#how about you blame yourself for not monitoring what kind of content your kid gets exposed to

[threadsun]

Content: abuse, manipulation, intoxication, dubcon/noncon, dad kink/incestplay, honestly idk how to describe this other than that it's fucked up

Thinking about Jean and Ian in the Ian's Dad AU and I can’t stop thinking about how messed up it is from Ian’s perspective!! Like imagine…

Look, you've spent 18 years being raised by your abusive single mother. She never gave you love, you were never enough for her, she made you feel guilty about everything. Getting gifts, having sexual urges, being queer. She never let you have your freedom, always trying to control your every move and keeping an eye on you.

You live in a big mansion in the rich part of town, but she refuses to spend any more than necessary on you. She doesn’t let you meet your rich neighbours because she’s worried you’ll befriend them and they’ll lead you astray. And she’s always telling you horror stories about the actor who lives next door. About how he doesn't care about anything, how he's a sexual deviant, how he spends lavishly unlike your mother's painful frugality. Everything she says to try to keep you away from him only makes him sound better. He sounds like the friend you never had and the dad you always wanted, and he’s an actor like you want to be on top of everything!

And when you turn 18 and enter your rebellious phase... well, look. You know he's famous. You know he’s probably been warned away from talking to you by your mother (really, you can't blame him for listening, knowing what she's like). And you know he probably doesn't want his neighbour’s kid just calling him up out of the blue. But... you've gotta try! This is your one chance at having a mentor for your acting! And maybe a father-figure too…

And when you reach out and actually get a response? When he wants to meet you? It's like you're in a dream. You meet up with him and he's... really cool! Super nice, laid back, interested in you. He asks all the right questions, learns about you, listens to you vent about your home life. He tells you stories about his work and gives you advice about becoming an actor.

And he's... well, look, you've never been able to explore sexual attraction, especially not towards men. And he's everything you want to be! All the parts of yourself you actually like seem to be so prominent in him. All the things that your mother hates. It's all him! And sure you feel a little weird about it, I mean you’ve only just met the guy. But... he’s so welcoming and kind. You're an adult, and for the first time in your life you’re feeling appreciated... And god he's so nice and generous when he takes you under his wing, showering you with gifts and taking you out to fancy places and encouraging your rebellion rather than stifling it.

Sure, he's a little more handsy than you'd expected a mentor to be. Little pats on the ass or pecks on the lips. But, well, he's French. That's just what they're like! So of course you're going to move in with him when he offers you a spare room at his place so he can mentor you more often. It's even nicer than your mother's house and he's not always hovering around. He lets you do whatever you please when you’re not learning from him and he never monitors you. You can go out with friends and invite people over and lock your door so you can jack off to some hentai without your mother bursting in and lecturing you about how sex is a tool of the devil!

He always encourages you to try new things. You'd always been a little curious about drugs. Nothing hard, no you're not that kind of guy. But maybe some weed? And of course your cool mentor can hook you up with some! But... he's a responsible mentor. He tells you that you can smoke but your first time has to be with only him. So you don't get too high or taken advantage of. And you trust him, of course you trust him, he's given you every reason to!

So you let him set the mood. Low lights, flickering candles, some weird artsy movie on the massive tv in the lounge, plenty of snacks (oysters, chocolate covered strawberries, even some alcohol but you're pretty sure that's just for him. He wouldn't get you crossfaded for your first time...), and the fattest blunt you've ever seen. Also the only blunt you've ever seen so... really, when he assures you it's perfect for a beginner, why wouldn't you trust him?

So you settle in and he lights up the blunt. He asks if you know what shotgunning is, tells you it's the best way for a beginner to get used to smoking. It's... weird. When his lips actually linger on yours more than the usual little goodbye kisses. When his tongue forces your lips apart to blow the smoke into your mouth. But... all those nerves and weird feelings settle pretty quick.

The more smoke he blows into your mouth, the more relaxed you get. The more you let him feed you snacks. The more you let his hands wander. By the time you're actually pulling from the blunt, you can barely tell which way is up. You feel him tip your head back and pour some wine into your mouth. He's always going on and on about vintages and whether or not it's dry and what aftertaste it has. But all you can ever taste is soured, bitter grapes. But this time you don't mind so much. Not when he's taking a gulp of it himself and feeding that into your mouth this time.

It's the first time you've been touched like this, kissed like this. It feels good, his soft lips on yours, the way he pays such gentle attention to you, the way he grinds on your lap and pulls your hair while forcing more smoke and alcohol into you. You're in a haze of pleasure and Jean is right there at the centre. And him being your mentor is the furthest thing from your mind.

You don't remember much about that night. Or, anything really. You wake up sore in places you've never been sore before. But also feeling blissful. Your muscles feel more relaxed than they ever have, and you don't feel the usual crushing weight of your lust hanging over your head. Jean simply smiles at you when you go into the kitchen the next morning, and asks if you enjoyed the night before. You tell him you did and he promises you two can do it more often. As a bonding experience. Maybe make it a monthly thing? You’re like a son to him, after all!

And god does that sound nice to you. Having a parental figure who wants to bond with you. A person who likes spending time with you. A person who encourages you to try new things. He promises to bring edibles as well next time, and reminds you with a wink that if you ever want to try any other drugs, he can get his hands on them for you. But, of course, same rules apply. Your first time doing them has to be with him.

Really, you're not sure why you'd want to do drugs with anyone else. You've seen the people at the parties he's taken you to, far too rowdy for your liking. So you stick to doing drugs and drinking with Jean only. It's the only time he's handsy. The only time his lips stay on yours. And you hardly remember it anyway. It all blurs together with the dreams you keep having about him. The ones that leave you in a cold sweat, with an uncomfortable boner, wondering if it's normal for people to dream about someone they see like a father whispering sweet nothings in their ear while they fuck them. You're pretty sure it's not, but... really how would you know?

And finally one sober night, you hear your door creak open. You hear footsteps, see a sliver of light from the hallway on your wall, feel someone getting into bed behind you. You move to sit up, but a warm arm wraps around you and a familiar voice whispers in your ear. Jean reassures you that it's okay, it's just him, he just wants to cuddle. And that's normal, isn't it? Fathers cuddling their sons. Sure, no matter how much you both talk about wishing you were father and son, he’s your mentor not your father. And sure, maybe you're a bit old for it even if he was your father. But it’s probably just some sort of acting thing anyway! So you settle back down and enjoy the feeling of his arms around you, trying to keep your hormones under control.

His hands wander a little, thumb rubbing circles on your hips as his lips press lightly against your neck. You have to bite your pillow to keep from whimpering, willing yourself not to make things weird. But his hand slips from your hip and curls around your hard cock and your heart drops. But he reassures you once more, just a gentle murmur in your ear, promising that it's okay. That it's perfectly natural.

His hand palms you slowly as he whispers sympathetic words about how badly your mother screwed you up and how it's up to him to make you better. How he feels so bad about your sexual repression, how he can see just how much you're suffering, that he knows how badly you need this. You're still trying to muffle your sounds with the pillow, but your hips roll against his hand and it feels so good. And he knows. He knows your mother never let you touch yourself. Never let you indulge your desires. You told him so yourself. And he promises you that it's okay. That this is healthy and normal. That she fucked you up, broke you, but he's here to fix you.

