soldier for Kang Hyewon, former president, and ended up working her way into dictatorship. The textbooks and classrooms teach that she proposed a law to the court and got herself a position for her wit and intelligence. But early first accounts challenge that, saying that she caught the eye of Kang and had a sexual relationship with her. WAKE12 branded this as propaganda that sullies the name of not only the dictator but the one of the late president, who died mysteriously before Kwon rose to power.

Massive backstory for cashless payment, but you know there’s more to it than the government would like to let on. What happened to Kang? What made Kwon so evil the moment she sat in her presidential throne?

“Thank you, sir.” Holograms all have different voices; Yuri’s sounds like she’s singing. At least the bartender slash boss hired her instead of those with monotone, emotionless ones. It’s cheaper to have hologram workers than humans anyway. Less money, less emotional labor, less of feeling like a normal person.

A beggar curled up below the counter holds his hand out. Not an uncommon sight in the Auster, but it’s a pity to see. The world has advanced with its telepathic wallets and 3D holograms yet there will always be individuals who haven’t caught up with time. While the North Rogue leads worldly lifetimes, the Auster is a home for the rejects. The poorest of the poor. The somewhere-in-the-middles. It can never be truly a perfect world if advancement doesn’t include everyone.

Give him a Wize. Back then, that would have been worth a hundred or so dollars, a currency long gone. Not that you’d know of it; WAKE12 claimed leadership way before you were born so the cheap value of the coin studded with the bust of Kwon Eunbi is all you’re accustomed to. 

Take your drink and thank Yuri. 

The cobblestone is rough beneath your feet. You take your seat at your usual table. Float your fingers around your shotglass. Pour the contents down your chapped mouth almost all in one go. Anything to feel something. Anything to feel anything. 

You’re not an alcoholic by any means, though that’s certainly up for debate. But there’s a need for the liquid that rages more than the need for oxygen (the fucking shortage of it) or food (the fucking expense of it). How else could you be less numb? You’re welcome to every feeling at this stage, just not this empty neutrality that slumbers your senses.

Pain? Your throat seizes up when you drink and brings tears to your eyes, so there's that. 

Happiness? Hm, none. You’re barely smiling. You’ve no family, little friends, and no partner for the last few years. There’s nothing to be happy about.

Anger? The displays of people fined harshly for their crimes on the big as life advertising screens stir some defiance in you. WAKE12 doesn’t take kindly to hacktivists and young coders dabbling in creating their own AIs. You have your own anti-government opinions, but what’s a human mind against an artificial one? Plus, and probably a less serious reason (tell that to the thousands who flock to the hospitals because of asthma), the air is almost always polluted here in the Rogue. It’s dirtied by car smoke and factory remains. You’d think that robots taking over the labs would improve it. Perhaps they weren’t programmed that way. 

Loneliness?

You look around. See the glitching phantoms of new world technology make the drinks breezily. Watch the light-studded train filled with commuters from the Auster. Kwon Eunbi managed to build an underside track for additional trains to run and still the commuters—young students, old grandparents, not young but not old workers whose jobs belong to WAKE12—wear the same tired look you saw yesterday. All you could hear are buzzes and uncanny valley voices from holograms.

The second chair paired with your table is empty. You’re suddenly lucid to the fact that it’ll always be like this. These nights of drinking and walking in the Auster Rogue will be endless, and just the same, you’ll be endlessly alone.

Sometimes mortality could be so depressing.

So depressing that it makes it all so meaningless.

A man stumbles over to the outside bar, breaking your thoughtless reverie. His clothes are as black as the night you spend but you can see blood on the fabric. The skyscrapers provide enough light for you to see his red face from anxious internal and worrying external blood. The pleading look grips his expression like a malfunctioning robot’s limb. 

He’s looking back as if afraid of what might be there. The rain-soaked road is tread on roughly by his shaking knees as he crawls his way to the bar. “Please, help me!”

“Warning,” comes the voice in your head, and you know the other visitors hear it, too, “a criminal of the state is in your proximity. Proceed with caution.”

WAKE12 always keeps an eye on those who threaten them. They have goons everywhere. The kindly grandfather down the street could be a veteran waiting for the chance of a medal. They have ears everywhere as well. Undercover cops stay in both crowded and clear spaces to identify possible threats. When it all comes down to it, you’re not safe in your own head at all. The implants can detect when you dream up something terrible. That’s how millions lose their reputation. Their jobs. Their families.

Their lives.

He staggers to the counter, crashing glass that shards his palms, and lets out this wail you’d hear from an abused pup. “Please,” he croaks. “Don’t listen to them. I just need somewhere to hide. I did nothing wrong, nothing!”

The implanted voice in your brain says otherwise. Everyone was given one when the Cyber Age came. That’s what makes a tiny difference in seeing who’s human and who’s not: the tiny, diamond scar below their hairline from the operation. Close inspection can’t always be done, however. Nowadays, too many of these robots and holograms pass the Turing test. You can never truly trust someone.

“Offenses include: playing the role of an accomplice in theft of government data, distribution of terrorist propaganda—”

“Get the fuck out!” says the bartender, having burst out from the back. As a longtime visitor, you haven’t seen him this angry, but you know it stems from fear. No one wants to associate with a criminal. No one wants the association to lead to arrest and the arrest lead to god knows what. Hundreds of people go missing after they’re taken under custody. What Kwon does to them, you don’t know. “Leave or I’ll call the cops!”

Like you said, they lurk everywhere. You’re surprised they haven’t caught up to him.

The bloodied man shakes his head, like please, please, someone believe me. “No, I’m not a criminal! Listen to me, please, I don’t have enough time! They just wanna—cut down” 

Rapid footsteps. Sigh and put your glass down. There they are.

The man reaches for him, but the bartender shoves the whole table into his face. He falls back on the ground and cries out for help that never comes. Men and women wearing tight black uniforms and vests pull him up. Their lit helmets that opposingly disallow a view of their faces make them look emotionless. Like robots.

Huh.

While resting your head against the metal chair, you listen to the struggling shuffles of the police and criminal, and see the glitching robots walking down the road. No real emotion, no real living.

He scratches and screams and sobs, but that doesn’t matter to them. They pull him along the rocky cement and recite his nonexistent rights to him. There’s the right to remain silent (he’s screaming), the right to an attorney (nobody in the Auster can afford a good lawyer much less an honest one), and the right to live freely if found innocent of the crime (someone getting convicted happens more often than being released).

Besides, it can’t be called living when it’s in a place so completely devoid of any humanity.

“In more ways than one,” you say. Fuck it, you’ll drink to that.

-

Like always, you take more than you should. You believe by now you’ve built some kind of immunity. That’s what they all think, you remind yourself, before an inevitable death that buries them in the ground one bricked shot at a time. You swear you’re not dizzy at all or feeling the acid build to your throat, so the sight gathering just a little away from you is real. 

Stare at your glass. Space out if not for what you see: behind it, a shapely form of a woman in purple. The blue and violet lights make it difficult for you to distinguish it from her clothes so she actually looks naked. That shocks you more than the arrest. You’re sure she’s got a little modesty in her because why else is she making her way to a table?

Your table?

It’s like she teleported when she’s suddenly seated before you, filling the chair that’s been empty for the last more or so years. You don’t even get the chance to look up at the right time, but the moment you do, you think keeping your eyes on your glass would’ve been better for the sake of your heart.

YENA.

Her name appears in your mind and she hasn’t even introduced herself. But it’s right there, emblazoned in lights in all capitalized four letters: YENA. This girl is Yena. And this girl—this fucking guilty pleasure of a girl—is gorgeous.

The ends of her hair are tinged with blonde, and it’s hard not to give attention to that with how her locks are gathered into twin tails. She smoothes them before looking at you quite seriously, like she’s about to propose a challenge you’d lose.

Blue shining eyes. There’s something odd about the way they twinkle below her bangs—almost like something not human. 

Yena dances her fingers around her jawline, elbow resting on the table, and tilts her pretty face. Lets her fingers play with her lips that are made for things the Auster’s known for providing (she can’t be from here though; those crocheted coordinates look costly). That’s how you notice that fine feature. Naturally thick and casually jutted out in a distinctive pout, your eyes are glued to them. Can’t take your prolonged stare away if someone helped you. 

“Are you waiting for me to start talking?” Yena asks. She’s not angry, just amused—her voice is smooth and clear, with a tiny pitch that makes her all the more cute. 

You shake your head. “Was just trying to figure something out.” 

“And that is?”

“A lot of things,” you state. Things you’d keep a secret forever, lest you spill them out to a girl all for the payment of being beautiful. “But I’m not sure pretty girls like you would want to know.”

You try to keep your curious peering at her normal, but it’s difficult when she just attracts attention. She’s a glowing lightbulb in a flutter of moths. Yena doesn’t flicker weakly; she shines, and it’s honestly why everyone else is “subtly” looking at her, this gorgeous stranger who came in and somehow chose the alcoholic who came from places more rock bottom than the Auster.

She laughs. It’s sobering—you think you’ll get drunk on her rather than the cheap alcohol. “Is that what you think of me? Too beautiful to think too much?” 

Look her up and down. Yeah, you want to say, that’s about it. It’s not out of offense but rather the instinct in you that wants to tell her you don’t want to put her in a worried state. She’s too… ah, she doesn’t know what you’d do for a girl like her—someone too unreal to be human but too genuine to be the “living” dolls lonely men purchase. Someone who can keep a conversation going without fearing a low blow. Someone who’s out of your league in the Rogue’s mixed pool but chooses you anyway.

“I’m just saying you might not want to hear a stranger boring you with his hard problems.”

“Oh please,” she says, waving it off with a flick of a pointed wrist. “You know my name. I know yours. We’re not strangers anymore.”

How did you—how did she—

Her eyes twinkle again. They’re… violet? You could have bet they were blue. But then you see the suspiciously smooth and clear skin, with the perfect lines of her eyelids, which curve as if manufactured in. She’s definitely not human. 

“Besides,” adds Yena sweetly, “you’re really underestimating how good I can take certain hard things.”

Swallow. You opened the door, now you’re locked in. 

Yena catches the bob of your Adam’s apple and smirks. Traces her fingers over yours. She can’t be human for sure yet you feel the softness of her hand, the only thing giving you doubt being how chilled her touch is. It's humid here, so where did that come from? Goosebumps pop up in masses across your skin—note how nothing shows up on hers.

Maybe she’s just a confident woman.

“Come on, I dare you.” 

“Only if you go first.” 

“Yes, sir,” she says. A cutesy saluted hand positions itself before her temple. Her hands are tiny, could be dainty, while her cheeks lift to support an adorable smile. 

Your knees tremble. You don’t know where that came from either. Yena just knows what to say to get to a guy. Almost like she was made for it. There’s that question again, resurfacing in your altered brain: is she human or not?

You lean back. Cross your arms. Here you go, on your way to find out. “What’s your story?” 

Yena shrugs, her shoulders bare and smooth. And you’re thinking of how you’d like to see the rest of them, the rest of her body naked by pulling down the crocheted strap of the purple coordinates. How you’d like to touch those puffed up cheeks and not care if they’re real or not when you pull her close to kiss her. How those lips—

“Don’t have one.”

“Sorry?”

She laughs. Even the way she giggles is attractive.  “No, seriously,” she replies, licking her lips. “There’s nothing interesting about me. I’m the most normal girl there is.”

There is nothing normal about her. Everything she says is too prepared. The largeness of her eyes gives everything away. Her hair is combed too finely that you’re not unconvinced that it isn't human hair at all, though you can see them connect at the roots. It’s like someone drew a cute animated girl on a notepad one lonely night, sent the idea to a rich bastard, and brought her to life.

So no, you’re not buying it.

“So you’re saying you’re just a blank canvas.”

“If you put it like that, I guess.” Yena rolls her eyes. You’re a bit obsessed. “Guys want that, right? A blank piece of a girl they could shoot more than a shot at? Maybe paint her white?”

You’re thankful you didn’t continue drinking. Otherwise, your surprise would be visible and audible with the lodge of your throat as you wineboard yourself.

The side of her mouth raises. A soft dimple exceeding cuteness—it’s deeper, brighter, shinier. You imagine her as a college student, charming boys into submission just with a wink and a smile that can melt hearts and bring guilt to lust-addled minds. 

That’s what she’s doing: Yena is melting you because of how adorable she is, but then you take a look at her body, note the fine curves it boasts, and feel the need to go to a confessional pastor. You’re not supposed to repeats in your mind, but you’re you—if you aren’t supposed to do it, then of course you’ll do it anyway.

“Woah,” you say with a nervous laugh. “Woah.”

“Look.” She rests her forearm on the table and talks so casually one would think she weren’t just talking about getting cumshots. “I‘m not taking that back, so do with that what you will.”

Under the table, behind the scenes, her leg is curled around one of yours. Her ankle glides along your skin teasingly. Not a speck of hair on all of those flawless legs, but you’re shivering anyway from the contact. Hence, make a show of closing your coat around yourself. You can’t fool her when it’s not even chilly.

Recover, piecing together the brokenness of your confidence she tore apart.

“My story is, uh, weird.”

“Tell me.”

“This might be too personal but—” You lift your shoulders awkwardly. “I used to date a girl who looks exactly like you.”

Kim Chaewon—short auburn hair, soft cheeks, and a tiny figure. She’s a memory you didn’t think of returning to today, but then Yena came here, and now you’re back to your youth.

“She was a cop. Cutest officer I’ve ever seen, but a real bitch, for the lack of a better word. Then she left me.”

“You broke her heart, didn’t you?” 

Sputter. “No!” you immediately deny, shaking your head. “I—I didn’t hurt her, she was—”

A filthy lie. You became nonchalant, undeserving of a sweet woman who’d do anything for you, even give up her well-paying job. Again and again, Chaewon expressed her concerns: why were you talking to Minju? Where have you been? Why are you so mean? You disregarded them all the same. She deserved the ignorance; she was too fucking controlling, too fucking jealous.

Yena knows you’re lying. It’s like you’re a wound she can peel back to see all the ugliness, all the damage underneath. Her smile tells you everything.

“Oh, come on. I don’t care. Except for this.” Yena intertwines her fingers. Rests her chin on top of the formed platform. “Was she a good fuck?”

Your laugh is forced, trying to make a good deal out of this situation. A girl is flirting with you right after you saw someone disappear. Now you’re wondering if she’s a robot. Now, through some way, she knows you’re lying about your ex. Coincidences meet yet you refuse to connect them—parallel lines they shall stay, forever. 

“Yena, what exactly is up with you?” you ask. “You just met me. And come on now, why me?”

It’s begun to be hotter in this space. Loosen your coat. Perspiration isn’t because of the atmosphere, so you find out (and what a surprise). It’s because of the woman across you, a midnight sun. If the painful sun was actually a symbol of good in the Rogue, Yena would play its role perfectly. She’d scorch through you and you’ll enjoy every second. Yeah, you’d get all sorts of tans and burns and cancers if you bask in her without protection, but my god, are you willing to take the risk.

“I just don’t like seeing pretty boys have problems,” she replies easily. “If they want, (and I know they do), I’ll take them all away. Soon, all you'll think of is me. Like I’m the sun peeking in your room and you just can’t get enough sleep because of it.”

You tense up. Millions of questions, a void empty of answers. Once again, how was she so spot on? You’re not breathing quite well, and your clothes are tighter tonight. “Yena, look, I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Don’t be, not because you aren't, but because she said so.

She pouts. “You’re not gonna buy me a drink?”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Nope. Remember what I said? I’m a blank canvas. So do whatever you want with me. Buy me a drink. Or not. Tell me to fuck off. Or not. Force me on my knees.”

Yena kneels.

There’s no mantle on the table to cover up what she’s about to do. You gasp, then try to mask it as a poor cough, but you’re distracted by how she pulls your pants down effortlessly. The button sealing your coat is busted open and gone.

So is your dignity.

Yena’s tongue sticks out at the side of her mouth as she looks up at you with excitement and mischief in her eyes. 

“Or let me do the job. I’m a big girl after all.”

She seals her teeth around your zipper and tugs down. It’s embarrassing how hard you are for her. But Yena doesn’t care. Adoration is clear on her face as she stares at your shaft, the worshipful energy in her eyes so overwhelming that she has to do something about it.

“Yena—” What a way to go out: screaming a stranger’s name.