He talks to you so gently, like a wounded animal, as he helps you cum. He's so... understanding. And he reassures you that it's normal. That it's okay. That this is what fathers do for their sons. It doesn’t even strike you as odd, that he’s calling you two that. It feels right. And when you finally let out a moan and cum against his hand, making a mess of your pyjamas... he praises you. He tells you how well you did for him, what a good son you are, how happy he is to see you getting better already! And he promises to keep helping…

It happens night after night, each time something slightly different. He turns you over the next night, kisses you so sweetly that you feel like you might melt into him. His tongue is coaxing and his hands slip into your pants to touch you properly. And you wonder how you'll ever be able to touch yourself again when you know it'll never compare to his touch. Then he uses his mouth on you, shows you how skilled his tongue is down there as well. Then he's working a finger, two fingers, three into you.

He teaches you how to please him, as well. Urges you under the covers and teaches you how to go down on him without too much teeth. Trains you not to gag when he thrusts into your mouth and to swallow when he cums down your throat. He presses his cock between your thighs and fucks them so sweetly, hands groping and lips finally leaving marks on you. And then finally, he makes love to you. There's no other way to say it. It's such a sweet, soft, gentle thing. His hips rocking behind you as he spoons you, holding you to his chest and praising you for learning so fast, for being such a good boy for him. And when you feel him cum inside of you, your hips stutter into his hand and you cum too. And you feel loved for the first time in your life.

And that's when you start to learn who your mentor really is. There's no more of the coddling, the sweetness, the love. No, you're his personal free-use whore. He clicks his fingers and you get on your knees for him, ready to take whatever he has to give. He makes you call him dad, starts calling you his son. He introduces you to kinks you've never even heard of, takes all his anger out on your pretty body in the most sadistic ways, trains you into his perfect pet. He fucks you and beats you and makes you his cumdump.

And if you ever try to stop it, ever try to refuse, ever correct people who mistake you for a real father and son... he reminds you of all those nights you spent baked out of your mind. He shows you all the pictures he took of the disgusting, perverted things you let him do to you when you didn't even remember your own name. He promises to leak them to the press if you ever stop. His career is just about over, but yours? Yours is only just beginning. This could ruin you.

But... honestly? You don't want to stop. You don't want to go back to living with your mother. You don't want to return to a life where you feel guilty for wanting sex, where you never feel satisfied, where you always feel like a deviant. You don’t want to go back to not having a father. You want to be wanted by him. You want to keep feeling good, and god does he make you feel good. His insults and humiliation get you hard, but his rare praise makes you desperate to come back for more. You know it's wrong, you know he's a bad person, you know it needs to stop.

But... you don't stop it. You can't stop it. Not when it feels so... good isn't quite the right word. But it feels like everything you deserve. It's the best you'll ever get. And you need to grab onto that before it slips away.

Until. Until you make the mistake of bringing a friend over for once. You've tried to keep everyone else away from Jean. Keep him to yourself. You're not sure if it's selfish or selfless, wanting to keep that cruel attention on you alone. But you can't say no to your childhood best friend. Especially since you've been in love with them since forever. So you take the risk and let them come over, warning them away from your “dad” as many times as you possibly can.

Thankfully, the study date seems to go... well! You don't see Jean at all, and your friend doesn't mention him either. They even ask you out, and you have to get them to repeat themself a few times before it sinks in that it's real. Of course you say yes! How could you say anything else? You've wanted this since forever!

And then as you finish your shy, nervous little goodbye and watch them drive away... you feel Jean behind you. His arms settle around your waist, his chin on your shoulder, his lips brushing your ear. He tells you how nice they seem. How happy he is to see his son dating someone. How unfortunate it would be if they ever found out about your dirty little secret... But don't worry, he won't tell! For as long as you keep doing everything he asks, as long as you keep pleasing him, his lips are sealed.

[gender-euphowrya]

ngl the parents clutching pearls about huggy wuggy are funny as hell trying to pretend that oh it’s the evil internet’s fault for letting their kids be exposed to horror with cute aesthetics like oh that damn night freddy and them momos making my kid too scared to sleep

as if their generation didn’t grow up seeing absolutely fucked puppets on tv and fucking mr blobby and the yearly child trauma ritual of forcing kids to sit in the lap of some dude in a very disheveled and shoddy easter bunny suit

[secret-rendezvous1d]

Omg omg omg That last Spencer ask you replied to- I can’t- I. Literally. Can’t. I’m in tears 😭😭 could you keep it going with the scene in the hospital? Instead of Garcia taking care of Spencer and shooting the one unsub it’s y/n and she’s so on the edge with all that adrenaline from the day that she collapses on Spencer’s hospital bed? Or a scene of her taking him home afterwards and looking after him?xxx you literally save my day with your blurbs

Okay, this one hurt me more-

Long blurb, I know... but I’m not sorry for that. This spewed out of me like a bunch of word vomit so I do apologise for lack of sense but I’m not sorry for the length.

* mentions of guns, injury, hospitals, drugs/medication *

“It should have been me.”

Blake admits with such a tentative tone, like she was terrified of an explosive confrontation over something she already felt terribly about, her eyes bouncing around the room so she could look at anything by YN’s worried face. The long silence of the waiting room being broken by her timid confession.

“It could have been anyone. It’s just his luck that it happened to him,” YN says, a soft smile on her lips as she looks up from picking her fingernails and aims her emotions towards the nervous woman opposite her, “it could have been me, it could have been any one of us-”

“He pushed me out the way,” she clarifies, “it should have been me.”

YN can see the guilt written across her face and it broke her to bits; there was no reason for blame to be put on anyone and there was no need for the ‘what should have happened’s and the ‘who it should’ve been’s and YN wasn’t going to let Blake blame herself as the reason why Spencer was shot in the field. The downside to the job, whilst it looked thrilling and managed to keep you on your toes, was knowing that anything like this could happen at any moment and they had to take it as it came and not dwell on when or how it would happen to who ever was in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Spencer just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Don’t blame yourself,” YN sits up in her chair and reaches over, placing her hand on Blake’s knee and squeezing in reassuringly, “I don’t blame you for what happened and Spencer definitely wouldn’t blame you for what happened.”

“Won’t,” she retorts at YN’s use of tenses and it made the young girl stiffen in her seat. She’d really spoken as if all of her hope and her faith had fizzled away, like he he wasn’t going to survive the chances, and she wanted to slap herself on the wrist for delving that deep. For not believing in the strength he had to get through. “He won’t blame me.”

“He won’t,” YN repeats, “he’ll make it through. Spence is a strong guy, he won’t give up without a fight.”

She gives her Blake’s knee one more reassuring squeeze and she gives her a tight-lipped smile, because she really couldn’t bear to be happy and give off a bright spark under the circumstances, before she sat back and took a look at the clock. He’d been under for almost two hours and YN was beginning to lose all track of existence, like time was slipping away and becoming something that never existed, lost in her thoughts.

They still had so much they wanted to do together.

They wanted to travel the world together and create a book full of memories on how they spent their time in different countries and Spencer taught her about all of the different cultures, they poke about marriage and the kind of wedding they wanted to have, they spoke about having kids and threw around some of their favourite baby names like she was about to give birth, and he’d brought them tickets to a film festival that he had been eager to take her to and that she had been excited to go to because it was a date night and special date nights were rare when working in the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI; they took any chance they got to treat each other and spend time with one another outside of the office.

What felt like another two hours had really one been twenty minutes when they were given permission to see him.

“How is he?”

YN stands to her feet in a haste, grabbing the bag full of Spencer’s belongings as the surgeon came to a halt in the middle of the waiting room. His explanation waiting until YN was fully stood in front of him so she could take in what he was about to tell her, her mind expecting the worst but her heart expecting the good news she had been silently manifesting and praying for.

“He’s incredibly lucky,” the surgeon explains, “two millimetres to the right and the bullet would have torn through the carotid artery.”

And he didn’t have to speak in Layman's terms for YN to understand just how lucky he really was. Watching him get shot was one thing, watching his barely conscious body being dragged from the danger was another thing... but being there as he bled out and essentially bled to death? That would have been the end of her career because she couldn’t do it without him.

“It nicked some small vessels but,” he smiles at YN and her knees are like jelly as she wobbles on her legs, “we stopped the bleeding. You can see him now.”

*

Seeing him so vulnerable in his hospital bed made her melt.

All sorts of emotions were running through her veins; she felt scared because all she could think about was something going wrong in his recovery, she felt sad because watching her boyfriend get shot wasn’t what she had expected and it shouldn’t have ever been something she witnessed, she felt angry because he could have prevented it from happening if he believed Blake had the situation handled, but she felt happy and she felt like crying happy tears because she felt like the world was back to normal now that he was awake and awaiting the one person he wanted to see.

“Hi,” he smiles sweetly and lifts a hand up to wave at her but it wasn’t so strong and he sounded sleepy and she couldn’t blame him for that, “come sit with me. I missed you.”

“I’m mad at you,” she states, arms folding over her chest as she stood in the doorway and took in his appearance; disheveled hair that stood in all directions, a bandage around his neck that kept his wound covered and safe from any kind of infection it could pick up, tubes and wires connected to him as the room fills with the rhythmic beeps from his heart monitor, “I’m really mad at you.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and there’s sincerity in his voice. He hoped she wasn’t going to be mad at him but she was (or so he thought) and that wasn’t what he had intended with his actions back at the crime scene. “Please, come sit with me though? You don’t have to talk to me. Just, sit so I know you’re safe here.”

She was never going to walk away.

The seat beside him looked comfier than the waiting room chairs anyway so she would have been a fool to ignore his plea in keeping him company. She sets his belongings at the foot of his bed and steps further into the room, the heat coming from the radiator feeling so tingly against her exposed skin, and she shrugs off her jacket so she could feel the real benefit of the radiator. She stands at the side of his bed and leans over, pressing her lips against his warm forehead and leaving a very faint gloss smear against his skin.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” she cups his face in her hands and they blush under her touch, “don’t do that again, Spencer.”

“Baby, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he tilts his head into her touch and closes his eyes, content with how she very clearly feigned her anger towards him and all kinds of warm and fuzzy because she’s all he needed for his recovery. Her lips press against his in the most gentlest of kisses before she pulls back and sits herself down, his eyes opening and never leaving her face, “I love you. You think I’d jeopardise that?”

“You already did,” she clarifies and brings the chair closer, resting her elbows on the thin mattress he was laid upon and grabbing his hand with one of her own, “I can’t cope with how it made me feel. It was the worst experience of my life and I’ve killed people.”

“Criminals,” he corrects her and she lets out a gentle laugh, “you’ve killed all the criminals like a badass.”

She rolls her eyes.

Spencer was back, thankfully, and YN couldn’t have felt more normal after such a night of chaos and panic and all things worrying.

*

Hours had passed since he had woken from surgery.

He’d slept for a couple of those hours and gave in to the aches behind his eyes but all he had wanted to do was stay awake and never take a moment with YN for granted ever again, even if it meant sleep was put on the back burner. Life was too short, especially when working such a career as they had, and there was an uncertainty to when they really would never see one another again and he’d already nearly left her behind. He couldn’t bare to think about that happening, or with the shoe being on the other foot, and watching her and looking at her made him feel so much more solace than knowing he was on the mend.

When her mobile dings with a text alert from Morgan, an image attached that he needed her to see, she feels her heart race. Whilst she had been sat there with Spencer, she had been wracking her brain and reading through files and notes on what the team had already thrown around and bounced off of one another, and they had kept her in the loop like she had kept them in the loop on just how Spencer was doing so shortly after his incident. The man in the picture was the man she had seen walk passed the ward, many times in the last few hours, and it left a sour taste behind.

He’s here.

At the nurse’s station. I’ve seen him walk outside Spence’s room a few times.

YN feels sick to her stomach. Things had been serene because she was away from the chaos of working the case that the team were working on and left with her boyfriend as she kept him company so he wasn’t alone - of course, he’d told her he was fine and that he was as safe as he could be and that the team needed her expertise and her skills more than she needed to be with him but she refused to leave him.

She wanted to be with him.

He never wanted to take a moment with her for granted and she never wanted to take a moment with him for granted, ever again. And there was no way she was going to let anyone ruin the track they had rebuilt to normality...

Shut the door and don’t leave Reid. Get him in a wheelchair if you can.

Spencer was clueless to the text exchange happening, just like he was clueless as to who the unsub was and how he was stood outside the ward; he wasn’t even phased by how intensely she had been staring at her phone nor had he seen how her eyes were constantly darting from the window of the ward to him to the phone in her hand as she awaited the texts. 

If not, shoot if you have your gun on you. Reid’s will be in his patient bag if you don’t. Back up is on the way, I’ll be there soon.

YN gulps thickly and the gun in the holster upon her hip felt much more heavier than usual. It was there, she wouldn’t be found without it (not now and not ever) tucked into her pocket or hanging off her belt, and she planned on using it if she needed it.

A knock on the door brings her back down to earth, it wakes Spencer up and it brings a sense of busyness to what had been filled with silence and nothing but their gentle breathing and no movement. A doctor stepping foot into the room, a clipboard in his hand and a solemn look on his face, interrupting their little bubble. Her phone went forgotten on his bedside table, locked to keep any of the wandering eyes from peeking at what her team was sending her, so she could keep her focus on whatever the doctor had to say.

“He, uh, he had his meds an hour ago,” YN reminds him and Spencer tucks up a little deeper under the thin, blue coloured comforter that came with the stay, “I was here so I saw.”

She was given a blunt answer in response, “yeah, post-op antibiotics.”

“Yeah, he had those, too.”

Curiosity gets the better of him and Spencer cranes his neck forward, trying to grab a look at what he was about to be given in regards to medication.