You knew those lips were up to no good the moment you saw them. She’s provided evidence, too. Her soft lips embrace your boner and suckle fervently while dragging themselves upwards. It’s a caress that tenses you up rather than comforts you. It works you up, tying you down with the little weight Yena has. You could kick her away right now and tell her to go away. File a case against her. 

You don’t.

The joined duo of careful teeth and wild tongue gets you whimpering. Shivering. Begging. How is she so good at this?

Her mouth is perfectly wet. It’s not copiously soaked to have you cringing but the perfect balance of wet and ready, coating your rod again and again. She gives you too much and just right. It would be a cruel violation if you were asked to choose one and only one.

“Baby, what the fuck—” you stammer. 

Her throat’s an expert in taking you because one push of her lips to your base welcomes you in its tight hole. Your knees shake; Yena places her hands on it, not to stop their trembles but for leverage during the dip of her head. 

Close your eyes, look up, and stare at skies that provide no reprieving stars. Think of how she’s infinitely bett—

“Better than any pussy, huh?” Yena asks. The third time is no coincidence, so you’ve heard. “And it’s just my throat.”

At this stage, you don’t care if she’s a robot or not, because either way, that mouth is a fucking treasure.

You lift your hips and start slowly working yourself in Yena’s face. Her lips pucker and pout to allow you inside with pleasurable friction. Those eyes—there aren’t any planets in the sky because of the pollution but you think you can see their sparkle in them. 

The amazing part is that Yena doesn’t choke. She endlessly takes you in, receiving every inch like a blessed gift, but you don’t hear her wheeze. No sounds of complaints escape her. You have a feeling it’s not because of your cock sliding in and out of it. She only gags on occasion, and those already sound fake. It’s like she’s doing it just so you can get worked up hearing her moans.

While others might be impressed, you’re dumbfounded. She tightens and loosens and pushes and pulls just for your pleasure. 

“Yena, I– you’re doing so good,” you compliment her in gasped breaths.

Her cheeks hollow. The suction strengthens and it now feels like your soul’s being swallowed down her neck. She knows how to tease you with light pandering from her teeth, generous licking, and strengthened swallowing. Her mouth is warm but you are more so. She’s making you feel hot in all these layers, an additional one played by her perfect lips.

Perfect hair, too, you note.

Hungry impulses take over your body and now you’re pumping your core into the girl’s face with the help of her pigtails. Yena’s hair is thick and silky, and it’s another enjoyable factor: feeling how it slips between your fingers and how each pull directs her lips to press firmly to your crotch.

She doesn’t gag with that either. She must have had a lot of experience; she did say she can take hard things fine. That is, if she were human. If not, whoever built her had dirty ideas: the lack of gag reflex surely brings in the five star ratings.

Bright star-like eyes, cute ruinable face, mouth that can take the largest.

Yep, perfect.

“Good—fucking—girl.”

Your cock weeps white. Yena feels the first drop and immediately pulls away. She pumps your shaft with a strong, urgent fist. As she hinted, you blast all over her face. Your orgasm grips you and shakes you like never before, and of course, the little brat enjoys it. She’s nearly laughing.

“There,” says Yena after she drains you. Her duck-like lips are sticky with cum. “Canvas painted.”

What a pretty painting you’ve made. Here, shown to the public, is the manic pixie dream girl, semen on her chin to symbolize how each word she utters has you climaxing; hair disheveled to show your subtle but messy rule over her, because you own her although you weren’t there when her mechanical limbs were assembled and her face drawn; and a smile on her face to show that despite all this: she likes it.

You laugh, short blunt breaths wisping in the air. “There really is something wrong with you, Yena,” you say.

She’s a girl who’s extremely pretty, good at blowjobs, and likes public sex and oral. She can also read minds. Oh, and she might not be real. 

“You could say that again.” She wipes her mouth. “Though I do think I could use a little fixing from you.”

-

You take her home. Your mother would have been disappointed in you if she knew you violated the first law you were ever taught: don’t talk to strangers. Most of all, don’t ever let them in. But Yena is no stranger—like she said, she knows your name and for some reason, you know her own. You’re not strangers. And your mother isn’t around to command you not to kneel for a pretty girl.

This home of yours isn’t fancy, but if people from 2024 saw it, they’d be mesmerized. You’re not rich enough to afford the penthouses the North offers; this one is alright for you. The stories of the building aren’t aligned with each other, separating a few yards with floating floors that defy gravity. That’s right; WAKE12 somehow found a way to disobey the rules of physics. The ends are lit up with bright lights that blind you from miles away. Wide windows encircle the areas along with al frescos and convenient malls. Back then, this would have been classified as the house of the wealthy—you can’t say you agree with the sentiment when you’re not at all rich.

“Hi,” says Yena brightly at the front desk. She’s so smiley, always grinning like she’s just told a really clever joke. “Where’s the elevator?”

“I, uh…” 

The manager looks at her oddly. Your ears redden; she still hasn’t cleaned her face up. Evidence of your deed lies there on her nose and chin and cheeks, even in her perfect hair. 

“Well?”

The manager lifts the phone immediately. Before he could dial a number, Yena sighs loudly. 

“Look.” She silences the telephone with a slam of the device down on the keypad. The man’s hand cringes. “I’m about to fuck this guy’s brains out and I promise your little backup bosses can’t do anything about it.”

He stares at her. 

“I’m gonna use his dick until it’s limp as a balloon, then ride him in bed, then bend over on the kitchen table so he could breed me like a common whore.”

You lift an index finger to apologize, but put it back down. Did she just say you can breed her?

His jaw tenses. The teeth behind those unsmiling thin lips grit, not in annoyance but in fear. Yena’s bouncy and sweet, but apparently she’s excluding people who cockblock from her cute attitude.

“So,” finishes Yena, lowering her gaze, “where is the fucking elevator?”

The elevator has no pulley or doors. It sits at the side of the uneven floors and rises with nothing but a sizable pod. You’ve had to watch your weight to be able to enjoy the freedom from staircases. 

Yena steps on it with no worry. As you look at her, you realize how positively tiny she is. That’s why she isn’t doubtful about fitting in the claustrophobic space. Her violet clothes can slip off at any time at her pull of a waist and slim thighs. All the fullness goes to her cheeks, painted with fake tattooed stars and minimal doodles. 

She’s the kind of girl you could just pick up and do whatever to. You’re the kind of guy who really, really likes the idea.

Holding your hand is a thing of the past. Yena clutches your cock over your jeans as the elevator lifts the two of you up. 

The first thing she does the moment you enter your home is not kiss you, or slam you to the door, or whisper dirty nothings in the hollow of your ear. Yena looks around and says, simply, “Doable.”

You chuckle. You’re not offended. It’s a tidy, minimal apartment with glass that spans a viewing pleasure of the artificial forest and the hills. Glass lost its value but skyrocketed in purchases when Jo Yuri, first activist recorded in the history of WAKE12’s domination, was imprisoned. People compared her name to glass (yuri was 유리 and 유리 meant glass) and since then, it has been used everywhere. High demand, low price. Her symbol and namesake is used the way the public wants her to be used: cheap thing convenient only to the eye. They always said she was too pretty to talk too much.

“Here, doable is the best compliment,” you reply. You go to your bedroom to clean the place. If you want to fuck a rich girl, make sure the bedroom is at least up to her standards. “You have personal maids there in the North?”

Yena continues looking around. She’s mildly fascinated by everything, especially in the big window placed on the ceiling that lets stars peer down at you. For some reason, all the ejaculation on her face is gone. You don’t remember her bringing a washcloth.

“I’m not from the North, you know.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. I don’t come from anywhere.”

You come out, having cleared your bed from clothes and the floors of trash. You fed the trash to the connected chute that all apartments have, which leads down to the Southern Auster. The word may be Latin and is already defined as south, but there’s places poorer than the part you live in. You’re lucky to be here. The Southern Auster’s where it’s much more dangerous. The people there scavenge for food and money, and their cries go unheard in the night. It’s the biggest criminal capital of the Rogue.

You come out and Yena’s sitting on the kitchen table with a knife.

Stop in your tracks. 

See the blood running down her arm. 

“Oh, don’t worry,” she says dismissively. “It doesn’t hurt.”

You still don’t know what to say. The wound on her skin’s dissolved to a scar that looks more like a scratch on metal. Why would she do that? Why would that do that?

“In fact, I think it’s kind of cool.” Yena slides the blade on the strap of her top. It falls apart, right down to her braless chest. A pink, perky nipple is clear in the moonlight shining from above. “When people see me, they usually want to hurt me, so I might as well do it myself, right? They want to slap me, pull my hair, choke me. They say that and figure I’m totally flattered.”

You want to say that you couldn’t blame them. Yena’s got this innocent but naughty aura about her that you want to completely ruin. There’s her hair, all dolled up and her quirky makeup that brings attention that eventually switches down to the body she doesn’t bother hiding. 

But it looks like she’s doing the ruining. Aren’t those the best stories? Boy corrupts girl when it’s the other way around in reality? 

To use the word “reality” when you’re with Yena is laughable. She can read your mind like a Rogue Times newspaper. You get that things you thought were impossible have a chance of happening in these days, but you don’t remember wounds healing that fast. The knife slices right through the fabric, revealing swoon-worthy curves of her waist and hips, making her bleed only not for too long. Who would want a scar-ridden skinny girl anyway?

“Well,” you say after a dutiful swallow, “are you?”

Yena examines the knife. Her crimson blood dripping from its edge is a worthwhile watch while she considers this. 

She finally puts down the knife, much to your relief. “I don’t know. What about you, handsome? Do you want to hurt me or fuck me?”

“I… I’m not like them. I don’t wanna hit you or make you cry or anything. I want to fuck you, that’s completely different.”

First confession of the night that didn’t need saying when it’s clear. You let her blow you in public. You took her home. The intention is staring you in the face: you want to have sex with a girl you just met. 

Yena smiles. “You’d be surprised how blurred the lines are.”

Yena‘s hands fall on your shoulders and make you  fall to the kitchen chair and make your pants fall on the floor. Falling, falling, falling for her—it’s all you’re able to do provided that she’s stunning. She’s tiny with her thin arms and legs but her breasts are surprisingly supple. The cleavage her top subtly shows off hinted to that and you’re still shocked.

She’s a hot desert, and the only source you can drink of is her core. Her pussy is slick, making her thighs glue together only for them to part as she sits on your lap. 

The first grind has you both breathless. The second renders a duet of moans. She’s so wet that it’s excessive enough for her to drip down your cock and completely cover it with her. Yena’s pussy lips splay and clasp your shaft with slippery friction.

She curses. “You’re so hard. Big, t-too.” She aims your cockhead at her clit and sighs at the toe-curling pleasure. “You think you can fit in me?”

“I guess we’ll have to see.”

Yena smirks. She continues soaking you with her wetness. Her juices pour from your head to your balls. Then, without warning, she sheathes your rod inside her. 

You gasp. It’s so easy to slip yourself in and all too difficult to cope with how tight she is. Her walls, perfectly textured and sloppy, trap you and let you out, giving you false hope of escaping, only to imprison you again. It’s the best punishment you ever had. 

Her throat was already better than the other cunts you’ve spent yourself in, so what does that make her pussy?

The best. Her overflowing waterfall lets her ride you easily. It seems like there’s a million spots inside her you can target for she quivers and cries with each bounce. Her hair flows photogenically while her chest does the same erotic motion. 

“So fucking good, fuck,” Yena groans. Her round butt lands on your lap and you think you’d like it to stay there forever. Curl your hands around her cheeks. Draw a healthy moan from the throat you used.

Yena’s pussy curves and opens in every best way. She makes it so easy to mold her into the shape of your cock, to rearrange her insides. Was she made for dick? She’s so wet that you’d think she’s a nymphomaniac who won’t let you go, the same way her vagina won’t let you go as its grip curls around you and threatens to milk you to your wits’ end.

You wouldn’t mind that.

Her riding accelerates to an unbearable point the moment you start to spank her. She’s right about hurting and having sex being almost the same—you want to leave red handprints all over her jiggling ass. You want to pull her hair until she screams. You want to fuck this perfect cunt of hers right up to when she’s creaming all over you, flooding your sexes with her naturla nectar.

And the crazy thing is: she’ll actually let you.

“Fucking brat,” you say, hitting her butt again. She yelps coquettishly. “Are you really this thirsty for cock?”

“God, yes…” Her head throws back. Yena’s eyes shut and although her vision is blocked she sees stars. “Wanted to know how your dick would split me open. Fuck, keep doing that!”

Her core tightens with each blow you expel on her bouncing ass. Her hole’s already so enclosed so when she squeezes more, it’s close to having your cock tortured. You’re suffocating inside her.  You’re waterboarded again and again with her waterfall of wetness. 

You guide Yena’s motions with your hands on her behind. She’s so light that you’re practically using her as a doll, fucking her on your erection and letting yourself enjoy how her tits recoil. Her moans turn on a part of your brain that you don’t know, but it transmits to you these thoughts: fuck her senseless.

You raise her as high as you can, her weight nothing even to your long-untrained muscles, then slam her down. She sinks deeper into your lap and takes longer inches. Yena’s screams bounce off the soundproof walls that ensure only you can hear them. Those walls were fucking expensive, so of course you gotta let them have purpose. Slap Yena’s thighs down on yours and let her pussy envelop you right up to the point of bruises appearing on your skin.

How does she not sweat? Your hands wander all over her tight body and still you don’t find a drop of sweat. Her pigtails are still secured. You guess she was just made to be eternally pretty. 

She is pretty, under any circumstance—her smooth skin possesses zero blemishes and her winged eyes remain lamp-bright. She’s pretty, even when she lets out the pitchiest sounds, even when Yena’s lips rise into a devilish smile before sealing on your neck. She nibbles on your skin and rakes up your sensitivity. 

“Holy shit, Yena…”

“Yeah, that’s right.” She licks behind your ear and you nearly lose it. Maybe you already did. “Say my name. Because I’m all yours. This pussy is yours to use and abuse, so do it.”

Rub her tiny pulsing clit. Yena’s cries deafen you. If that’s not enough, she drowns you with her cum. There’s no raft to save you. You’re all alone. You’ll drown here and never see the light of day again.

Electricity runs through her body as the pleasure ramps up. Her fingers weaken on your shoulders. Her gasps are split off by larger, more surprised evolutions. Yena’s close.

“Fuck, no, I can’t!” Yena’s riding is furious and borderline abusive. The noises between your two crotches are louder than before. 

“You can,” you insist. You throb inside her while her pussy becomes smaller despite the many thrusts you perform. “Take it like a good girl, Yena.”

“Fuck me, use me, I’m just your cute little helpless girl, fuck me!”

She couldn’t be more correct. She’s just a useless doll, thin and adorable and tight—so why not use her like one?

You’re surprised your limbs have any power in them, but they impress as you lift Yena up. During your walk to the counter, you don’t stop thrusting in her. She’s wet and ready, just waiting and begging for it to happen. Her pretty face is smudged with tears. There’s sick satisfaction in you from seeing how the confident girl at the bar is now just a fuckhole to use. 

“Oh, oh, ah!” Cute little whines come out from those lips. Her mouth used its power to pick you up, make you cum, make you scared. In this second, all that is gone: she’ll only ever use it to wail in pleasure.

Knock her against the kitchen counter. Her thighs press to the curve. You spread them open and continue spending yourself to death in her. Her sides that slant to make the physique you love are perfect handles to thrust. 

You’re completely soaked, but she’s completely defiled. The dream girl is not just any dream but a wet dream. She’s the fantasy you never had but will constantly think of now. And you don’t care if WAKE12 knows you’re fucking her. They can read all the thoughts you have about Yena as much as they like, and you wouldn’t care.

Instead of giving a fuck, you twist her around, her smooth back in front of you, and fuck her harder while you’re at it. Admire the way your hips slap her ass and give her the spanking she deserves. One spank, that’s for being so tempting. Another for the price of her promiscuity. Three one-after-the-other’s because she’s too wild, too free for a girl with that face.

“God, please, harder!” Yena cries. “Make me your little cocksleeve cumslut!”

She does not take pain to heart, physically and mentally. In spite of your rapid pumps and the slap of your stomach to her bent and ready ass, no bruises or scratches appear on her skin. You say all these degrading words and rather than mope about it, she gets more turned on. She forces you to give all your might in railing her in this apartment where the open windows give you away rather than the sounds. And you’re nodding along, saying:

“Of course.”

Of course you’ll grab her tits and pinch their nipples as hard as you can. Yena’s skin might not be humanly warm but these boobs are real. They’re soft in your palms and plentiful. Is she a masochist? You tweak and slap and squeeze; in response, she’s… smiling?

Of course you’ll slip your touch all over her body. Appreciate every perfect curve, every fine fullness. After fondling her tits, you slide your hands over her smooth pits, then to her arms that struggle to remain stable. She’s sensitive all over; it’s evident in the way she babbles each time you caress her. 

Of course you’ll take her hair and pull as hard as you can. She won’t get mad. Nothing ever gets to the cool girl.

“Oh my god!” Yena shouts. 

Those pigtails are there for a reason. Thrusts become easier to do with her hair curled in between your digits. Her ass meets your crotch easily and you find yourself excavating her cavern, hitting her in all the good places. Yena hums and screeches and sobs. 

“Bad girl.” Her hair plays the role of your reins. They’re convenient in spreading Yena apart with your shaft, tearing at her tightness. “You’re nothing but a filthy cocksucking slut.”

“M-mhm, yes, just for you, just for this perfect dick, ahh! I’m cumming!” 

Yena’s core flexes and contracts. It holds you like it never wants you to go but you let go anyway. You can do nothing besides that especially if it’s her, someone who’s so cute but so seductive, so challenging but submissive. Each part of her—those blowjob lips, her blooming face, her cockiness—makes you wish this could never end.

The first sign of the end of this pornographic one-reeler is your semen raining inside her, setting a storm in her guts. You pant, legs weak, while Yena’s seem to go on forever although she’s smaller than you.

The second sign is the mess she made. Those aforementioned desirable legs are painted by obscenity. She squirted all over your floor and herself. Your cum coats her vulva plus spills down freely.

Yena looking back at you with a tired smile is the last one, along with her asking, through shattered breaths, “Better than your whore ex?”

Because that’s the thing about girls like Yena. They’ll do everything to please you. Perhaps she’s a good dresser, but really, this is your style, not hers. This type of fashion is what you like on women: modestly revealing. Girls like Yena will give you everything, make you discover yourself, and when all this happens, she’ll remain the thoughtless, forgiving girl. She won’t complain about things that will set you off and say coy, clever things, the kind men like to hear.

All just to be better.

She is.

“Yeah.”

Yena chuckles. For a moment, she looks like the sweetest girl in the world. The happiness overtakes her face and makes her smile reach her ears. 

It disappears as fast as it arrived.

“Wrong fucking answer.”

Alarm sounds of every kind—natural disaster, fire, robbery, whistles—blare in your head. You can’t hear anything except the thin screeches of emergency. But for what?

Yena loses her brightness. Everything that made her shine shuts down. She smiles, that same one full of mischief, before she breaks, too. Her eyes turn pitch black, the ones you see in crows, the sign of bad luck. She disassembles part by part before you. The light girl is suddenly so heavy that she forces you down. Suddenly, her torso above yours feels colder than before. 

What the fuck? 

Escape is your first instinct. You push the remains of the girl away. Your feet kick the broken parts as if you’d break, too. You brush past the fringe of her bangs. Below it, no diamond scar rests on her forehead.

Stare down at her. Yena truly is not real. Your manic robotic dream girl is dead. She was never alive. 

“You have been found guilty,” says the implant. You used to hear it when WAKE12 arrested people and now it talks to arrest you. The alarms are loud but you understand every fragment. 

The implant’s emotionless voice now sounds a lot like—

“Chaewon?” 

Bad luck comes just like the consequences of the law, personified by stilettos clicking on your floor, a shadow in the moonlight, and the face of the woman you swear you never wanted to see again.

And yet here she is.

Chaewon looks so much like Yena. Yena looks so much like Chaewon. Their chins, their eyes, their bangs—who is who? Their faces mingle and mix in your vision. You think you’re going crazy.

She puts away a remote control and places her hands on her hips. Her black bodysuit is all you see as she approaches. Her smiling lips don’t utter a word. You hear her voice, all in your head.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything and everything you do shall be punished by WAKE12 accordingly. This is the price you pay for your crime.”

There’s a gun in front of you. It’s aimed at your chest, determined to crush what keeps it beating. Raise your hands, but not in surrender. You’ll die before you try to be Chaewon’s toy again.

“What crime? Being your ex-boyfriend?” you spit. This has got to be a joke. “Chaewon, I said, what crime?”

She can’t abuse her authority. She couldn’t have done all that just to get back at you. And for what? Being a bad boyfriend when you were younger and dumber?

You hear her speak. That striking smile looks more terrifying than beautiful. It dissolves into darkness to pronounce your wrongdoing. 

“For the crime of fucking existing,” she snarls.

You hate Chaewon. You swore you never did yet now you do wholeheartedly. You tried to love her and reciprocate her efforts. She’s a busy woman so she should have understood you had other commitments.

This is the last time you ever want to hear from her. 

A bullet you don’t see coming. It soars in the wind and finds its home sweet home in your skull.

She’s the last thing you ever heard.

[synergysilhouette]

Rewriting the Specialists (you know, for fun)

Finally, the time has come for me to share my rewrite on the underrated men of the Winx Club series! As with my rewrite of the Winx girls and some of the villains, this is not a "what should be," but my own twist on them. As they are now, they feel like they're just love interests, and I'd appreciate it if they had more going on. I also gave some of them siblings (mainly brothers since all the Winx who had siblings had sisters)

Sky--The Crown Prince of Eraklyon, he's often had to live life as dictated by others, due to the stricter ruling style of the kingdom in contrast to others like Solaria. As such, Sky has been raised to understand a variety of subjects and skills, and is especially prided for being one of the few people in the royal family who possess magic, which makes those around him believe his rule with be a prosperous one. When his best friend Brandon falls for Stella, Sky offers to switch places with him; no one will be the wiser since the Eraklyon royal family is rather private, and very few people outside the planet know what the crown prince looks like. He falls for Bloom, though he holds back on engaging in a relationship with her due to the fact that he's pretending to be Brandon, and wonders if he even should be in a relationship with her due to her witch heritage (with witches in Eraklyon having a particularly nasty reputation; Sky himself has had to dodge accusations of having witch blood due to his magical powers, as so many of his political adversaries have tried to accuse him). However, he does confess his feelings for her during her manipulation with Darkar, as well as comforting her when she discovers her own witch heritage. He cares for Diaspro as a friend, but their political engagement makes him feel distant from her, trying (without being obvious) to show his displeasure with the match while still being a friend to her. It's noted that Sky is rather naive, quick to believe others and show kindness and forgiveness, upholding the beliefs of honor and valor as the sign of a true king. When Domino is reinstated, he makes it priority to befriend Oritel and Mirion, destined to prove that he is the one for Bloom. He's also the specialist who's the best with kids, growing up as an only child and wanting a big family of his own someday. It's implied that Flora and Helia's immediate marriage after graduating Red Fountain and Alfea has inspired Sky and Bloom to get married soon as well.

Visually, I'd base his appearance (even though the specialists weren't based on celebrities like the Winx were) on Chris Evans, as well as being voiced by Christopher Daniel Barnes. I'd also retcon the RF uniform. I'd say Sky's look at Red Fountain is predominantly blue and gold, similar to the uniform he wears later in the season (albeit more fashionable, akin to other magical creatures).

Brandon--Sky's best friend and a resident of Callisto. The planet is rather underdeveloped in the show, and in the 4kids dub it's said to be known as a tourist destination with beautiful beaches and artistic traditions. I thought it'd be nice to use an established planet before making one up, anyway. Sky met Brandon as a child while on vacation in Callisto, and the two became fast friends. While Sky's parents resisted Sky becoming too friendly with someone in a lower social circle (reasoning that as king, he'll have to spend a lot of his free time schmoozing with more important people), they saw how popular Brandon was, becoming something of the pride and joy of the planet due to his kindness, handsomeness, and bravery, so they let the two remain friends. However, the boys are envious of each other's lives; Brandon has lived happily in a middle-class family of love, while Sky has grown up in splendor with a somewhat cold family. Brandon wants to know what it's like to be so powerful, though mainly to impress Stella, having already seen how royals feel about him when he befriended Sky, and worries that she wouldn't (or couldn't) accept him as he was if he didn't pretend to be a prince. Out of the specialists, he's the most inclusive, trying to make sure all his friends are comfortable and part of their activities, social or otherwise, and often talks about his younger brother Kaden, who's about Miele's age. He's also the most entertaining, being the most skilled at dancing and singing, able to pick up new skills and hobbies more easy than most people (which is why Sky nicknamed him "Mr. Perfect" and Riven nicknamed him "Mr. Perfectionist"). As royal consort being engaged to Stella, he's taken to busying himself learning all the ins and outs of royalty in order to support her, though Stella makes sure he doesn't overwork himself. His dream after graduating was to be a hero, and one might argue that he's already achieved that. It's also implied that he and Stella are trying to get married before Sky and Bloom since Flora and Helia already got married after graduation (they tried to plan a double wedding, but it'd be too many people).

Visually, I'd base him off of Ryan Gosling, and have him voiced by Justin Cook (I love him as Eijiro Kirishima). It's revealed that he's got some mer lineage, so he does have a capacity for magic, albeit limited. Sky also created a magic suit for him during missions that protects him from average attacks. It's predominantly red with intrinsic designs, a metaphor for his desire to stand out and be seen as special. (Note: I could also see him as being Hispanic like Flora, though you'd probably need some nods to it when visiting his homeworld.)

Riven--Hailing from Dolona, the most edgy Specialist is known as such for a reason. His mother was of noble blood, but after being seduced by a vampire, she was cast out by her family. Years later, they offered her the chance of "forgiveness," not knowing she had had a child with the vampire. Wanting the best life for herself, she abandoned Riven, and his father only occasionally visited him in the orphanage, but never revealed his identity. As such, Riven has a very skewed look on life, wanting to both impress those above him and dominate his contemporaries, not exactly making him a "team player." He was interested in Bloom, but her lack of tolerance for his disrespectful attitude made that fizzle out quickly. He helped Musa rescue Bloom from Darko (who, if you haven't read my rewrite of some of the villains, is in an on-off relationship with Icy; this was an off period), and the two went on a date after this. At first Musa only saw him as a one-time thing, noting his poor behavior, but after being scorned by Bloom, Riven tries a different, slightly more vulnerable approach with Musa, and they begin a relationship. They do have certain obstacles in their way--Musa putting her career before their relationship at times, Riven's insecurity and jealousy, Darcy stirring the pot--but one of the most trying ones is Riven's discovery that he's a vampire. He doesn't tell anyone, afraid that they'll see him as worse than they already do, and takes to drinking his friends' blood when they're asleep. Given that he's only half vampire, he can't fully absorb negative human emotions and use it for sustenance; if anything, he absorbs them and takes them into his own being, making him more negative than he already is. He has a rivalry with Sky, so Timmy and Brandon are some of the few people who can really console him, as well as Flora (because who doesn't like Flora?). It's worth noting that after he gets involved with Darcy and recognizes his vampire powers, he's not just blowing hot air; his comments have bite (no pun intended) and are much sharper and wittier than before, as he's gotten better with reading people, and there's a vague implication that he's gained some of the thoughts/memories of people he's drank from (including the Winx, which he's only done during battle for a power boost and if they've been knocked out). It's also noted that he probably has a lot of family he doesn't know about, given his background and the respective sizes of each of his parent's families. Once he graduates, he sets out to find them and understand more about himself while Musa works on her music.

Riven's redesigned outfit keeps the purple color scheme of season 8, though much cooler and unique, (if you're into comic books, check out Gambit's 2023 Hellfire Gala costume; it's like that but with the chest area covered and the pants tight instead of baggy, as well as a sleeveless option). I'd take inspiration for his appearance from Adam Levine, as well as have him voiced by Ben Diskin. (Note: I could also see him as Hispanic.)

Timmy--A high-spirited elf from Magix with an ironic love for technology, he's kind of seen as an odd one of his kind (even to his parents), since, despite his nature affinity, he was always drawn to industrialism and innovation. But he never let that ruin his vibe, even if he faces discrimination at Red Fountain for being a nerd. This lessons up with time as his smarts pay off in battle and the classroom, as well as his physical form changing with frequent exercise and his friends' fashion sense influencing him (because let's be real; part of rising in the social circle is conventional attractiveness; Timmy was always attractive, but I did want it to be a journey for him to be on the same athletic level as his friends). However, he finds that at first, he has difficulty channeling his magic, which is later revealed to be his overreliance on technology as well as his relationship with Tecna (who's a cyborg and despite her intelligence, failed to recognize Timmy's emotional state was enabling his powers). He eventually strikes a balance, being affectionately called the "tech elf" by his friends, forming a close friendship with Helia, and having a weird frenemey relationship with Riven. Out of all the Specialists, he sees his relationship as one of two halves; he sees Tecna not just as the love of his life, but as his other half, sharing a lot of his thoughts. For a brief period, he considered becoming an android so he and Tecna could be compatible to be a hive mind, but Tecna and Helia discouraged this, not wanting either of them to lose their individuality, nor have Timmy's powers sealed forever (which would happen if he became one with Zenith's technology). After graduating, Tecna and Timmy rent a space together with Flora and Helia in Lynphea, which Tecna believes could strengthen Timmy's powers due to his nature-related heritage and help him get back in touch with his roots.

Visually, I'd base him off of Tom Holland and voiced by Bryce Papenbrook (I know him as Adrien Agreste) or David Kaufman (AKA Danny Phantom). I'd make his magical costume predominantly green with ever-moving patterns like binary code.

Helia--A peaceful shaman from Linphea, he takes pride in his role of spreading kindness and love, lacking the ability to kill or severely harm anyone with his powers, he's been childhood friends with Flora and almost immediate friends with Timmy when he comes to Red Fountain. However, it's noted that his friendship with the specialists has opened up a competitive/prideful side, but only in a friendly way, nothing as severe as Riven. He's known for being shy, and given how secretive the nature of shamans is anyway (I think we only see two in the entire franchise), he's met with skepticism in Red Fountain, since shamans are equated with witches and wizards, who have been prejudiced against. Not to mention he's Saladin's grandson, so there's concerns of nepotism. However, he deflects these stereotypes with his friendliness, often going out of his way to get gifts for the Winx every time he visits them (particularly Flora), as well as his fellow guys at Red Fountain--though he's rather discreet, due to his own shyness and the students' pride. He's one of the smartest and kindest people there, to the point where he's been volun-told to be a representative for the school, despite his anxiety in crowds and fear of public speaking. He's also adored by animals, so Ariel (my version of Roxy) just adores him. He also has an older sister named Theia and a fraternal twin bother named Endymion, who doesn't go to RF due to being a prodigy and being a healer back in Lynphea, having been a favorite of Guru. When going back to Lynphea, Flora and Helia grow even closer, getting an apartment to share with Timmy and Tecna (though Flora and Helia's parents offer to let the four live with them) and Helia and Flora work on furthering their skills in order to spread healing and kindness throughout the realm.

I'd take inspiration from Henry Golding for his appearance (just putting it out there, I always thought Helia was Asian, and I'd make him Southeast Asian for more diversity, probably Malaysian, Indonesian, or Filipino, though the latter works best since Flora is Latin-inspired and her region in Lynphea would showcase this; I'm also open to Indigenous Siberian inspiration), and have him voiced by Seth Green (don't @ me, but his performance as Patrick in "Scooby Doo 2" is what sold me) or Christopher Sean. I'd make his costume black and silver to showcase his mysterious and magical nature, something cool but still low-key. I'd also note that while a cisgender man, he does allow others to use whatever pronouns they want for him, as well as being the specialist most likely to experiment with androgynous fashion sense.