“What ones?” He catches sight of the label in the doctor’s hands and frowns to himself when he reads what he shouldn’t be reading, “carbenicillen? No, that’s not right. I have a severe reaction to beta lactams. I can’t have that.”

The clipboard that had been placed on the bed had been picked up by the doctor, her fingers flicking through his charts and his information, looking at him and shaking his head, “it’s not in your chart.”

YN feels her fight or flight response taking over when the doctor turns his body in the direction of the monitors that her boyfriend was wired up to, the antibiotic held in his hand as he preps and readies to medicate. Whatever Spencer was allergic to would have been written on his hospital chart so there was no way he was about to injected with whatever could kill him; he already faced death today and she wasn’t going to let that happen again. 

“What are you doing?” 

Spencer panics, YN panics, and he’s tugging at the wires he’s intubated with as the doctor readies himself to give him the medication he was asked to give him. A close call because Spencer fought back, slapping his hands away from the monitor so he couldn’t go through with the task of poisoning him with what he shouldn’t be allowed, the tiny bottle dropping to the floor and requiring him to pick it up... which only backfired against his mission.

“Gun,” Spencer calls and turns to his girlfriend but YN had seen it coming from a mile off, her gun ready and cocked before the doctor could turn around, “he has a gun, YN.”

By the time he turned, YN didn’t give him time to react because she had perfect aim and a clear shot that she wasn’t going to let go of. Spencer covered his ears as he prepared for the sound and closed his eyes because he couldn’t sit and watch his girlfriend have her turn in confronting death. 

But when he feels her collapse against the bed, a hiccup of a sob escaping her parted lips, his pained movements get thrown to the side because she looked and she sounded and she was exhausted. Stressed, emotional and tired and who could blame her? She’d been through a lot. She grips onto his waist and she buries her face into the hospital gown covering his chest and she just cries. With everything that had happened, she hadn’t cried yet. Even though she felt like she wanted to, she didn’t bring herself to show emotion because there was a need to be strong in front of her colleagues... even though they expected her to break-down, they were impressed by how strong she kept her guard up.

“You’re okay,” he coos into the top of her head. He hears Morgan’s footsteps in the hallway, standing by the ward as an extra set of hands in case there was any other corrupt officers standing by to complete their mission, and Spencer smiles warmly at him as he turns his back to give them the privacy they needed to have. His main focus being cuffing the ‘doctor, as he laid injured on the floor. “You saved my life, YN.”

That only makes a sob erupt from her chest and it shakes her body and forces her arms to tighten around him.

“You’re okay,” he repeats softly, kissing her head, “you did so good today. I’m so proud of you.” xx

[amintyworld]

Denial - Dream SMP SMPsona Oneshot

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the lack of content lately, I've been on a bit of writer's block. Anyway, this one-shot is inspired by my OC SMPsona Flower! If you'd like to see more content of her let me know and if you have questions about her character or story my ask box is open! I hope you enjoy it! - Minty

Summary: After losing her first cannon life, Flower visits Phil as she usually would for tea. She ends up finding comfort in the only true friend she has left.

TW: Major Character Death, Mention of Major Character Death, Slight blood/gore (Not too severe, just a few sentences), Betrayal (If you squint), denial, loneliness, self-blame. (LMK if I need to tag anything else!)

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

Flower grasped the basket of goodies awkwardly, taking a deep breath she wasn’t aware she needed. The other day was… it wasn’t great, but today’s a new day. A clean slate. That doesn’t mean everything was the same, however - Fundy and Quackity glared at her as she passed, and when Ranboo tried to walk up to her to say hello it was like he realized who it was and just froze in his tracks. Murmurs floating around didn’t exactly help the large pit that grew in her stomach. Traitor, they said. How could she be something she never wanted to be? She never tried to be? L’manberg was her home. These were her friends. She.. she wasn’t like Eret, or… or Wilbur. She was just defending someone who couldn’t defend himself! She was just trying to help.

Despite it all, one thing was for certain - she’d give anything for things to be normal right now. Maybe that was why it took her so long to meet up with Phil for tea.

Gathering courage, she raised her arm and knocked. For a moment she wondered if Phil was mad at her too. He didn’t see everything, maybe he thought she’d lead them there. Shuffling could be heard beyond the door, muffled with voices inside. Voices. Did he have someone over? She didn’t want to impose, he’s been through a lot, maybe she should just-

When Philza finally opened the door, blonde hair framing his face perfectly with that same tired warm smile, she’d tensed up. “Hey, Flower.”

“Hi, Phil.” She swallowed, mustering a small smile. “Sorry I didn’t come by earlier, I was, uhm… busy.” She heard a distinct ‘Baa’ come from inside, which proved to only raise more questions to add to her ever-growing list. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, no no please.” Phil moved aside, holding the door open. “It’s been quite a while.”

Flower walked inside, her heart dropping in her chest seeing materials scattered all over the floor, chests busted and broken. The walls and floor were littered with axe and sword marks. They really weren’t kidding. She remembered only a few weeks ago Phil finally was fully moved in - he’d organized the chests to his satisfaction and somehow lugged his bed up to the second floor. It was pristine. Did… did they really-? “Phil… Phil, what…?”

“Sorry for the mess, everytime I think I’ve gathered it all I find more material in a corner somewhere.” He shrugged, moving toward the furnace and grabbing a kettle from the chest. A lump formed in her throat when she noticed the bulky and seemingly heavy ankle bracelet on his right foot. The blinking red light taunted her. “Can I get you some coffee, tea…?”

After what felt like forever, she found her voice again. “Some tea would be great.”

“Of course. Make yourself at home, I’ll be right over.”

“Right. Thanks.” As she moved to go sit, she’d been so distracted she hadn’t noticed a blue-wooled sheep sniffing around her basket. It looked up at her with big brown pleading puppy-dog eyes, and she couldn’t help herself from smiling at the creature, even to relieve her worries for just a moment. “Excuse me, little guy, but what exactly do you think you’re doing in there?”

“Ah, I see you’ve found Friend.”

“Friend?”

“Ghostbur’s pet.” Ghostbur? She hadn’t heard of him since he got shipped out with Tommy after the exile. He was... back in L’manburg? The teenager turned to the winged creature.

“Phil, you’re sheepsitting?” She smirked slightly, hand combing through Friend’s soft fur.

Philza chuckled, turning briefly to face his friend. “It wasn’t exactly as if I had much of a choice. He didn’t trust anyone else.”

“That’s… kinda cute, though.” she admitted, moving to sit and put her basket upon the table. “You know, in a Ghostbur kind of way.” She shrugged.

“He’s been visiting a lot more lately. I gotta admit, it’s nice to have the company.” Phil carefully picked up the two mugs, bringing them over and setting them down on the table to cool.

“Sorry about that, I really should’ve told you-”

“Flower, it’s okay. You don’t have to look after me. I know you’ve got things going on.” Flower couldn’t understand how Phil kept smiling, throughout all this. How he kept his voice even. Why wasn’t he mad, no, furious with her?! She was the one who tried to protect him! She was the one who couldn’t fight back. She was the one who failed.

It’s… it’s okay..? It’s okay?!