Nabu--A wizard from the richest family in Andros, he's seen as the "prized pony" by everyone in the kingdom and even beyond. As such, he has been courted by many, though the line thinned slightly because of him being a wizard and that reputation being iffy. As a child, there was a bit of a schism because of the fact that both Neptune and Teredor wanting him for their daughters (and the idea of an open/dual marriage was briefly discussed, but they couldn't get the details ironed out, and I'm not sure if I'm writing this as a kids show anymore, but I digress), but eventually Aisha was seen as the ideal candidate. Neither Nabu nor Aisha were happy to be betrothed to someone they didn't know, but unknowingly met and befriended each other (at the time, Aisha was going by Layla and Nabu was going by Ophir), eventually falling in love. Given that Nabu knew next-to-nothing about politics and Aisha needs "me time" every now and then, they have a rather nuanced and fluid relationship, one that recognizes them as individuals while still being passionate for each other, and Nabu is more than happy being a "silent consort" in the public eye as he learns more about his role and Aisha acts as reigning queen. It's also mentioned that he has Romulean heritage and has two younger brothers: Enki and Ashur (wanted to go with the Babylonian origins of Nabu's name). He's often off adventuring if he's not with Aisha, and doesn't do it without his friends the Specialists, who he also concealed his identity from to prevent harm coming to him or his family in exchange for ransom.

Visually, I'd base him off of Jason Derulo, as well as being voiced by Ogie Banks (Clawd Wolf's VA feels perfect), and I'd put him in aqua colors for his wizard robes. I was personally never certain about his race, though I was almost certain he was black. In my rewrite, he'd also be mixed with Native American (I imagine Central or South American) or Asian heritage (South or East Asian, perhaps Japanese or Korean to distinguish himself from Musa, who's inspiration was Lucy Liu, an actress of Chinese descent). BTW, it'd be nice if at some point in the series, he wears dreads like the "Surf Club" owner; I always loved his hairstyle.

Nex--Everyone kinda sees Nabu's successors as inferior to him, and I can see why. In my rewrite, both Nex and Roy compete for Aisha's affections, thinking that she's a normal girl and not realizing she's a princess (since she's disguised as Layla) or that Nabu is a noble man. When they do, I'm not sure if I'd entertain the idea of Aisha being in an open relationship with Nabu, entertaining Nex and Roy's advances before she settled down with Nabu, or if she denied them outright. In any case, I do like the idea that Nex and Roy become a couple after a good deal of time, so Aisha feels less guilty about rejecting them (and the awkwardness of them joining the other Specialists when joining the Winx). While originally seen as a "Riven clone," Nex is shown to be a lot more vulnerable than Riven. Despite sharing the need to impress and dominate, he's quick to beg forgiveness or feel guilt when he goes too far, and it's noted that from a young age, he spent his early years as a servant before coming to RF, and thus didn't have much of a childhood. As a result, his behavior is moreso innocent childishness rather than malice. It's also of note that he is the most skilled when it comes to the culinary field, as well as having a soft spot for kids and animals, though toxic masculinity makes this hard for him to admit, concerned it'd make him look weak or not manly enough.

Design-wise, I'd base his appearance on Sebastian Stan and voiced by Drake Bell (who did a great job as Spiderman, imo). I'd put him an orange for his magical look, and he's from the planet Serenia, explaining his somewhat tempestuous attitude. It's also of note that he's a werewolf, making him reckless in battle because he can take it.

Roy--A sweet noble from Espero, he's noted as being akin to Timmy and Helia due to his shyness, though he's more bashful than either of them, resulting in a smaller social circle. While working to get Aisha's affections, he discovered growing feelings for Nex, which eventually ended up in the two forming a romantic relationship. He's at home in the water, and is quite a talented swimmer. Raised by his father, it's later revealed that his mother was a mermaid, and that he's able to transform into a merman (just like Bloom, he's a late bloom-er), which explains his fascination with the ocean. It's also explained that after transforming a few times, the benefits of being a merman (faster swimming speed and underwater breathing) temporarily transfer to his human form for a short period. He goes on to work for Aisha's father once graduating, feeling at home in Andros and wanting to find his mother, despite not knowing her (his father notes that they only knew each other for a brief time), something that Nex joins him with.

To diversify him a bit more from the other specialists, I'd give him an abnormal hair color like some tritons have, in this case, green (probably a malachite-like shade), with his appearance inspired by D'Pharaoh Woon-A-Tai (I'm making him Native American here, probably a United States or Canadian Tribe), voiced by Jason Ritter, and his clothes are a deep pink color, having a more flow-y style to them in reference to his aquatic heritage.

Manuel--If you recall, my rewrite of Roxy (or in my version, Ariel), I mentioned that her boyfriend Manuel isn't a specialist, being a human from Earth, but I did want to include him. I'm renaming him Xavier, and he has a similar personality to Sky, being sweet and optimistic, though unlike Sky, he hasn't had the real-world experience to help him mature. As a result, he's easy to take advantage of, and Ariel often has to come to his defense. He almost breaks up with her when she tells him that the reason she left is because she's a fairy and went to a magical school on another planet, but when she proves it to him, he changes his mind. Given that he's not around magic on a day-to-day basis, he's uncertain how to process the info Ariel's given him, questioning everything around him and temporarily having a sanity crisis. He's a skilled athlete, and while most people assume he plays (American) football, he actually plays soccer (AKA association football to everyone outside of America). When the specialists visit Earth, he makes quick friends with all of them, and is honored when Helia does his signature gift-giving and gives him a magic shield should he ever need to protect those he cares about when the winx and the specialists aren't around.

Just like his girlfriend, I'm giving him a design overhaul (well, in text format; I can't draw). Just like how Roxy looks like Tecna, Manuel looks like Sky and Bloom's son--which honestly they could've used for a next-gen series. In any case, I'd make him of either Polynesian (I'm thinking Hawaiian or Tahitian) or Micronesian (likely Chamorro) descent. I'd base his new appearance off of Jason Mamoa, though IDK who I'd cast for his voice since he was never in the show.

Hope you liked my rewrite of the specialists! And make sure to check out my rewrites of the Winx girls and villains. Make sure to let me know if you have any questions.

[rocohen20]

Expectations

Nancy was divided between Steve and Jonathan. On the surface, Steve looked like the obvious choice with his popularity, athletic activities and fun outgoing attitude. She was attracted to him, she was charmed by him and appreciated his boldness. Nevertheless, she couldn't deny her fascination with the other omega. She couldn't put into words exactly what she thought about Jonathan.

Nancy waited for a while before she made her choice. Telling herself that she waited for a sign to show her the right path, where in factuality she waited for Jonathan to get his head straight and get her blaringly apparent implications for her wants.

When the polite omega didn't act on any of her offering, she got the massage loud and clear. Her being an alpha didn't mean she got the right to decide for the omega, no meant no and she had to accept it.

As a result, she got back together with Steve, and it felt like nothing ever changed. Steve would come by her locker every day. They would hold hands on their way to class. They would study together at the library or meet some place neutral (Steve would even steal kisses if they were someplace privately). They were happy and everything was normal.

+++

Two months after their makeup, Steve's parents invited her to dinner. It was the official meeting with Steve's parents and she was nervous. In all honestly, she wanted to decline the invitation, however she knew she couldn't. She was an alpha who dated their omega son for the past few months they had to meet her and decide whether she was worthy of their son.

When she told her parents about the dinner invite, she got a lengthy chat about what to expect, how to act and what to say or not to say. She was nervous and felt like her parents blown the gesture out of proportions. She was just a sophomore, Steve was just a junior, they were too young to think about mating and marriage. It was the 80s, dating someone didn't mean you had to mate eventually.

Except, it seemed like it was exactly what Steve's parents were thinking. After a few polite questions about herself and her interests, his dad started to talk about her future. He asked her about college, asked her about her aspiring career. At first, she thought it was part of the general inquiry of the polite conversation to get a feel of her. Only to realize the true meaning of the survey once Steve's dad, the alpha of the family, asked her how she was supposed to support a family on a journalist's salary.

It felt like a slap to the face, yet she powered through and tried to remain civil as she answered the question. Agreeing about the low income of the career, while reminding Mr. Harrington about how a household contain of two people. Nancy thought she did a good job diplomatically answering the hard interrogation, even stealing a glance at Steve's pleased face. However, evidently it was the wrong possible way she could answer it. Mr. Harrington all but yelled at her about how she was the alpha at the house who was expected to care for her omega and children, as the omega should be a stay-at-home spouse caring for the children.

Nancy felt humiliated as Mr. Harrington shouted at her, acting like he had any right to dictate the way she can live her life and her future mate's life. She knew what she believed in, she knew how omega's rights advanced in the past 20 years. Times were changing, omegas weren't just a possession for an alpha, whose only job was to raise kids. Omegas could have a career now, and she was all for it. Hack, she thought that omega's rights had a few more fields to improve in, despite its honorary start.

Plus, hearing parents of a single omega son speak unabashedly about how little they cared about their son's future was depressing. Steve was grown up with only marriage and children as his future.

She was acutely aware of how any sort of retort from her could result in her relationship ending abruptly.  Besides she needed to figure out how much Steve himself aligned himself and his wishing to his parents' wishing. There wasn't a point to kick up a storm if their son wanted exactly what they were telling her. She needed to swallow her dignity for just this evening and go along with what Mr. Harrington was saying. Later, when she and Steve could talk privately, she'll find out if their relationship was even worth the fighting.

+++

Steve did want marriage and children, yet he also mentioned wanting the freedom and permission to have a career as well. Nancy tried to downplay how relieved she was. She was pretty sure she was failing if judging by Steve's fond amusement. Still, she was really happy to note a possible future with Steve.

As Steve opened up to her about how he didn't want the relationship of his parents, didn't want to be treated like his mother, it gave her better understanding of Steve. She could see him in a different light, a better light. His repeated emphasis on respect, open communication and treating each other as equals (even if society didn't view them as such) painted a pretty clear picture of his wants. She was into this picture.

Nevertheless, she couldn't ignore one aspect Steve didn’t mention- higher education.

She didn't lie to Mr. Harrington. She saw herself attending college with a journalism major which subsequently led to a career in journalism. College was her next stop after high school. She couldn’t understand how Steve, who was a year older than her, couldn't think about his next step after high school as well. He already disagreed with his parents' proposed life trajectory, leaving college as the obvious next step then.    

Right than Nancy decided to help Steve academically. Steve needed to go to college. He needed to give an opportunity for a better future, not like his mom's. Plus, he was capable of going to college, with support and encouragement he would succeed.

+++

Nancy and Steve kept dating, their relationship kept growing deeper and meaningful. She cherished their time together along with how he made her feel. Steve kept to his promises with the communication and the open affection. They would go out few times a week, not including their studying sessions.

The main drawback of their relationship remained his parents and their backwards believes. Most of their dates were in public places, but when they stayed at one of their houses 9 out of 10 times it would be Steve's. It made sense with him being an omega with traditional parents. Though it didn’t suck less. They weren't allowed to be at his room, sticking only to the dining room. Even there his parents would interrupt them constantly.

Still, it didn't light a candle against the times Mr. Harrington would take her to his study for "Alpha Talk". During those conversations Mr. Harrington interrogated her about her studies and suggest other professions beside journalism. As the duration of their relationship progressed and Steve finished junior year and waited for the beginning of his senior year, Mr. Harrington brought up mating and proposals into the mix. Nancy tried to remain strong and not show Mr. Harrington how much his words terrified her. She liked Steve, but they were still not ready for this kind of commitment. She always answered his questions in such vague terms to never commit herself to anything.

Privately at home, she felt the rope tighten around her neck. She liked Steve, she wanted to keep what they had going. Though she couldn't help the thoughts about ending it. She couldn’t handle his parents, she couldn't hear much more about how much children they ought to have or where they should have their wedding ceremony.

She tried to act the same around Steve, knowing he didn't do anything wrong. However, she still found herself drawing away from his suffocating affections more and more. Besides, shamefully, she found herself subconsciously reminiscing of another omega, along with how she got along with his family.  

Also, since the new school year begun, and Steve along with his parents mentioned a coming anniversary, she found herself thinking about another upcoming anniversary. An anniversary of a dear, wise friend which no doubt knew what to do instead of her.

+++

Nancy didn't recall what she told Steve at the party. Nancy barely remembered something from last night. It killed her to see Steve barely hold himself and the barely concieled hurt. Some part of her yell at her to fix it up, tell him how she loved him. Except, she couldn't. She couldn't tell him that beforehand and she couldn't now.

He walked away and she stayed put.

It seemed like a breakup, but at the same time she wasn't sure. Sadly, she didn't know if she wanted to do anything to fix it up. She didn’t know if she could handle the expectations, she didn’t know if she should plant false hope into Steve.

[karagin22]

Europe has gone, and Asia - surrendered to authoritarianism, nonsense like the 'leader principle', totalitarianism, all the bonds placed on liberty which treat men as so many economic and political units with no importance as individuals. No dignity - do what you're told, believe what you are told, and shut your mouth! Workers, soldiers, breeding units... A rational anarchist believes that concepts, such as 'state' and 'society' and 'government' have no existence save as physically exemplified in the acts of self-responsible individuals. He believes that it is impossible to shift blame, share blame, distribute blame... as blame, guilt, responsibility are matters taking place inside human beings singly and _nowhere_ else. But being rational, he knows that not all individuals hold his evaluations, so he tries to live perfectly in an imperfect world... aware that his efforts will be less than perfect yet undismayed by self-knowledge of self-failure." From politics I have come to believe the following: (1) Most people are basically honest, kind and decent. (2) The American people are wise enough to run their own affairs. The do not need Fuehrers, Strong Men, Technocrats, Commissars, Silver Shirts, Theocrats, or any other sort of dictator. (3) Americans have a compatible community of ambitions. Most of them don't want to be rich but do want enough economic security to permit them to raise families in decent comfort without fear of the future. They want the least government necessary to this purpose and don't greatly mind what the other fellow does as long as it does not interfere with them living their own lives. As a people we are neither money mad nor prying. We are easy-going and anarchistic. We may want to keep up with the Joneses -- but not with the Vanderbilts. We don't like cops. (4) Democracy, or a Republic, is not an automatic condition resulting from laws and constitutions. It is a living, dynamic process, which must be worked at by you yourself -- or it ceases to be democracy, even if the shell and form remains. (5) One way or another, any government that remains in power is a representative government. If your city government is a crooked machine, then it is because you and your neighbors prefer it that way -- prefer it to the effort of running your own affairs. Hitler's government was a popular government; the vast majority of Germans preferred the rule of gangsters to the effort of thinking and doing for themselves. They abdicated their franchise. (6) Representative Democracy is the most efficient form of government ever invented by the human race. On the record, it has worked better in peace and in war than fascism, communism, or any other form of dictatorship. As for the mythical yardstick of 'benevolent' monarchy or dictatorship -- there ain't no such animal! (7) A single citizen, with no political connections and no money, can be extremely effective in politics. From Take Back Your Government - A Practical Handbook for the private citizen who wants democracy to work. By Robert A. Heinlein.

[dailyanarchistposts]

Chapter 3. Economy

What about technology?

Many people worry that the complexity of modern day technology and the high level integration of infrastructure and production in present day society makes anarchy a dream of the past. In fact, this worry is not at all unfounded. It is not so much the complexity of the technology, however, that is odds with the creation of an anarchist society, so much as the fact that technology is not a neutral thing. As Uri Gordon expertly summed it up, the development of technology reflects the interests and needs of ruling members of society, and technology reshapes the physical world in a way that reinforces authority and discourages rebellion.[44] It is no coincidence that the nuclear arms and energy infrastructure creates a need for a centrally organized, high security military organization and disaster management agencies with emergency powers and the ability to suspend constitutional rights; that interstate highways allow the rapid domestic deployment of the military, encourage the transcontinental shipping of goods and private transportation via personal automobiles; that new factories demand unskilled, replaceable laborers who couldn’t possibly hold the job until retirement, assuming the boss even wanted to give retirement benefits, because within a few years occupational injuries from repetitive tasks or the unsafe pace of the production line will render them unable to continue.

The subsidies and infrastructure provided by government tend to go towards inventions that increase state power, often to everyone else’s misfortune: jet fighters, surveillance systems, pyramid-building. Even the most benevolent forms of government support for invention, such as government subsidies to medical research, at best go to inventing treatments that are patented by corporations with no scruples about letting people die if they cannot afford them — just as they have no scruples over torturing and killing thousands of animals in the testing phase.

The demands of freedom confront us with a much heavier choice than simply changing our decision-making structures. We will have to physically disassemble much of the world we live in and build it anew. Freedom, as well as the ecological balance of the planet and thus our very survival, is incompatible with nuclear energy, reliance on fossil fuels such as oil and coal, and a car culture which estranges public space and fosters a system of exchange where most goods are not produced locally.

This transformation will require a great deal of inventiveness; thus the relevant question becomes, will an anarchist social movement and society be inventive enough to carry out this transformation? I think the answer is yes. After all, the most useful tools in human history were invented before government and capitalism came about.

Capitalism’s so-called free market is said to motivate innovation, and market competition does contribute to the proliferation of profitable inventions, which are not necessarily helpful inventions. Capitalist competition dictates that every few years all the old gadgets become obsolete as new ones are invented, so people have to throw the old ones away and buy new ones — at great detriment to the environment. Because of this “planned obsolescence,” few inventions tend to be well made or fully thought-out in the first place, since they’re destined for the trash from the beginning.

The doctrine of intellectual property prevents the spread of useful technologies, allowing them to be controlled or withheld according to what is most profitable. Apologists for capitalism typically argue that intellectual property encourages the development of technology because it gives people the assurance, as incentive, that they can profit from their invention. What kind of cretin would invent something socially useful if he wouldn’t get exclusive credit for it and profit from it? But the technological mainstays of our world were developed by groups of people who let their inventions spread freely and didn’t take credit for them — everything from the hammer to stringed musical instruments to domesticated grains.

In practice, the capitalist economy itself disproves the assumptions about intellectual property fomenting innovation. Just like any other kind of property, intellectual property usually does not belong to those who produce it: many inventions are made by wage slaves in laboratories who get no credit and no profit because their contracts stipulate that the corporation they work for receives ownership of the patents.

The best people to develop useful innovations are the ones who need them, and they do not need government or capitalism to help them do this. Anarchists themselves have a rich history of inventing solutions to the problems they face. The anarchist bank robbers known as the Bonnot gang invented the getaway car. Makhno, the Ukrainian anarchist, was the first to deploy highly mobile machine guns — he mounted them on tatchankis, the horse-drawn carts used by the peasantry, with devastating effect against superior foes bogged down in traditional tactics. In revolutionary Spain, after they had expropriated the big landlords, collectivized the land, and freed themselves from the need to produce a single export crop, farmers improved the health of the soil and increased their self-sufficiency by intercropping — specifically, growing shade-tolerant crops beneath the orange trees. The Peasant Federation of the Levant, in Spain, set up an agricultural university, and other agricultural collectives founded a center for the study of plant diseases and tree culture.

In the highlands of New Guinea, millions of farmers live at high population densities in steep mountain valleys; their communities are stateless, consensus-based, and, until relatively recently, completely uncontacted by the West. Though they appeared as Stone Age primitives to racist Europeans, they have developed one of the most complex agricultural systems in the world. Their techniques are so precise and numerous that they take years to learn. Self-important Western scientists still do not know the reasons for many of these techniques, which they might dismiss as superstition were they not proven to work. For the past 7,000 years, the highlanders have practiced a dynamic form of sustainable agriculture in response to impacts on their environment that might have caused less innovative societies to collapse. Their methods include complex forms of irrigation, soil retention, intercropping, and more. The highlanders have no chiefs, and make their decisions in long, community discussions. They have developed all their techniques without government or capitalism, via individual and group innovations communicated freely through a large, decentralized society.[45]

Many Westerners might scoff at the thought that people who do not use metal tools could provide a model of technological sophistication. These cynics, however, are simply benighted by Euro/American mythology and superstitions. Technology is not blinking lights and whirring gadgets. Technology is adaptation. By adapting a complex set of techniques that have allowed them to meet all their needs without destroying their environment over 7,000 years, the New Guinea farmers have accomplished something Western civilization has never even approached.

Still, there are plenty of anarchistic examples for the impressed-by-blinking-lights crowd. Consider the recent proliferation of “Open Source” technology. Decentralized networks involving thousands of people working openly, voluntarily, and cooperatively have created some of the better forms of the complicated software on which the Information Age economy depends. The usual approach of major corporations is to keep the source, or code, for their software secret and patented, but Open Source software code is shared, so anyone can review it and improve it. As a result it is often much better, and generally easier to fix. Traditional patented software is more vulnerable to crashing and to viruses, because a smaller pool of brains are able to check for weaknesses, and very few specialists are available to fix problems. Those technical support people you call on the phone when your computer operating system crashes don’t get to see the code either, and beyond a little troubleshooting all they can do is direct you to a cumbersome “patch,” or advise you to erase your hard drive and reinstall the operating system. Users of Microsoft products, for example, are no doubt familiar with their frequent glitches, and privacy advocates also warn of spyware and the cooperation between technology corporations and the government. Says one anti-authoritarian geek involved in the creation of Open Source software: “The best advertisement for Linux is Microsoft.”

Traditionally, much Open Source software has not been especially user-friendly, though generally this has to do with the fact that Open Source resides within, with all due respect, a geek subculture, and its typical users are highly computer literate. However, Open Source and participatory technology are steadily becoming accessible to an extent unprecedented by proprietary software. Wikipedia exemplifies this. Started recently, in 2001, on Open Source Linux software, Wikipedia is already the largest and most accessed encyclopedia in the world, with over 10 million articles in more than 250 languages. Rather than being the exclusive domain of paid experts from a particular academic subculture, Wikipedia is written by everyone. Anyone can author an article or edit an existing article, and by allowing this openness and trust it provides a forum for instantaneous, multiple-peer review. The interests of the broader Wikipedia community of millions provide a self-regulating function, so vandalism — false editing and bogus articles — are quickly cleaned up, and facts lacking citations are challenged. Wikipedia articles avail themselves of a vastly greater body of knowledge than the small and generally elitist circle represented by academia. In a blind, peer-reviewed study it was judged to be as accurate as Encyclopedia Britannica.[46]

Wikipedia is “self-organizing” and edited by an open body of peer-elected administrators.[47] There have been a few publicized cases of intentional sabotage, such as when the televised news comedy show The Colbert Report rewrote history in one Wikipedia article as a gag for their show; but the prank was quickly fixed, as most false information on the site tends to be. A more lingering problem is posed by corporations who use Wikipedia for public relations purposes, tasking paid personnel to maintain a clean image in the articles about them. However, contradicting interpretations of the facts can be registered in the same article, and Wikipedia contains much more information on corporate misdeeds than any traditional encyclopedia.

[wack-ashimself]

Fine, I'll say the 3 things everyone knows, but won't acknowledge. Which is exactly why we can't move forward: opting into ignorance.

1-the USA government, federal, state, and local, are an oligarchy. A legalized mob. You don't have any influence, nor matter, at all. The cops, military, and every other 'protection' service are their enforcers; nothing more, nothing less. Lobbying is legalized bribery, too. Duh. Oh, and the fact we don't get to pick the supreme court, the FINAL SAY of the land, says it ALL about your 'rights.' AND THEY ARE THERE FOR LIFE. WTF!?

2-The federal reserve is a PRIVATE bank that, with wall street, manipulates and dictates the entire market, and we have absolutely no say in what they do. And they didn't fucking exist till early 1900s, so we do not need them on any level whatsoever. We had a market before them and will proudly after them.

3-Your air, water, and food are poisoned intentionally by the above said groups because they don't want you to live long enough to be strong enough to change any of the above. And they're doing the same with your brain via mainstream media. Bombarded with lies that keep billionaires in power. You don't know what the truth is, and you're working too much to have time to search for it! All intentional!

What to do? 3 steps.

1-Every business, every single one, is owned by the workers. This not only stops foreign interests from gaining from YOUR labor and YOUR resources, pays workers better, BUT, it also holds these businesses more accountable for their negative actions. Yeah, you're a rich oil worker now, but you have to pay for damages for all those future spills...oh your food is killing people? You're god damn closed down. Sure, profits will go way down, but so will fucking pollution.

2-Same with utilities. Locally owned and controlled. No exception.

3-Same with BANKS and currencies. There is (I believe) a popular truck stop franchise doing this; they're making gift certificates with REAL resources so they're valuable just beyond the actual use in store. It IS as simple as that. And don't fucking say credit unions. They don't come to you to ask if they can build a brand new building. They don't give you a cut of their profits. They don't give loans to people who need them the most. Credit unions are the lesser of two evils, but STILL FUCKING EVIL.

In other words, make everything locally and publicly owned on every scale. It is that simple!

Because if you had to narrow down why the world sucks it's because 1% own everything. Take back ownership of what they stole from your ancestors.

[spiderlegsmusic]

The Coming Days are Hard

If it’s not obvious, the reason the republicans are going full on evil is because millennials and GenZ , especially GenZ, have very few conservatives. As these kids grow up and able to vote, they orient toward the left meaning in just a few years as these old boomer republicans die off, they will lose more and more elections.

So they got their crooked Supreme Court rooted in there to overturn any and all birth control, abortion rights, gay rights, etc issues. They think by banning birth control and abortions and books, more stupid kids who don’t read will fill up the right once more. Kids who don’t read, don’t rationalize or think critically. Boom! Republican.

But they’re too impatient to wait for today’s elementary school kids to become eligible to vote and they see the writing on the wall. If they want their agenda of tax cuts and passing laws against minorities (so they don’t live near them), then they’ve got to go full on fascist.

In a fascist government, the party in power controls everything and if you question it, you disappear.

So since many of you are holding Israel’s Gaza Genocide against Biden —and rightfully so, it’s horrible—the unfortunate side effect is you’re selling out to the republicans and ending 250 years of American Democracy by handing over the country to a president who will dismantle democracy, cancel future elections and basically crown himself king and designate one of his woefully stupid kids as his heir. He might have token elections like Russia does in which Putin wins each time.

Trump calls everyone on the left (liberals, progressives, leftists) vermin, just like Hitler and Mussolini did. (Both were fascists as well). And Trump is modeling everything he does after them. I compared the similarities on this blog a while back. There are so many.

If you are an immigrant, or of Hispanic origin or Central American, African American, Asian, trans, gay, atheist, unemployed, a critic of Trump, an artist, teacher, philosopher, musician, writer, democrat, independent, it is likely we’ll all be rounded up and detained in the camps they are building.

See, those who don’t remember their history are doomed to repeat it. And Trump so desperately wants to be a dictator, that he will follow his Hitler by numbers formula and destroy American democracy all at once.

It will take another civil war to get it back. Most people, because their lives are so busy, will accept it so they can just keep their heads down and not call attention to themselves while they live their lives.

People will be taken off the steeets. Trump will have a private army to do his bidding. These will be dark days indeed. I have no desire to endure such hardship and live while others are being oppressed. I have no intention of surviving the revolution but I will participate.

More later. Vive la revolutión!

Vote Biden even though you don’t like him. Fuck Trump!

.

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

Adjusting To Broken

I wrote this in June of 2020, originally, for a ‘30 Sub Stories’ writing project in the Tumblr D/s community I used to I guess sort of feel like a part of (I have realized in the past year or two, particularly the past month, that it wasn’t actually much of a community; it was a lot of parasocial attachment and some people there made and continue to make claims on me that they never earned...some of them hurt me within a connection that feels performed now; some of them invented or exaggerated a connection based on reading and reblogs of some of my writing pieces, or even imagined and/or still imagine a connection that never existed.) I usually wrote things that weren’t really overtly D/s-y for this community, and this was one of those pieces. J and I live a D/s life together, and while we live intentionally, we just aren’t formalizing a lot of rules and punishments and shit, and I’ve never been super comfortable talking about kink or sex or anything truly private about our relationship. When I do write about us, I’ve always written more about LIFE than D/s, when talking about our D/s life. And this is one of those pieces. It’s actually a major way life with J is way better than life before J.

I’ve spent the past two days REALLY cleaning our whole house. Not that I don’t keep our house neat and clean all the time. I do. That’s literally my job. And COVID has dictated I do more disinfecting than I used to (things that used to be done monthly are done weekly; things that used to be done weekly are done daily; things that used to be done daily are done a couple times a day…). But I did EXTRA things like dusting every picture frame on the walls; steam mopping all the hard surface floors; lots of extra laundry… When I’m feeling anxious, doing some tangible work like that helps to calm my nerves, plus our house gets super clean, so it’s all really good all the way around, really. Anyway to finish up today, I ran our vacuum. I got all of it done, but near the end of the vacuum routine, the power button wouldn’t stay engaged unless I pressed it down. When I completed the job, I immediately sent J a text to tell him the problem. 

J: I’ll look at it. 

And he did. He got home from work, and literally the second he got home, someone from work called him with a problem that he spent about 2 hours, including all of our dinner time as a family, troubleshooting and correcting. And while he was dealing with that problem, his cell phone microphone stopped working unless he spoke directly into it or changed it to the speakerphone setting, so after the work issue, he fixed his phone issue. And then he did a quick workout. And then he fixed the vacuum.  With all of these issues, J just knew exactly what the problem was and took steps to correct them. As they cropped up. Now all the broken things work. And that just AWES me. Because my go-to response when EVERYTHING starts breaking one after the other is, “FUCK! Everything is BREAKING! Why is EVERYTHING breaking?’ J doesn’t really think about why things are broken/breaking until after he’s dealt appropriately with the broken thing. I’m trying to get better at that myself. J helps me get better at it. 

But I didn’t start writing this post to fawn over J’s calm and stable resourcefulness and clutch performance (although I DO really freakin’ love that stuff). I started writing (sorry…guess this is gonna be another long, rambling one) because his vacuum heroics reminded me of this time about 6 or 7 years ago when my old laptop hinges were loose. Like…damn near falling apart. But the laptop still worked. So I just used it with the bum hinges for a long time, until one weekend day, J picked up my laptop to move it and noticed the wanked up hinges. 

J: How long have they been like this?  me: I dunno…months?  J: MONTHS?! Why didn’t you tell me they were like this? I’d have fixed them. <he said as he was fixing them>  me: <shrugs> It still worked.  J: Yeah, but you had to pick it up weird and hold it weird and…you don’t have to just adjust to ‘broken.’ 

Before J was in my life, I dealt with everything myself, and if something was broken I didn’t know how to fix, I just adjusted to broken. Because I’d been very well conditioned to believe that asking for help was futile. I grew up with parents who would call me irresponsible and demanding if I brought up shoddy hinges on an otherwise working laptop. ‘You must have done something to break it, and also, it still functions, doesn’t it? What did you want? Us to get you a new laptop because the hinges are loose? You’re so selfish, Jen. You expect too much from <us, people, things, life…>’ Parents who would swear and yell and maybe bust the vacuum to pieces and throw it in the dumpster and then complain about the expense and inconvenience of buying a new goddam vacuum because the power button wouldn’t stay engaged. So I’d have just held the power button down the entire time I used it to avoid the drama. I’d have just adjusted to broken. 

I told J about the vacuum right away, because now I believe that I don’t have to just adjust to broken. J will help me fix it. He’ll stay calm. He’ll help me figure it out. He’ll help me find a solution. I don’t have to tough shit out alone or adjust to broken. The value of having a safe place to express a need…a desire…a problem…and know it will be met with calmness and willingness to help can’t be overstated. J’s ability to almost instantaneously diagnose and fix broken things is impressive. But even if he couldn’t actually fix damn near everything broken I’ve ever told him about, his calmness and willingness to help without being accusatory and shaming would still be there. And that’s one of the most important gifts he continually gives me.

So here’s a part I’m adding on now, in the present. J has helped me over the past few weeks, again, to not just ‘adjust to broken,’ in a more emotional and social way, not a literal, ‘I’m gonna fix this busted vacuum; your shitty laptop hinges; the printer...whatever.’ J is one of the only and definitely the BEST shining example of someone who wants to know me and attempt to correct the problems I’m having, even if they are problems he’s creating. He never wants me to just ‘take’ shit that’s hurting me, or making me consistently unhappy in silence. He doesn’t want me to limp along at ‘less than,’ constantly adjusting to broken to appease him. And life with J has taught me that I never have to do that in a relationship with anyone again. J has taught me that a person who really does love me will not expect me to adjust to broken; they’ll want to work with me to fix it. The more I write about J and read over the things I’ve written about him in the past, I’m earnestly stunned I ever was considered a ‘voice’ in the D/s ‘community’ at all. Our life is D/s (and sometimes it’s even kinky, even with a young teenager in the house all the time during a global pandemic), but our life together is a real lived live, a real collaborative partnership, which is how I think D/s should be...but it doesn’t seem to be much of what’s shown in the ‘community.’ I’m not sure I was ever really a part of it. And I know I no longer want to be considered a part of it. A lot of people there were expecting me to adjust to broken, and I don’t want to, and I don’t HAVE to do that anymore.