“But this… your house, you… you have a fucking ankle monitor, Phil! That’s NOT okay.” Flower raised her voice. “You didn’t do anything!”

Phil winced at her outburst, looking down at the steam rising up from his mug. “I... didn’t tell them where Technoblade was.” He breathed. Flower deflated, looking over toward her friend, eyebrows furrowed. “That’s why. They demanded to know where he was so they could kill him, and I wouldn’t tell them. Not like it mattered, they found the compass he gave me anyway.”

“This isn’t like them, any of them,” Flower added, breaking the brief moment of silence. “I don’t... agree with what Techno did, but… going after him, organizing a witch hunt… Tubbo said he promised we’d get peace. No more fighting, not after the 16th.” Tears welled up at the edges of the teen’s eyes. “This isn’t, this wasn’t like him. They were never this violent, Ranboo would never hurt a fucking fly, I…”

“People change. Sometimes it’s… it’s just not for the better.”

“But I know them, they’re my friends…” She took a deep breath. Friends. Yeah, the same friends who won’t talk to you anymore. “This doesn’t make any sense, they wouldn’t… they wouldn’t…”

They wouldn’t kill me on purpose.

...Right?

“I told you, get out of the fucking way!”

“No! I won’t let you hurt him! If you’re gonna kill him you’ll have to kill me first!”

“We don’t want to hurt you, Flower.”

“Guys, can we just… uh… talk about-?”

“Back off, Ranboo.” Quackity warned.

“Flower, please. Please, just step aside. You don’t know what’s going on here, you don’t know what he’s hiding!”

“Yeah, you’re right, Tubbo. I don’t have a clue about what Phil knows. But I know netherite has never mixed well with a simple conversation, has it?”

“We’re not gonna hurt Gramps-”

“Then drop the weapons.”

“Flower…”

“You don’t wanna hurt me? You wanna talk to him? Drop the weapons now.” Her eyes narrowed. “That means you, Quackity.”

Something darkened in his eyes, anger flared from a place Flower never knew existed. His eyes narrowed. “I don’t take orders from you. MOVE!”

“Make me.”

It was so quick. A second of pure pain. A whimper escaped her lips. She felt the blade slice through her body, the blood well up on her throat as she choked. For that one second, she looked at them. Her friends.

Tubbo merely looked at the ground, eyes shut.

He didn’t care.

Phil looked over at her, squeezing her arm in a bit of comfort. “Are you… are you okay, Flower?”

The scar across her chest throbbed in pain at the memory, her eyes wide and a knot in her throat as tears fell down her cheeks. “I… P-Phil...” She sobbed, tea long forgotten as she curled in on herself.

“Oh, mate…” Phil’s warm gaze turned to sympathy as he moved over toward her, wrapping her in a tight hug pulling her to the floor. The teenager sobbed, heartbroken. Tears pricked at the edges of the winged creature’s eyes. “I know… I’m… I know…”

“He didn’t even look at me Phil… they killed me and he…” She sobbed. “He…” Phil’s hands laced through her hair, his wings moved slightly to wrap around her as well, like a soft, warm blanket. Protection. Protection the Angel of Death couldn’t give her then, but he swore he would now. They sat there for hours, surrounded by destruction and hurt, their only real comfort being each other.

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

General Writing Taglist (Let me know if you'd like to be added/removed!):

@bones-sprouts

@foolishcaptains

[tenaciouspeacesandwich]

PSA: Online Safety

Ok so normally I don’t post personal stuff on here, but I saw something today that made me remember this and I knew I had to post it somewhere. 

When I was 14, I was really into digital art and online forums where people could post and discuss their paintings/drawings. As someone w/adhd and social anxiety, the internet was somewhere I felt I could be myself and be in control of my social interactions. It wasn’t as intimidating as making friends or talking to people in real life, and I built genuine social skills on there. However, I wasn’t aware of how dangerous these digital communities could be.

I had (still do) a really great relationship with my parents growing up, and they made sure to have the discussion with me about stranger danger and how you should never give away personal info online, all the classics. I never really hid anything I did on the computer from them, and they trusted me completely. They monitored our internet that was considered acceptable by most parenting standards (i.e. server blockers for adult content, etc.). But none of that mattered when I met someone on a discussion board who convinced me to meet up with them irl.

Obviously, looking back on it now years later, it was one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done. Even at the time, I remember being a little scared when this person asked me to meet them at a public park. They were one of my online ‘art buddies’, ppl who critiqued and gave advice for your submissions, and we’d ‘known’ each other for a while. They complimented my sketches, gave me great tips on how to draw better, and I was really inspired by all the works they posted. Then the conversations meandered naturally from our posts to our lives, casual talk like how we hated homework but liked our teachers, our siblings were annoying, etc. 

WARNING: DESCRIPTION OF GROOMING AHEAD

Then, one day they messaged me complementing my self-portrait that I had posted. It was by no means realism, more of a cartoon version of myself, but their flattering words were enough to make my introverted,14-year-old self swoon. I was so shy in school, no one even knew i was there half the time, let alone told me i was beautiful. It made me feel special, valued, less alone. Looking back now, I see it for what it was. But at the time, those words only made me trust this person more. So when they mentioned that they lived in my city and asked if I wanted to meet up at a public park, it wasn’t a huge red flag to me. It was a public place, right? It’s not like they were asking for my social or my address or anything. And they wouldn’t be picking me up in their car, the park was close enough to my school that I could bike the 4 miles there myself. We were just gonna hang out at the picnic tables for a couple of hours, no big deal. 

Even though I’d seen this park before, I’d never actually been to it. My parents never took us there, and I always just assumed it was because there were other, closer parks to our house that were just as nice. It didn’t seem sketchy to me as I rode up closer, other than the fact that some of the playground equipment was rusty and the swing set had overgrown weeds on it. 

I remember this day so clearly even though it’s been 10 years now: I was pedaling up this mini-hill that went thru a neighborhood, and the park was at the bottom of the hill on the other side. I remember stopping at the top of the hill to catch my breath for a second on the sidewalk, and I looked down at the park. From where I was standing, I could see the picnic tables and the parking lot. My friend had been messaging me on my phone, and had been updating me ever since I left school on my bike. They said they were already there and had been waiting for me for the past 10 minutes, and that when I arrived I’d be able to find them really easily because they had a red convertible in the parking lot, and they had managed to get us a table that we didn’t have to share. I texted them when I left, asking if there were a lot of people at the park that day. Their reply was really distinct, because instead of ‘yeah, kinda’ or ‘not really’, they texted back; ‘Super crowded, some kind of birthday party at the gazebo- All kinds of moms lol’ . Reading that gave me assurance that I didn’t know I needed, and that’s why I remember the dread and fear I felt when I looked down at the park.

 There was no one there.

No party, no kids, nothing- the gazebo was empty, the playground deserted, everything was just quiet. 

Except for this one man sitting at a picnic table, who had to be at least my father’s age. There was a gray sedan parked in the lot (i’m assuming his, but I don’t know), and the man was looking down at his phone as he sat at the table.