[sttetgy]

Putting a House in a Trust: A Comprehensive Guide

When it comes to estate planning, one of the most effective strategies for ensuring the smooth transfer of assets and protecting your property is placing your house in a trust. This legal arrangement can offer significant benefits, including avoiding probate, providing privacy, and ensuring that your wishes are honored. Here's a detailed look at why and how you might consider putting your house in a trust.

What is a Trust?

A trust is a legal entity that holds assets for the benefit of specific beneficiaries. When you put your house in a trust, you are transferring ownership of the property to the trust itself. You, as the trustor or grantor, set the terms of the trust, including who will manage the property (the trustee) and who will eventually inherit it (the beneficiaries). There are various types of trusts, including revocable and irrevocable trusts, each with its own advantages and considerations.

Benefits of Putting Your House in a Trust

One of the primary reasons people place their house in a trust is to avoid probate, the often lengthy and costly legal process required to distribute assets after death. By placing your house in a trust, the property can be transferred directly to your beneficiaries without going through probate, saving time and reducing expenses.

Another advantage is privacy. Unlike wills, which become public record upon death, a trust is a private document. This means that details about your property and beneficiaries remain confidential.

Additionally, a trust allows you to dictate specific terms regarding the use and management of your property. For example, you can specify that the house is to be used by your children until they reach a certain age, or you can arrange for the property to be sold and the proceeds distributed among multiple beneficiaries.

The Process of Putting a House in a Trust

Transferring your house into a trust involves several steps. First, you'll need to establish the trust by drafting a trust agreement with the help of an attorney. This document outlines the terms of the trust, names the trustee, and specifies the beneficiaries.

Once the trust is created, you will need to transfer ownership of the house to the trust. This is done by executing a new deed that names the trust as the property owner. It’s important to note that this transfer does not affect your ability to live in or use the house if it’s a revocable trust. You retain control and can alter the trust or remove the property if needed.

After the transfer, it's crucial to inform relevant parties, such as your mortgage lender and insurance company, about the change in ownership. This ensures that your mortgage and insurance coverage remain in good standing.

Potential Drawbacks to Consider

While putting your house in a trust offers many benefits, it’s essential to be aware of potential drawbacks. For instance, creating and maintaining a trust can be more expensive than other estate planning tools due to legal fees and ongoing administration costs.

In the case of an irrevocable trust, you lose control over the property once it's transferred. This means you cannot easily change the terms of the trust or reclaim the property if your circumstances change.

There can also be tax implications to consider. Depending on the type of trust and your financial situation, placing your house in a trust could affect your property taxes, capital gains taxes, and eligibility for certain tax benefits.

Conclusion

Putting your house in a trust is a powerful tool for estate planning that can provide peace of mind, privacy, and a smooth transition of your property to your loved ones. However, it’s essential to carefully weigh the benefits against the potential drawbacks and to consult with a legal professional to ensure that this strategy aligns with your overall estate planning goals. By taking the time to properly set up and manage a trust, you can help protect your assets and ensure that your wishes are carried out according to your intentions.

[ukrfeminism]

An MI5 spy used his status to terrorise his partner before moving abroad to continue intelligence work while under investigation, the BBC has found.

A video shows the man threatening to kill the woman and attacking her with a machete.

The foreign national cannot be named, despite evidence he is a threat to women, after the government took the BBC to court to block publication.

Evidence shows that he is a right-wing extremist with a violent past.

In an unprecedented legal battle, the corporation argued that women had a right to know his identity and it would protect potential victims from harm.

But the BBC successfully resisted the government's attempt to stop publication of the wide-ranging investigation

Beth, a British national, met the agent on a dating site. The couple went on to live together in the UK.

At first, she says, he was "charming". They appeared to have a lot in common. 

But over time, he was revealed to be a misogynist and extremist, obsessed with violence and cruelty. Beth - not her real name - says he sexually assaulted her, and was also abusive and coercive. 

She says he used his position with the British security services to terrorise her.

"He had complete control. I was a shadow of who I am now," she says.

As the relationship became more abusive, Beth's mental health deteriorated. 

"At the end of the relationship he dictated my every waking hour - where I went, who I saw, how I worked, what I did at work, what I wore".

X made her "feel absolutely worthless" and used "the fact that I had mental health problems to bully me and to make me feel more vulnerable".

He collected weapons and made her watch terrorist videos of executions and murders, she says.

"There was so much psychological terror from him to me, that ultimately culminated in me having a breakdown, because I was so afraid of everything - because of how he'd made me think, the people that he was involved with, and the people who he worked for."

She says X told her that he worked as a paid informant for the British security services - an agent or covert human intelligence source (CHIS), to use the formal term - infiltrating extremist networks. She was aware that he was having meetings with his handlers, receiving money, and being given equipment.

Initially, she said, he kept his real name hidden from her. Our investigation has established that X spent years working as a CHIS for MI5, using several aliases.

The security service runs agents in terrorist networks, informants who secretly work with their handlers, MI5 officers. Controversial powers authorise its agents to commit crimes as part of their cover, but only to access life-saving intelligence, disrupt more serious crime, or ensure an agent's safety.

But this should not cover actions in their private live.

She says he told her she wouldn't be able to report his behaviour because of his status.

"It meant that I couldn't speak out about any of his behaviour towards me, any of the violence I went through, sexual or physical, because he had men in high places who always had his back, who would intervene and who would actively kill me, if I spoke out." 

X was paid to inform on networks of right-wing extremists, but evidence we've seen shows his own alarming views are genuine.

Beth says X praised various white supremacist mass murderers and stated his intent to commit similar acts.

At home, his violence was directed towards Beth. In one video, the MI5 agent is seen attacking her with a machete.

The incident was filmed by Beth on her mobile phone. In the lead-up to the attack, she is heard voicing concern about being killed and saying his treatment of her was unacceptable. 

Beth filmed the attack on her mobile phone

X states he will kill her, leaves the room, and returns holding a machete - which he then raises above her head.

When she is heard telling him the film could be handed to police, X launches an attack with the weapon and his fists. The video cuts out amid her screams.

She manages to fight him off, but he tried to attack her again hours later with a knife, attempting to cut her throat. She says she bit his hand in order to stop him. 

Police visited their home after the attack, but our investigation has uncovered serious issues with the response.

X was arrested, charged with assaulting Beth and appeared in court. However, while he was at court, the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) dropped the case.

Beth says X returned to the property and continued to mistreat her.

The police did not take a full statement from Beth or obtain the video of her being attacked. The CPS quickly discontinued the prosecution.

The police force concerned and the CPS insist the case was discontinued due to lack of evidence.

After returning home, Beth says X claimed the security services would support him and that she was "nothing".

A separate video, covertly filmed by Beth, captured exchanges in which X suggested she might get killed for asking too many questions. 

In the video, Beth asks if he will be the one to kill her. His reply implies that he had almost done just that during a previous violent episode.

Lounging smugly on a sofa, he continues: "It's constantly in me. This murderous thing is always in me.... I always imagine how I bludgeon someone to death... It's always been me.... I've been doing it since I was like six... I'm overly aggressive, I know that myself."

The couple would not remain together for much longer - X threw Beth out of their property and disappeared while another investigation against him was ongoing. 

During a search of the home after the machete attack, local police officers had discovered extremist material - including X's personal Nazi paraphernalia. 

The BBC has seen a police log showing the evidence found by officers, such as a private diary in which X had written about killing "Jews". He had also written about killing Beth.

Local officers called in counter-terror detectives, who in turn seized various items. A terrorism investigation into X ensued, but he left the UK while it was ongoing. 

Within weeks of him leaving, Beth had a mental breakdown and was hospitalised.

While she was there, items of hers that had also been seized by counter terror officers were returned to a member of her family by a man who did not identify himself. The relative assumed the man was an associate of X. Neither Beth nor her family knew of the terrorism investigation.

The family were disturbed by this visit - concerned about how the stranger knew the address and came to have Beth's possessions.

We have established the visitor was an MI5 officer. Material seized by a police investigation, under a police warrant, had been given to MI5.

The highly unusual move is consistent with interference in a criminal process by the security service. X's own items were also handed by police to MI5, it is understood.

Counter terror police say no criminality was identified during their enquiries, but have apologised for the fact Beth's possessions were not passed directly to her.

Reuters

MI5's London headquarters

Following her release from hospital, Beth complained to the local police force, asking why the case was dropped, why her property was taken, and why it was returned by a stranger. 

Police took a year to interview her, but have since claimed there is nothing to look into as everything was investigated previously. It was not.

During the course of a complaint process with the police, Beth was told the force did not hold information about her property being seized but could see from "notes" that some property had been taken and returned to X. Police said they did not seize any items as part of their own investigation, and were "unable to advise when or why these were taken".

This was untrue, as the police force concerned was responsible for calling in counter terror officers.

The police claim that property had been returned to X was also untrue - the material had been given to MI5.

We have established that, after X disappeared, he moved abroad and began working for a foreign intelligence agency.

But X also has a history of appalling abuse in that country - with his extremist and violent behaviour long predating him becoming an MI5 agent.

We located and spoke to a former partner in the same foreign country. Her account of X's behaviour is equally alarming as Beth's. The two women have never met or communicated.

Ruth - not her real name - says X seemed normal at first, but he eventually began abusing and terrorising her.

He also threatened her life and that of her child.

"He said he would be able to kill me and my daughter, too, and then put our bodies somewhere and no-one would ever know who I am."

Fearing for her safety, she sought help from a medical organisation and was taken to a refuge. The trauma had left her unable to even speak at the time, and she was admitted to hospital.

"I was psychologically broken, really broken," she says. 

"I kept wondering why he changed so much, but he once told me that this is his true face and that he'd been acting the whole time."

We tracked down a professional who had helped care for Ruth. He corroborated her account and described the events as perhaps the most disturbing he has ever encountered.

He remembered a notebook in which X had set out his desire to kill. Ruth separately described the same item, saying it contained fantasies involving "blood, bones, flesh. Human flesh. Eating children's flesh".

And he threatened to kill and sexually abuse female children known to Ruth. He would later make the same threats to Beth. 

Police in the foreign country were made aware of X and the threat he posed.

In a disturbing echo of the way he later abused his MI5 connection, X had used the spectre of a criminal organisation to which he was linked to terrify Ruth, telling her its members could have her killed.

X eventually disappeared, leaving her only his financial debts.

We've found he subsequently spent years in Britain using her name, as a way of hiding his real identity, while in the pay of MI5.

"I think it's not fair and I'm angry," Ruth says. "I'm very hurt. I feel cheated. You can't have trust. There is no justice."

Our investigation found evidence independent of both women that corroborates their descriptions of X.

We obtained writings in the which X boasted about severely sexually exploiting women - using language that is too offensive to repeat.

In other writings, he expressed approval for a young girl being raped and murdered.

He openly joined a site, looking for British women, under an alias used for his MI5 work. Consistent with this, Beth says he had described searching online for women to exploit.

Given the BBC was able to establish that X had a history of violence and abuse, M15 should, similarly, have been aware. 

Last year a serving police officer grossly exploited his position to coerce, rape and murder Sarah Everard.

There was overwhelming public concern - also voiced by government ministers - about how such a tragedy could have occurred, as well as about the state's wider response to violence against women and girls.

An inquiry into her death has been announced, with the home secretary saying it "will shine a light on the failings that allowed a serving police officer to abuse his power in such a horrific manner and make recommendations for change within policing".

The warning signs displayed by X are stark. Both of the women we interviewed think he is capable of murder.

But, when we put our findings about X to the government, it took us to the High Court, trying to stop this story being made public.

The court legally prevented us from naming X, because of an apparent risk to him from other extremists. 

The government said it "will not comment on security or intelligence", but the court order is "aimed at protecting national security and avoiding a real and immediate risk to life, safety and privacy."

However, the BBC wanted to identify X so that women he is in contact with already, or those who meet him in future, could be warned.

[lubdubsworld]

Blackberry Winters.

PART 1 🌸 PART 2

Namjoon Werewolf Au!! 

Pack Head Alpha Namjoon and mate OC!

Arranged marriage sort of?

Pack dynamics / strangers to lovers. 

Part 3

“You did not think to tell him no? To demand that you had every right to stay there?” Her mother in law looked disappointed ,  eyes trained on her as Jiah carefully pulled the blouse of the tunic down over her tummy, frowning when she realized that it didn’t do a thing for her figure.

She felt self conscious, the grey cotton of the tunic making her feel drab and lifeless. Why did she always choose clothes in colors like this? Why did none of them fit her right? Why did she never make an effort to look at least a little good. Her hair was limp, a mousy brown and while it was thick, it had no luster… Why didn’t she use one of the hundred powdered mixtures the village healer liked to give the younger women?

“Jiah, are you listening to me?” Namjoon’s mother said sharply and Jiah jumped a bit, guilty.

“I didn’t want to be a bother..”  She said nervously, not sure how to handle her mother in law. On the one hand she seemed to be understanding of her many hang ups, but she also looked impatient and upset, anytime Jiah failed to stand up for herself.

Lady Kim drew herself up to her impressive height and Jiah cowered. She’d hung around enough pack bonfires to recognize that stance and that gaze. The woman was about to give her a piece of her mind.

Sure enough, her voice thundered when she addressed her.

“If you keep viewing yourself as a bother, I’m not sure how others will begin seeing you as anything else. You’re the head alpha’s mate. Your place is by his side, helping him with the crown on his head. It’s not a choice. Your duties are not mine and I am tired of doing them for you.” She snapped.

It stung. Guilt churned and Jiah could feel the beginnings of one of her episodes. The ones that always left her shaking and breathless. Much to her surprise, Lady Kim’s gaze softened at that and the next second she was being drawn into a warm embrace.

“Good lord child, why are you so terrified? Has my family not been kind enough to take away this stark terror out of your veins?” She sighed deeply. “You must not let your fears dictate your life. I want you to live your life, pleasing the person you’re bound to .”

Jiah felt her shoulders sag. Please the person she was bound to.  Of course. Namjoon. It all came down to the alpha wolf. And how was she supposed to please him, if he couldn’t bear to be in the same room as her?

“Yourself.” Lady Kim’s voice, laced with amusement made her jump.

Jiah frowned, pulling back to look at the older woman in confusion.

“You’re bound only to yourself , Jiah. You need to please yourself. To do and be the person you want to be. And then everything else will fall into place.”

Jiah watched as the woman went back to the door, calling for and directing a few more workers as they finished setting up the outer courtyard of her living quarters. Still a little chilled, she grabbed a thick coat from the small cupboard by the door, draping it over herself and tying it together with the sash. She moved quickly to the door, watching her mother in law talk to the workers, looking them straight in the eye , firm and clear in her instructions.

It was fascinating.

Lady Kim’s stance fairly vibrated with power and her voice brooked no disobedience. People looked at her and listened. They saw someone who knew what she was talking about and many a time, Jiah had felt it herself, the comfort of someone reliable. Someone who wished no ill on anyone.

Namjoon’s mother had lost her husband at a young age. Namjoon had scarcely been a babe of two when it had happened and the entire pack had expected the young wolf to lose his birthright as the heir. It was unheard of for a mate to take over the head alpha’s duties but Lady Kim had risen to the occasion with an elegance that had stunned everyone. The woman had met pack leaders and settled disputes, had negotiated boundary conflicts and made elaborate plans for new buildings , all while carrying around a babe that was still fed at her breast.

What was more, she had defended her position against the men who had wanted to usurp it. Mnhyuk and Jaejoon were two of her husband’s cousins, eager to sink their fangs into the woman to mate her, just to be able to get their hands on the pack. They were terrible men , even worse wolves. Their ideas on how the pack ought to be run dripping with archaic ideals and oppression of women.

But Lady Kim had humiliated them, told the whole pack in no uncertain terms that the next pack alpha would be Kim Namjoon. Her son would be raised to rule the pack with kindness and understanding and she would make sure of it.

The tales were told with hushed tones of disbelief and admiration and Jiah had listened to them with hunger and aching. Had felt such a huge surge of affection for the matron , had wanted to hug her and tell her she had done a great job.