I texted my ‘friend’ again, still hidden by the garage wall of someone’s house where my bike was parked at the top of the hill. My ‘friend’ was supposed to be a guy my age who was wearing a pink floyd t shirt and black jeans. I asked him, ‘is there food at the party?’

I got an instant reply; ‘Yeah, a grillout- smells amazing but i don’t think they’ll let us have anything lol’. 

I turned around and got on my bike, looking over my shoulder every 5 minutes, terrified that this guy might have seen and followed me. Thankfully, there was never anyone behind me, and I didn’t stop until I got home. I went to my room and deleted my entire account from that website, blocking my ‘friend’ first and deleting all of our conversation history in a panic before making sure every trace of me was gone forever. I sat there in my room for a while just staring at the wall. 

I don’t know for sure if the man that I saw had anything to do with the person I was messaging- I don’t know him or why he was at the park. All of these things are connections I drew from what I knew via the website and our conversation, and what I could see with my own eyes. But more powerful than any of that was the immense, strong gut feeling I had wash over me when I was about to meet that person. Something just felt very, very wrong. I was still happy and excited to meet them, but that happiness was soured by that innate reaction of dread and foreboding that just screamed at me to go away. 

I never told my parents about this, and still haven’t to this day. I know they would blame themselves for me being lured by this person (if that was in fact what happened), and that is the last thing I want- they did everything right.

That’s my entire point in posting this: my parents did everything by the book, took the experts advice, had an open and trusting relationship with me, and monitored our internet access. But I still made this happen, I still got my way, and I’m convinced that it’s by sheer luck that I’m still here today. I got up the courage to ask them one day, about 3 years after all this, when we were driving by that park why they never took us there as kids. My parents told me that park was notorious for drug use and crime, and that there were no working security cameras anywhere nearby. 

There have been so many people in my situation who unfortunately never came home. Please please please be careful who you talk to on the internet, and be even more careful about the excuses you tell yourself to justify why it’s ok for you to be communicating with strangers. I convinced myself that this was just a fun meet up with a friend, that it was safe because it was on a public property, and that it was ok for me to go by myself. I will remember this experience for the rest of my life. 

[talkwithmarcy]

Youtubers, step away from the underage fans!

Ok, before I start this post, I just wanna say first, in no way am I judging or telling someone how to make a living or their interest in what type of job their in. What I’m going to be critiquing in this post is a youtuber or an influencers’ way of INTERACTING with their fans.

Now this is suppose to be a simple concept, right? You either give them a picture, autograph, fulfill a commission, etc. However some people overstep that boundary, and it led them to utter shit. I’m talking about people who interacts sexually with their fans. And considering how big the internet is, some of these fans are underage, and interacting with them in such a way led to these influencers to be called a groomer or predator, whether they know a fan is underage or not.

This topic came around when I made a youtube video about a va (voice acting) youtuber, he was accused of doing some horrible stuff with his fans and friends, and one of them was manipulating and grooming underage girls. However, after doing an interview with this guy, me and my friend found some closure to some cases, open to new arguments for the unsolved ones and also find possibilities that some of the cases could be untrue. What I see as the main reason for the majority of the cases was because this youtuber was not very careful when it comes to interacting with his fans or providing fan-service.

This led to broken promises, mistreatment towards discord mods and closer friends, and then the grooming accusations. The youtuber admitted to being irresponsible and lazy when it comes to fulfilling tasks, and he admitted to being quite arrogant and boastful about being a huge youtuber.

But here I’m talking specifically about the grooming accusations. This is all because he was so full of himself of being a player and irresistible with his fans, he had no problem fooling around with them. His channel is composed of quite provocative content, and the audios are just straight up audio porn in his patreon. There’s no secret that some of the fans are heavily into that sort of stuff and they have no problem having a closer relationship with the youtuber if he initiates it. And because some fans are underage, I think the interactions can count as illegal.

All of this could’ve been avoided if he didn’t interact sexually on a personal level with his fans. I’m not gonna judge him for making provocative content because 1). he is an adult, he can make non-kid friendly content if he wants to, as long as it’s not hurting and disrespecting anyone, 2). if making these type of content is the more popular way for him to make a living in youtube, go ahead. The problem is that he brings this to a personal level with his fans, instead of keeping it on a business level. 

I understand if you want to make your fans happy, but there is a more responsible and appropriate way to interact with them. And if you say, “well, they are not happy with it, they like talking about no-nos and that kind of stuff, otherwise, they are not interested in me”, then tell them to screw off. Especially if they are underage and you are an adult, you should know better, and have some self-respect.

A good example of this is an incident of where I communicated with a youtuber named Aramin Audios. To bring you up to speed, there was another va youtuber, let’s call him Pink, who was accused of being a groomer to his girlfriend, but after researching a bit, me and my friends found that this is false and the people who accused him of so made the accusations out of anger and jumping to conclusions.

Now in response to this, Aramin wants to avoid this accusations to happen to him and he wants his community to be safer for his younger audience. That seems like a great thing to do, right? BUT, he thinks the best way to achieve that is to delete his discord server and build a new one, where it is reserved for patreons only, where he will discuss the nsfw content they want in their patreon requests. Me and my friend were confused by this because, in a way, it’s like a punishment for the underage fans for the youtubers’ irresponsible way of interacting with them. And the way he announced that he was gonna do this is as if he is putting the blame on Pink, this made us worried whether upset fans are gonna went after Pink or not after this.

However, we were more confused on his WAY of fixing this problem. I guess people will have a different opinion on this, but based on what Aramin wants and how he worded his request for his community, it seems like he was trying really hard to make it safe for the younger audience. So we asked him, if he was so worried about effecting kids with his provocative content, why not just age-restrict his videos? Of course, the answer is because he still wants to make a living and the content in his channel is still sfw, so it shouldn’t be age-restricted.

We also questioned on the new server he was planning to make because 1). from what I know, he is not that active in his old server anyways, so what’s the point? 2). from what he says, it will be no different, they will just discuss more r18 topics with his patrons and 3). this can be upsetting for fans who are JUST as loyal as the patreon fans. He explains that he thinks that it will be safer because minors lie in the internet, and it’s more secure when people make an account on patreon. True, maybe patreon is more strict but it is proven that people can still lie about their age in patreon. So me and my friend suggested to him, why not just age-restrict your videos or try to change your content a bit, because sfw that’s not automatically mean kid-friendly and from the way he was acting, this was his main worry.

The weird thing that happened was that my friend, let’s call her Lady, is a bit more closer to Aramin, because she was also a youtuber and he watches her stuff before. However, when Lady tried to explain how Aramin’s way of achieving all this didn’t make sense, the fans there agreed. But as soon as Aramin came, they did a complete 180. And of course, I’m not close with Aramin, right? there’s nothing wrong if he gets a bit defensive, but when me and Lady asked him the questions and give him suggestions for a better way to achieve he wants. He became demeaning to the point where he acts like he didn’t know who Lady is, and he treated her as if she is too young and too dumb to understand what he was saying. And they were roughly the same age.