And standing here as her daughter in law, she realized that she would be a fool not to listen to her. Not to learn from her. Especially when it was obvious that in the entire pack, the only one who didn’t seem to hold Kim Namjoon on a pedestal, was ironically his own mother.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“ They’re going to challenge you again. I can feel it.” Taehyung said gruffly, dropping the bundle of scrolls on the table and Namjoon flinched, head throbbing.

“That bad?” He asked hesitantly and Taehyung nodded.

“They want you to re-negotiate that treaty about courtesans owning property. Think it would make them quit the profession… if you let them own stuff” Seokjin said quietly and Namjoon bristled.

“They are no different from any of us. They work for their pay too. Why shouldn’t they be allowed to do what they wish with money that they’ve earned?” He demanded angrily.

“You’re a good man Namjoon. A fair one. And you’re striving to build a pack that treats all it members as equals . Obviously people who thrive on abusing their power aren’t going to like that. Especially Minhyuk and Jaejoon’s pups. Those two are terrible.”

“You should accept their challenge and just rip their throats out someday.” Taehyung said firmly AND Namjoon gave him a glare.

“I’m not going to shed blood without cause, Taehyung. Don’t suggest that. Even in passing.” He said firmly and the younger beta bowed politely in apology.

“Where is Jiah?” Seokjin asked casually.

Namjoon glanced at him, brows raised.

“Since when are you so familiar with my mate, hyung?”

Seokjin rolled his eyes.

“She used to come sit with me, when I watched over the herds on the outer pastures. Sweet little thing really. Very funny too.”

That made Namjoon pause.

“Funny?” He asked, completely confused.

“Witty. She would make these clever little riddles and jokes that would always leave me in stitches. We made a game of it. I would give her one of my funny jokes and she would give me a riddle. Is she feeling better now?”

Namjoon who was still kind of struck dumb by the idea of his cowering, reticent mate doing something as…. Normal and friendly as laughing and being witty….. could only stare at Seokjin in confusion.

“I…. Yes. She’s well. We’re expecting a pup.” He said softly.

Both Taehyung and Seokjin went still.

“What?!!! Why didn’t you say that first?!!” Taehyung exclaimed, offended.

“It’s not that important…” Namjoon waved it off, reaching for the scrolls , “ what about the treaties, then? You did tell Jungkook we aren’t changing anything right?”  

Seokjin scoffed.

“ Only you would say that these treaties are more important than your own pup.” He snapped.

Namjoon sighed a bit at that.

“I don’t mean that. I’m just saying, what she needs now is to rest and take care of herself and the baby. I’m not what she needs . I’ve arranged for her to stay in some private quarters with the other women.”

Seokjin sighed deeply. After years of being one of Namjoon’s trusted friends, he could feel his heart ache for the younger and all that he hid from the people around him. He reached out and gently placed a palm on Namjoon’s shoulder.

“ Namjoon, you don’t have to do all of this by yourself. Tae and I , we can take over duties a couple of days a week… You can relax… Maybe spend some time with your new wife….”

“She hates me.” Namjoon said softly. “ I spent a whole month trying to talk to her, all she did was tremble and shake. Even when we…” Namjoon exhaled sharply, “ Even in bed , she made me feel like I was some kind of…. Predator.”

Taehyung bit his lips, looking worried.

“You’re not… You’re not going to break the bond are you?” He asked nervously.

Namjoon sighed.

“I’m not. I may have considered it, before . But now… She’s with pup. I can’t do that to her. I don’t want to either.”

“Why did you pick her?”

Namjoon stayed quiet.

“Because you wanted a wife who wouldn’t ask or demand or complain.” Taehyung said distastefully.

“That’s not… You make it sound so terrible. I’m supposed to be taking over pack duties, supposed to renegotiate every single treaty we’ve drawn in the past twenty years, not to mention get the entire pack ready for the winter…. Of course I wanted a wife who would adjust. Have you seen the omegas in our clan? The ones I could court ? They want to leave on trips… They want to visit the neighbouring packs…. They want me to arrange festivities and feasts for every damn thing…. You think I can marry someone like that??” Namjoon snapped angrily. “none of them understand a damn thing about helping me out. They’re shallow and vain. Jiah… I chose her because she didn’t seem like one of them. She seemed like she could understand what it means to be my wife. But I was wrong. I thought she understood my responsibilities and was giving me my space…. Turns out she just thinks I’m some kind of monster she needs to run and hide from.”

Seokjin reached out, patting his back soothingly.

“Namjoon I understand… It’s been hard on you, and you’ve been doing all of it by yourself. Its bound to take a toll. And that’s why I think you should take a few days off, a week. Give us all the instructions. We’ll carry it all out. You can relax.”

“That’s exactly what my uncles want. For me to slack off. They’ll summon the council and want to challenge me again. I can’t afford it. “ Namjoon shook his head.” Not until the babe is born and my position as pack alpha is solidified. I can’t let them use this against me.”

Seokjin and Taehyung exchanged looks.

“Joon-ah….”

Namjoon gave both of them a tired smile.

“I’ll be fine hyung. It’s going to be okay.”  He said reassuringly. “ The council’s meeting tomorrow right? I’ll try to go over these tonight.”

“Its already past sundown.” Taehyung said worriedly.

“Then I better ask the maids to keep enough oil for the lamp to last.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What are you doing here?” Namjoon blinked, staring at her like she was out of her mind and Jiah flinched. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake. But the sight of him made something curl in the pit of her stomach. He looked exhausted. Like he had been up all night. She wondered if perhaps she ought to retreat. Go back to the private quarters he’d arranged for her.

No. No , you will not chicken out of this.

“ You have a council meeting, this evening. Could I come with you?.” She said softly, watching his face carefully. She tried to read his emotions, tried to look for traces of irritation or anger but all she found was a sort of hopeless resignment. Like he had stopped trying to fight whatever was bringing him down.

“Come with me….?? ” Namjoon stared at her like he wasn’t quite sure what she was talking about.

She inhaled sharply.

“Your mother told me I could go. As your mate, I’m allowed to sit in on council meetings. She told me it’s a new provision. That you were the one who had it written in. So perhaps, you should… let me come with you.”

“My mother-“ He paused, sighing. “ You don’t have to do everything my mother asks you to.”

She blinked, the words throwing her off. The truth was, she had been the one, tailing the older woman all day, trying to see what she did and how she did it. Lady Kim had merely offered to help her do her duties. She had mentioned in passing, that for centuries , mates hadn’t been granted many rights of their own. Namjoon had spent the past couple of years making a lot of amendments to pack laws and the council hadn’t taken to kindly to all of them.

“ Of course. I just thought that, as I am your mate , perhaps I should accompany you. ” It was a miracle, the way her voice came out, steady . Not at all betraying the nervousness coursing through her veins.

“Jiah…. I’m not sure.” His voice dripped with hesitation and she flinched. Oh, well, no one could blame her for not trying.

“If you don’t want me there, that’s fine.” She said quickly.” I’ll go…”

She turned around, feeling her face burn red as she quickly descended the stairs to the courtyard.

“Jiah wait!!” His voice made her still.

She turned around swiftly.

“I didn’t mean to imply that I did not want you there. I just….Council meetings aren’t short. They tend to go on for hours. Will you be alright?” He asked gently, gaze dropping surreptitiously to her middle.  

It took her a minute to understand what he was even talking about.

“I… Oh.” She quickly pressed her palms to her stomach, confused. “ I mean… I may have to be excused a couple of times to relieve myself. I’ve been doing that way more often than usual.” She laughed.

Namjoon’s lips quirked in a hint of a smile and she flushed. Surely, her stern mate didn’t want to hear about her body functions? What was she even doing…

“But, yes. I wouldn’t mind sitting with you. Truly.” She said quickly.

Namjoon nodded.

“Well, then. You can come with me. It’s an hour before sundown… I’ll come fetch you myself.”

“Yes , alpha.” She said brightly, curtsying lightly and immediately feeling like a fool.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“They’re called red feathers …” The healer, a middle aged woman called Selma,  opened a small earthenware jar to show her the contents. Jiah peered into the jar, catching sight of a bundle of dried flowers and roots.

“These can help me…?” She asked dubiously and Selma gave a quiet chuckle.

“They help you sleep better and also help you relax. They’re good for you. You won’t feel this anxious if you take them regularly.” She said calmly.

“Oh… alright.” Jiah nodded, glancing carefully at her mother in law who was standing elsewhere, looking through an assortment of salves and tinctures. “ Can I…. is this safe for Namjoon?”

Lady Kim stilled, turning around to glance at her sharply and Jiah stiffened. God, her impulsive mouth. She wasn’t even sure why she said it. Just the whole , helps sleep better , had immediately reminded her of how tired Namjoon had looked.

“I’ve already tried to get him to drink some of it. He refuses.” Lady Kim said tiredly. “ He feels that it may affect his mental faculties”

“Auntie Selma?” A high, soft voice rang through the hut and Jiah glanced up. She went still, catching sight of Jisoo, dressed in red velvet and all of her ornate jewelry.

“Ah… Jisoo…you’re back.” Selma said cheerfully. “ How can I help you child?”

Jisoo stared at her, eyes steady and unreadable.

“I need some wild carrot seeds and ginger roots.” She said softly and Lady Kim scoffed.

“I hope the man you’re taking into your bed is not who I think it is , Jisoo.” She growled. The younger woman merely bowed.

“I’m but a courtesan, my lady. I go where I am asked to.” She said softly.

Lady Kim sighed.

“Then perhaps you should go back home. Now.” She said sharply and jisoo flushed and ugly red.

“Your son wants me to visit him for tea , this evening. I was hoping to meet my lovely lady there…but I hear you no longer stay in his hut.” Jisoo turned to her, tone dripping with acid and Jiah swallowed nervously.

“I… I’m…” She couldn’t quite talk, much less think of something to say.

“Because she is with child.” Lady Kim said sharply, a hint of triumph in her tone. “ Namjoon’s child.”

Jisoo had gone paper white, her face pale and bloodless.

“What?” She whispered.

“It’s true. She carries my son’s heir. You know what that means, Jisoo. It means they are bound, for life. I like you. I respect your courage and admire your talents. You are beautiful and you deserve a mate of your own. Do not pursue my son.” Lady Kim said firmly.

Jisoo didn’t respond for a few seconds.  

And then she bowed again .

“Like I said, my lady. I only go where I am called.” She said quietly.

She turned on her heels, stalking away and Jiah could only stare after her, heart pounding a bit at what had just happened. She wasn’t sure why she felt so much disquiet. She’d never had high hopes of fidelity from Namjoon. The entire village knew that Jisoo had been his paramour. But now that she had seen how dismissive the younger girl was of her, she felt the unaccountable urge to fight back. To stake her claim.

“You look pretty upset. Don’t let her bother you. Namjoon will not break his vows.” Lady Kim said quietly and Jiah gave her a soft smile, although her heart still raced. She remembered how pretty the girl had looked in all her brocades and velvets. She stared down at her own murky yellow dress. She couldn’t go to the council meeting, dressed worse than a courtesan. Couldn’t embarrass Namjoon like that.

“ My Lady….” She turned to her mother in law. The older woman hummed, returning to examining the shelves.

“What is it, child?”

“Can we stop at the seamstress’ hut on our way back?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whatever Namjoon had been expecting, as he knocked on his wife’s private quarters, it hadn’t been this.

He stared , or to be more accurate, gaped at his wife, completely thrown by her appearance.

She looked…. Cheerful.

That was the only word he could think of, taking in the warm yellow and green fabric of her gown, all with an abundance of ribbons and lace. She had also clearly made some effort to tame her hair.

Not a very successfully attempt, considering the dozen strands sticking out of her bun and curling over her bare neck and shoulders …..but an attempt nonetheless.

Which reminded him.

Why was her neck bare?

“I…. have you forgotten… part of your dress…?” He asked awkwardly, gaze trained on the pale, blemish less expanse of skin in front of him. Too much of it was on display he felt.

“Oh?” Jiah twirled about for a second, glancing at herself. “ Not at all, my alpha. This is how it is.”

Namjoon blinked.

“Right… the night is getting colder. Perhaps a shawl?” He suggested tactfully.

Jiah frowned, sticking a hand out of the door as though to the gauge the night air.

“Really? Feels quite warm to me.” She said thoughtfully.  

“It may be cold for the baby.” He said quickly and that made her pause. She glanced back down at her tummy and he wondered what she expected to see, every time she did that.

“Perhaps you’re right alpha….let me be back.” She floated back into the hut and he sighed in relief when she reappeared with a white fleece shawl over her shoulders.

“Shall we go ?” She asked quietly and he hesitated before slowly offering her his arm. She gripped it lightly, and they began the short walk to the main village square where the council usually convened.

“You… You’re better adjusted to this place now?” He asked carefully, trying to find the girl he had taken to his bed. The terrified, nervous , trembling young girl.

Jiah didn’t respond at once.

“I… I’ve been drinking some of Selma’s potions. They help.” She said quietly and he frowned.

“Potions? Potions for what?”

“They help with my nerves. I get scared easily…imagine things ….” She trailed off nervously.” I’m very anxious by nature and it gets worse in a new place. With new people.”

Namjoon considered that carefully. That made sense. Perhaps, that was why she had been so odd.

“The potions help?” He asked carefully and she nodded.

“Yes…that and your mother.”

“My mother?”

“She’s very kind to me.”

Namjoon laughed a bit at that. In all the years he has had people talking to him about his mother, the word ‘kind ‘ had never come up.

“ I’m being honest….she has helped me adapt to this place. To see how things are run. I… I don’t want to be a bother. I want to pull my weight. In the pack. To help in any way I can…”

Namjoon felt a sudden unaccountable fondness bloom in his chest at the innocent words.

“ That’s very virtuous of you.” He said seriously and she flushed.

They didn’t say anything else, continuing the rest of the path in companionable silence Namjoon spotted the seven council members gathered around a blazing fire and lightly stepped closer to her.

“You can stay close to me. You don’t have to answer them.  If they try to draw you into any controversial topic, just ignore them. I’ll handle it.” He said quickly.

Jiah gave him a wide eyed, nervous look but nodded quickly, fingers moving from his forearm to his palm , linking with his own and gripping tight.

“I’m here. You’re not alone.” She said quickly and it was ridiculous, how the words actually helped him relax just a little.

Taking a deep breath, he led her on to the meeting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note : i thinks its about time i accepted that this is a full blown fic and not just a drabble. fuck my life. 

Note : Red feathers are actually herbal medicines used as anti depressants. So this is just werewolf au equivalent of therapy. 

[thatfanficstuff]

Impossible - 21

Pairing: Eric Northman x Reader

Warnings: Nan Flanagan

A/N: *looks at Godric suspiciously* He's up to something.

***

When you woke you found yourself in bed, laying between two vampires who were quite literally dead to the world. Despite that, you felt safe and loved. You smiled and took the opportunity to do inventory of your injuries. You seemed to be fully healed. At the very least you were a damn sight better than you’d been when you passed out. You spared a second to wonder if you would have survived had Godric not been there to give you his blood.

You turned to face the vampire in question to find him laying so he faced you. You trailed a finger down his face to trace his profile. A ghost of a smile curved his lips. It must be nearly sundown which meant you needed to get ready for the night.

You climbed over Eric to get out of the bed and pressed a kiss to his cheek on your way by. His hand brushed your leg. A glance at the clock confirmed that sunset wasn’t far off. You grabbed your phone from the nightstand where it was charging and headed into the bathroom to clean up. You scrolled through the texts from your father as you turned on the shower so it would warm up. “Shit,” you said as you read his latest text. Nan Flanagan would be here within the hour. God, you hated that bitch. Your father called her a necessary evil.

You responded to let him know that you were awake and healed. You also provided a summary of the events and who was responsible before Nan got his ear. After tossing your phone on the counter, you climbed into the shower and scrubbed yourself clean which took longer than you liked. Only when the water ran completely clear did you shut it off. When you got out, you wrapped yourself in one of the robes on the back of the door.

The bed was empty when you opened the door to go back into the bedroom. You quickly dressed in a pair of black jeans with a red top and your boots. You fixed your hair as best you could without drying it. You simply didn’t have the time. When you left the bedroom, you found Eric and Godric both waiting for you along with breakfast.

Eric was by your side in a flash. “How are feeling?”

“Good, thanks to the both of you.” You hugged him and gave him a quick kiss before releasing him to eat.

“Hello, Godric,” you greeted with a smile. He merely smiled in return. “When are we meeting with Nan?”

“How did you…your father,” Eric said. “Ten minutes.”

“She doesn’t know I’m here. Don’t tell her.”

“Are you not planning on attending?” Godric asked with a frown.

“Oh, I am, but if she realizes I’m there she’ll be on her best behavior. I’d rather catch the bitch causing trouble.”

Eric chuckled. “Should I even ask how you intend to keep her from seeing you?”

You pursed your lips. “Probably not.” You finished your breakfast and ducked back into the bedroom to grab your necklace. You slipped it on and smiled at the other two. “All right. Just don’t talk to me until I speak and we might be good to go.”

The amulet you wore had been gifted to you by a witch. It didn’t disguise you or anything, it simply made it more likely you’d be overlooked. The three of you arrived at the room where the meeting would take place. You stood along the wall in the shadows and kept your head down. Sure enough, Nan came into the room and her gaze moved right over you without pausing.

You smirked and pulled out your phone to hit record in case there was an issue later. Nan lied like it was crucial to her survival. Your father claimed that’s what made her so good at PR. He probably had a point. She didn’t give anyone a chance to say anything before she started in.

“Do you have any idea of the PR mess you’ve created? And who has to clean that shit up? Me. Not you. Me. I should drain everyone of you bastards,” she spat out. You rolled your eyes. As if she had the authority.

“Stan acted on his own. None of us had anything to do with the attack on the church,” Eric said.

“Oh, yes, because no one could have possibly predicted that Stan Baker would attack humans. Especially not his nest mates.”

“And how were we supposed to know that this time he meant it?” Isabel defended.

“Not my problem. Yours,” Nan said with a lifted brow and a glare at Godric.

You crossed your arms over your chest and glared at the back of Nan’s head. Why was she always such a raging bitch? Couldn’t she talk to anyone with respect? And if she knew that Stan was a threat, why didn’t she take care of it? Her logic was flawed, as per usual.

Eric was apparently done with her shit as well. “Don’t talk to him that way.”

“Don’t talk to me that way. Do you enjoy being Sheriff? Because I can take it all away.” The arrogance in her voice pissed you off more than anything. Well, that and she was threatening your mate.

His lip curled in irritation. “You don’t have the authority.”

“I’m on TV try me.” She turned her attention to Godric. “How did they capture you?”

Godric’s gaze flicked to you and back to her. “They would have caught one of us eventually. I offered myself.” Oh, and didn’t that make your heart hurt. You suspected, but to hear him admit to it was too much. Eric’s face reflected your own thoughts.

“Why?” the bitch asked in disbelief.

“Why not?” your friend responded.

“They wanted you to meet the sun and you didn’t care?”

Godric simply stared at her without responding. Finally, Nan scoffed. “You’re fired.”

“You cold bitch,” Eric responded while Isabel tried to get Godric to fight for his position. You glanced at your phone and pressed an icon before sliding it back into your pocket.

“Listen, Viking—” she started until you stepped from the shadows and interrupted.

“Stan Baker was to blame for the attack on the church,” you said and Nan’s eyes went wide as she paled ever so slightly. Her gaze moved from you to where you’d been standing and back. She was wondering how the hell she had missed you being in the room. “He was killed in the subsequent attack on Godric’s private residence. The Authority was aware of the danger Stan posed and had already ordered his execution. The order unfortunately could not be carried out prior to the attack.”

Her jaw was tight and her eyes were cold. She didn’t like you any more than you liked her. “That’s your failing, not mine. Someone needs to take the blame and as Sheriff of the area, Godric is the best candidate.”

You took a step forward and narrowed your gaze. “You are a glorified mouthpiece. You don’t get to throw someone under the bus to make your job easier. The fucking humans don’t know about all this shit anyway. You’re supposed to find the truth, not make it up as you go along. You don’t get to decide if people live or die. You don’t get to threaten to take away someone’s territory for defending themselves or someone else. If you weren’t such a power hungry, raging bitch maybe they wouldn’t have to.”

“You don’t even work for the Authority anymore,” she said, but she sounded unsure. “Why do you care?”

“Because you’re not doing your job, Nan. I literally moved from area to area to make sure everyone was doing their job. What makes you think you can get away with it if no one else can? Because there’s no one to dispute you? No way for anyone to tell the Authority what you did? And if they could why would they believe them over you, right?” You pursed your lips in thought before shaking your head. “You’re abusing your position. That pisses me off. It pisses me off even more when you do it to my friends. So, here’s how this is going to go. Godric, without admitting any culpability, resigns his position as Sheriff and will be relocating to Louisiana. Isabel will take over as Sheriff. She’s level headed and had nothing to do with any of this.”

She stood then, fists at her sides as she glared at you. Eric and Godric both stood as well, taking position behind you and to either side. “Who do you think you are? You can’t dictate to me.”

The corner of your mouth lifted into a smirk as you pulled out your phone. “You’re absolutely right. But he can.” You handed her the phone and her face twisted into confusion. When your father started to speak her eyes darted back up to meet yours. She didn’t speak, only handing you the phone when she finished. You slid it back into your pocket.

Her eyes never left you though she spoke to the room as a whole. “Stan Baker is responsible for the attack on the church which caused the subsequent bombing. Godric holds no blame for any of the events that occurred. His resignation is accepted as is his relocation to Louisiana. Isabel Beaumont shall report to the king of Texas to be sworn in as the new Sheriff.”

She walked past all of you and out of the room. Once she was gone, everyone looked to you. Godric turned you to face him and laid a hand along the side of your face. “How did you accomplish that, little one?”

“I would like to know that as well,” Isabel echoed.

Eric smirked and placed a kiss on the top of your head. “She is Y/N. That is all you need know.”

[sunflowers-and-mooncakes]

To Dream of an Angel

Part 2 of Dreams of Birds and Angels a series of two one shots written for @pawsitivelymiraculous for the Maribat Valentine’s Day Fic Exchange hosted by @eat0crow!

Ao3

Part 1 can be found here

***

Damian Al Ghul knew only the bare minimum about soulmates. He had been taught by his instructors in the League that they were a phenomenon that no one quite understood. To the members, they were a hindrance and should be terminated promptly. In respect to their targets, they were used as leverage to get information.

After the young boy turned 8 years of age, he dreamt of her. A small girl with wide blue eyes who would draw dresses in bright colors. The next night, his mother would explain in hushed tones what soulmates really meant. A soulmate is someone who is meant to compliment you perfectly, and once you met them you would never want to let them go. She would whisper to him about the man who helped create him, and how desperately she wished he had been the angel meant just for her.

Angel, he thought with a humorless laugh, what a fine name for the soulmate of the Heir to the Demon.

Every night when Damian would close his eyes, he would be greeted with the sight of his blue-eyed Angel. He would watch as she played with her friends. He would laugh in amusement as she spilled flour all over herself while working in a bakery. He would frown when she was pushed around by a blonde-haired bully.

The girl puzzled the young heir greatly. She was a bizarre sort; always smiling even when being knocked around. No matter how much abuse she took from that blonde trollop, his soulmate was always kind to others and give everything she could to help them, all the while asking nothing in return. It frustrated him to see someone so wholly selfless. Didn’t she know that she would be better off trying to profit from her interactions with others?

At the age of 10, Damian’s life rapidly changed. No longer was he revered as the Heir to the League of Assassins. Now, he was in his father’s home, fighting against his father’s wards for attention, and being told to relearn everything he had ever known to be true. It was frustrating, being so out of his element, but the longer he was Damian Wayne instead of Damian Al Ghul. He realized how skewed his world had once been.

While his mother had tried to soulmates explain differently from the Leagues teachings, he had always seen her words as foolish. It seemed futile to him, her longing for something she couldn’t have. However, living in Wayne Manor also allowed the now ex-assassin to see a different side of soulmates. Grayson would often talk about his dreams of his mate Starfire with a dopey grin on his face. Similarly, Drake would mention in passing how his dreams started at an older age due to the elder Superboy having not been created yet.

It was strange, living in a house of people who weren’t constantly ready to fight him. His new siblings were perplexing. Grayson was always trying to rope him into some strange “bonding” activity. With Todd’s return came his aggressive attitude, yet occasional helpfulness. Drake was usually passed out somewhere or so full of caffeine he couldn’t even hold a proper conversation. Cain was the most tolerable, having shared similar experiences and understanding the importance of silence.

The biggest influence on his new lifestyle, however, was Alfred Pennyworth.  His dedication and care for the family was to be admired. The Englishmen had a way with words and always knew just what to say to help Damian through his many sour moods. Most importantly, the butler’s selfless love for his charges helped the young Wayne to understand his soulmate’s behaviors.

As his world changed, so did his dreams of her. He would see her take her drawing from paper and bring them to life with fabric. He would look on as she made new friends. As well as enemies. If Damian had been able to, he would have fought that sly fox himself, but the smug smile on his face when Angel put her in her place.

What was most jarring to see, was her fighting villains in a red and black spotted suit. Magic had never been something he took kindly to; it having more than once put his and his family’s lives in danger. After watching countless battles in his visions, and later finding recordings of them online after much research. He could only conclude that the nature of her powers and villains were indeed magic.

It didn’t take Damian long to figure out that his soulmate was the Parisian heroine Ladybug. However, this still did not allow him to meet her. At the very beginning of her tenure, Ladybug and the government of Paris had barred all Justice League access to the city, keeping him from getting there using the cover of Robin.

His next plan was to go to Paris as a civilian. However, he could find no way under his family’s constant hovering to get there. He couldn’t use the private jet without getting caught, and him buying a plane ticket would be immediately suspicious. The last thing he wanted was for his family to find out about his blue-eyed soulmate and get involved. While he had come to care for them more than he ever imagined, in some manners they were simple too overbearing for him to deal with.

So, Damian, rather begrudgingly, chose to let fate take its course. After much thought, he realized that his Angel may not even want to meet him. She had spent the early years of their bond watching him act as a bloodthirsty killer. She was most likely appalled. Who would want a soulmate like him anyway?

Now 18, the black-haired boy spent most of his days the same. He would take Titus for walks in the park, help his father and Drake at Wayne Enterprises, and fight back the crime of Gotham in the dead of night.

Damian was on one such walk when Titus suddenly pulled his leash out of the boy’s grasp. The dog went racing down the path and out of sight with a loud bark.

“Titus!” he called, jogging forward to see the Great Dane stopped in front of a woman who had bent down to pet him.

“I apologize, miss,” he said, coming forward and lowering himself to be at the same level as Titus and her. He put his hand on the dog’s head to pet him as well, bumping the woman’s hand slightly.

“He usually doesn’t go running off towards strangers…” he looked from the dog to the woman and trailed off. His eyes widened as his heart skipped a beat. He tried hard to control his reaction. Now that he was up close, he recognized that face. It was the face of his Angel.

The woman, noticing his change in demeanor, looked up at him. When their eyes met, her expression quickly turned to surprise as well. Looking at her now. the blurry image of her that he had known before began to fill in.

He had always been attracted to his mate. Once he had assumed it was simply because the strange magic of soulmates dictated it so. But now, seeing her face to face, she was more beautiful than he had ever imagined. She had a small button-shaped nose. Her blue-black hair that had once been pulled into cute little pigtails was now in one long braid over her shoulder. What drew his attention most was her big round bluebell eyes that were so kind, yet held mysteries that even he, who had seen much of her life from afar, didn’t have the answers to.

Damian looked down at his dog who seemed quite smug, almost like he knew who he had brought his owner to. It was then that he noticed the marks. On the back of their hands flew a ladybug being followed by a red-breasted robin.

“Miss?” he called, looking back up at her.

“Yes?” she replied. He would never admit it, but his heart melted a bit at the sound of her voice like tinkling bells.

As they made eye contact once again, he made a small gesture towards where their hands sat atop Titus’ head. He swore her eyes couldn’t get any wider as she looked from the marks back up to him. “It appears we are soulmates,” he said plainly as he stood up from the ground, doing his best to appear less shaken than he was. She stood as well. “It appears so,” She gave him a nervous smile and held her hand out to him. “I’m Marinette,”

The boy hesitated for a moment, having a hard time believing the situation he found himself in was real and not a fantasy.

After a moment he took her hand and shook it. “My name is Damian,”

“Well, Damian,” she smiled brightly at him. “would you like to go on a walk and get to know each other?”

He gave her a soft look back. “I certainly would.”

[moth-baybee]

SFW Alphabet - Karl Heisenberg

~~Feel free to request any characters or for individual letters to become stories~~

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Not big on PDA, but if someone even looks at you too long, he gets SUPER possessive. Arm around you, glaring at the other person, will leave visible hickeys so people know you're his. 

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend?)

Not the friendliest, but he has his ways of showing that he cares, like bringing back gifts he either made or found.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

LOVES to cuddle. Loves to feel your heartbeat, it lets him know that you’re real. Takes him a while to realize that you aren’t kidding, and that you actually like to be around him. So once he realizes, he holds on and doesn’t want to ever let you go. 

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they around the house?)

Settling down was never really something he thought about, but once he met you, he can actually imagine living a “normal” life with you. 

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If he is ending things: he holds it together well. Once he is out of the room, he loses it. Thinks it’s “for the best”. 

If you are ending things: it’s emotional. Lots of yelling and tears, his voice would crack, and he would lose control of his powers, things would be thrown, but not at each other. 

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Again, he never thought about settling down, and hated the idea of a piece of paper dictating whether you are devoted to each other, but after overhearing you and Alcina talking about your future, and how you’ve always dreamed of getting married, he got to work crafting the perfect ring for you and planning his proposal. 

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Soft kisses and cuddles 100%. He would be so gentle with you. (Unless you ask him to be rough *wink*)

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? What are their hugs like?)

Like big bear hugs! He wasn’t used to affection before he met you, but now, he would wrap you up and hold you until you felt safe and loved. 

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He takes his time, typically says it in life-or-death situations. He has other ways of showing his love. 

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He will deny it until his final breath, but he gets SUPER JEALOUS. Will wrap an arm around you and glare at whoever tries anything. 

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Kisses range from quick, soft pecks to rough passionate kisses. His hands would wander. 

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Always said that he hated children, but the moment he sees you holding a baby, that’s all he wants

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

He is an early riser 100% no matter what time he goes to bed.

If you wake up early, he will make you breakfast and tell you his plans for the day. 

If you sleep in, he would leave with a kiss on your head, leave out some food for you to heat up when you wake. Would stop by later to check in on you and make sure you woke up and ate something. 

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights are spent relaxing, talking about your day, and plans for tomorrow. Definitely a lot of cuddles and kisses. 

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He is very private. Takes a while to fully open up to you. He hates talking about himself because it makes him re-live everything. 

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Depends on the context. He is typically very patient with you, but if he asks you to head to the bedroom, you better get your ass moving. 

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

The other Lords would ask him about something related to you, and he scoffs and says he doesn’t know, but in reality he knows every little thing about you. From your favorite color, to the name of your first pet, he pays attention to every detail to everything you say. 

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

He has many favorite moments, but every moment with you is treasured to him, because every day could be your last. If he had to choose, it would probably be the peaceful nights that you guys just cuddle and listen to each others heartbeats. 

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you?)

VERY protective of you. If anyone is after you, he would personally hunt them and torture them to death. 

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He remembers every important date. Really tries to make each date better than the last. Makes you cute gifts and jewelry. Loves making you rings and collars to show you are his. 

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He wasn’t very tidy. He came back to the factory one day and it was so clean. You tidied up everything. He tried harder to keep it clean. 

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

He isn’t super concerned with his looks, but if you ask him to dress up a bit, he will try. He notices if you did something different with your hair, attire etc. but doesn’t bring too much attention to it. Maybe just a kiss on the head and a “you look good, buttercup”

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

After being with you, he realizes that this is the most whole he has ever been. If you ever leave for the day or spend the night at Alcina’s, the bed feels empty without you and he constantly calls you or talks to you through the TV screen to “check in”. 

X = Xtra (Random HC)

He can sing, and will sing around the factory when he thinks he’s alone, or if you had a bad dream he will sing you to sleep. 

Y = Yuck (Things they don’t like)

There isn’t much that he doesn’t like. Even if he hates it, he will tolerate it because he knows how much you like it. 

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Definitely a snorer. Talks in his sleep. Has nightmares due to his past, so he may jolt awake, and needs you to comfort him.