Also, in that chat, some fans told me to scroll to reread what they were talking about, but the thing is I want to hear from Aramin’s word. However, after some exchange, it seems like Aramin doesn’t actually want his community to be minor-free, and he mostly blame that it’s the kids fault for lying about their age and parents are not monitoring they’re kids. So I asked him, “But you’re the one who wants to make your channel minor-free, this is based on what you want, so why won’t you yourself actually take the precautions?” and he responded with, “I’m not gonna entertain this, because you won’t scroll up, you obviously don’t care.” Good defense, Aramin.

So he may say he wants his community to be safer for minors, and he did this because of other youtubers who are exposed as groomers and predators, but he doesn’t actually practice what he preach. He just wants to be seen as taking action for the better.

But anyways, it seems like he didn’t wanna budge or give any good reason anytime soon, so me and Lady gave up. Lady told me after that conversation, he immediately deleted the server XD and the cherry on top is that he made a response to this in twitter and oh boy, there is so many things wrong with this tweet.

Where do I start with this?

First off, we’re talking about what he is doing with his server, so when he says he wants to protect minors from predators that could join his server, Aramin, that just brings the question, what kind of people you allow to reside in your server and how do you act with your fans? And it says a lot when you felt the NEED to make an r18 server with your fans.

Second, apparently Aramin was badly injured when I told him sfw does not mean kid-friendly. I wasn’t trying to make a ‘gotcha’ moment, Aramin, I was just stating something. But since you are so heavily affected by that, sorry I hurt your feelings I guess.

Third, I agree to scolding kids for lying about their age online and watching what they’re not suppose to watch. However, recommending that kids should just stay in Youtube Kids is just not right. Youtube Kids is specifically for kids who are at the age of 4-12, so a minor as young as 13-15 can watch your stuff. And it is also known that there’s still inappropriate content that is still posted in Youtube Kids, because they were fooled by the kid-friendly thumbnail and Youtube doesn’t actually check if the content is safe or not. And to just say, “well, they should just stay in Youtube Kids”, that’s an ignorant thing to say. Tell me guys, how young were you when you first watch or witness something that is not considered kid-friendly? Whether by accident or on purpose.

Fourth, what nice thing of him to say, “it is the parents’ fault for not monitoring what their children sees on the internet 24/7.” Yeah, it’s the parents fault, guys, it’s not like they have jobs or any house activities they have to do to take care of their kids. It’s their fault for not breathing down on their children’s neck every time they see a screen. And from him saying he doesn’t wanna stop his source of income because of the parents, Aramin, you’re basically saying, “I don’t support and I would never recommend minors watching my videos and I want my community to be safer for minors.....but I’ll still make money from minors watching my shit anyways, thank you very much.”

And finally, keep in mind, me and my friend did not bash nor insult Aramin while we were talking to him. We did not call him a predator, bad person, or whatever. But apparently something as simple as asking questions, even though you are confused for a good reason, counts as attacking or tearing someone down according to Aramin.

So yeah, overall, Aramin just comes off as a whiny brat, and this response just comes off as him going

“These people are confused, and they’re asking questions and giving me suggestions! It’s the worse thing ever, WHY CAN’T THEY SEE I’M A GOOD PERSON?”

Anyways, at the end of this post, I want to make this clear, whether your content is inappropriate or not, or your patreon is 18+ or not, I don’t care. The problem is if you actually interact with your fans in such a way. It’s asking for trouble and even if you don’t mean to interact with underage fans in such a way, it is still YOUR irresponsibility to act that way AT ALL with any age with your fans, who are also mostly complete strangers to you, especially when you are aware that minors might watch your stuff.

Just because you act in a certain way in your channel, does not mean you should act the same in person to your fans. We may saw Dakota Johnson’s boobs in Fifty Shades of Grey, but that wouldn’t mean it would be acceptable for her to flash her fans during a meet-and-greet.

Yes, it is the fault of the kids for lying about their age online or if they watch something they’re not suppose to, but in the end, YOU’RE the influencer. You are the one with the channel, you are the one who can fix what they watch or at the very least, make the situation a little more appropriate.

[ikenbar]

Mr. Love: Ike’s Choice Ch4 PT3

Quick Author’s note!!

I am currently revising the story of Chapter four. I was reading it over and realized I didn’t quite capture Victor like he is in the game. So I’m making some adjustments to the story. In doing so I may be late to some uploads. I ask you please to be patient with me. I love that I have fans who are intrigued in Ike’s story. Honestly it’s what wakes me up in the morning! And I want to release the best content for you to enjoy. 

Thank you all so much for your patience and I hope you enjoy Ikamara’s story!!

~Ike ‘n Bar Productions

Warnings: Some nice juicy Victor angst, also fluff, and foreshadowing, and backstory (oh my!), and don’t forget the good ol’ cliffhangers! :D

Some of the lines were taken from the game Mr. Love: A Queen’s Choice.  In this case, it was taken from Chapter ten. :)

(Chapter Four (Victor and Gavin) Prologue, and part one, and two can be found here!)

Please read the author’s note (and the beginning of the story) on chapter one part one if you’re new here :D

Chapter four:

Part three:

Victor had come back. He was hanging his coat on the coat rack, eyeing me carefully. I muted the tv and addressed him, “It’s nothing. I was just thinking. What are you doing back here so late?”

“I told you I was coming back, didn’t I?” Victor walked over to the desk at the corner of the room, “Didn’t the doctor tell you to keep your voice in a whisper?”

“The doctor doesn’t have to know.” I grumbled mostly to myself, “I’m fine. It doesn’t hurt. Anyway, didn’t you just get off from work? Don’t you want to be home?”

“Why are you so concerned?” Victor picked up the briefcase that was hidden underneath the desk as he eyed me, “Are you trying to get me to leave?” 

“No.” I said absentmindedly, “Just curious.” Victor arched his eyebrow but said nothing more as he opened his briefcase. He started placing the folders and papers delicately inside. “How are you feeling?" Victor asked casually, keeping most of his focus on packing his things, "How is your arm?”

“I’m perfect!” I dramatically answered, “I can speak just fine and I can’t even feel any pain in my arm! I bet I don’t even need to be here for five days! I should be released tonight!”

Victor hummed, “Nice try.”

I grunted and sank in my bed. Silence droned through the room. The only sound that could be heard was by Victor as he shuffled around the papers at his desk. But soon, even that sound stopped. I looked over just as Victor picked up the bowl. I sat up in the bed and opened my mouth to speak.

“Where did you get this spoon?” Victor unknowingly interrupted, holding up the lion headed spoon by the hilt for me to see. I closed my mouth.

“I was going to ask you the same-” I choked on my words, “... Wait the spoon? Why the spoon?”

“... It looks handmade.” Victor said, looking at the lion’s head closely. “It’s… an interesting design.”

“... I don’t know.” I answered honestly, “We’ve had that spoon for as long as I remember. Why do you have Maria’s bowl?”

Victor eyed me, “...Maria, brought it in when she first came to visit. Bart had told her that I was the one… looking after you. She wanted to show her appreciation so she made pudding and gave it to me in this bowl... She also made sure to mention it was your recipe.” I rolled my eyes. That pudding had always been her favorite thing that I made. She never hesitated to seize the opportunity to brag about it. “Maria said this spoon was deemed the special spoon in her house and that she felt as if I deserved it. What do mean by ‘as long as you remember?’” 

I arched my eyebrow. "Why are you so interested in my spoon?"

"Just curious." Victor teased. I looked at him a moment longer then sighed and looked away from Victor. Faint memories clouded my thoughts.

 “I’ve had that specific spoon with me since I was a kid." I answered honestly, "I've brought it with me from foster house to foster house. I don’t know when or how I got it but, for some reason, I feel connected to it. Like I had it for a reason. It’s almost as if I needed to return it to someone or something. Maria calls it the special spoon because I’ve kept it with me for so long. She saw it as a right of passage to her when I let her add it to the other silverware. It’s a rule in their house that we only use it for the special kids. So,” I looked back up at Victor and smirked, “Congrats.” 

He just trained his eyes on mine, maintaining his poker face and seemingly taking everything I said seriously. When I finished speaking, Victor hummed quietly and looked over to the spoon again. After a moment of silence, he spoke up. “How did you like the pudding?” I dropped my smirk. Victor always had a knack for throwing me off my guard.

“What?” I asked stupidly. 

“The pudding that I had made you. From your night at Souvenir.”

I blinked.

I slapped my forehead and cursed, “Ah, I haven’t eaten it. I crashed when I got home and then had dinner at my parent’s house and forgot about it. Maybe I can get Gavin to bring it-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Victor shifted to face his desk again, “I’ll make you some more while you’re here.” I hesitated

“... You don’t have to do that. You’ve done enough.”

“What? Are you worried my pudding will be better than yours?”

“If your pudding is anything like your stake. I know it will be." I grumbled, "What I’m saying is-”

“I know what you’re saying.” Victor interrupted, “It won’t be any trouble. Just worry about yourself and your health.” I stared at Victor. His profile was as sharp and strong as ever. But his face was drawn and his hair was messier than usual. Not only that, but he looked as if he had gotten thinner.

“No.” I answered without realizing it. Victor turned to me with an arched eyebrow.

“Excuse me?” His tone was harsh. It was obvious that the CEO of LFG didn’t get told 'no' often. I folded my arms defiantly.

“I said, 'no.' You’re telling me to take care of myself when you’re going out of your way to take care of my company. I’m fine. It’s just a scratchy throat and a wound I can’t even feel. You shouldn’t have to-”

“Do you think I don’t have the ability to take care of the company and you at the same time?” Victor asked this in a defiant tone.

“No. You can do anything you put your mind to.”

“Then why are you bringing this up so suddenly?”

“I just… I don’t want yet another person getting hurt because of me.” My voice was nearly inaudible. Images from the explosions pushed into my vision. Sights of people under the rubble, screams for help, unconscious coworkers,... Gavin’s lifeless body in my arms. 

I cringed and tightened my hands on the sheets, keeping my eyes down but not focusing on a thing. The room was silent, making the empty sound of the television monitor fill the room. 

“...Ike.” Victor said this slowly, as if readying himself for something, “Earlier you said something about the explosion being your fault.” I froze, “What did you mean by that?” I hesitated. 

“I don’t know.” I murmured quietly, “... Maybe if I had been a little nicer to my employees then I wouldn’t have had a bomb thrown in my window.” Victor didn’t say anything. After a moment, the clacking of his work shoes approached my bed. I looked up and saw he was looking at me gravely.

“That kind of a connection requires a lot of thinking.” He said in a tone that matched his expression perfectly.

“Is that another way of calling me a ‘dummy?’” I asked, raising an eyebrow and resting my head on my hand.

“I’m saying you’d need time to think about it.” Victor folded his arms and frightened his glare on me further, “This morning, after you had made that accusation, you wouldn’t have had the time to make that connection. So let me ask you again.” Victor leaned forward and slowed the pace of his speech, 

“Under what pretense do you have to blame yourself?”

 I stayed silent, flipping between Victor’s eyes.  Words hung at the edge of my throat. Just tell him. My thoughts urged me incessantly, Just tell him about the mask. About the bombings. About Montu. Tell him everything. He’ll listen. I opened my mouth. 

Suddenly, one thought hit my head like a train.

I quickly turned and stood up from my bed, putting it between Victor and me. “I don’t remember my life being any of your concern.” My voice was emotionless and distant as I walked towards the bathroom door, “You’re my boss. My personal life shouldn’t have anything to do wi-”

A hand wrapped around my wrist and, before I could help it, I was pulled towards a firm chest. I scoffed and looked up, locking eyes with Victor. He glared down at me. I waited for him to speak but he made no move to do so. I pushed off of his chest with my free hand, only to have it captured by Victor’s other hand. He pulled it to the side and away from me, making me virtually defenseless. 

I glared up at him, but stopped the moment I read his expression. Victor’s eyebrows were furrowed, his lips were thin, and his cheeks were slightly tucked in. But, as I looked into his inky black eyes, one emotion became clear.

Determination.

“Victor,” I growled, “What are you-”

“Do you remember what I had said after your night at Souvenir?” Victor spoke seriously. I flinched. Victor waited for me to answer but, after seeing I wasn’t going to, sighed and said, “I told you that keeping things to yourself isn’t healthy. I told you you could confide in me about anything.  I told you that I would help. I promised you. Did you not believe me?” My shoulders slowly eased as I read his face. He showed no signs of deceit, no break in character, no falter in his voice. It was all the truth. He meant it… but why? Why would he say that? What was his reason to-

“You have spent your whole life to yourself.” As if reading my mind, Victor spoke up again, “You have felt the need to keep everything to yourself, to never let anyone in. You don’t need to think about it that way anymore. You have a loving family, friends, employees…” Victor paused a moment. He loosened his hold around my wrists and drifted his hands up my arms until he was at my upper arms. He squeezed them gently, “... you have me.” I hitched my breath. A lump formed in my throat and my eyes welled with water.

I have waited so long to hear those words.

...

I shook my head and blinked back my tears as I forced my eyes to the floor. I raised my hands and pushed against Victor’s chest.

“V-victor.” I struggled against the lump in my throat, “That’s why… that’s why I can’t tell you. I… can’t lose-” 

Victor forced my hands off of him and, in one swift motion, pulled me into his chest. He wrapped his arms around my body, shutting me out of the world around us and engulfing me in his warmth. The smell of his expensive cologne plugged my nose and the sound of the buzzing television was overtaken by his steady breathing and beating heart. I could feel his breath tickling my ear as he rested his head beside mine, closing the distance between us even further.

My body tensed as a sharp blush pushed through my cheeks. I kept my hands held out past Victor’s body, unsure of what to do with them. I felt Victor shift his head, his mouth grazing the tip of my ear. His warm breath teased the baby hairs on my neck causing a shiver to run through my body. His next words were told in a whisper but they stopped my heart and made my mind go blank. After years of waiting for those words, they finally came from the mouth of LFG’s CEO.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I paused a moment, letting his words reverberate through my head. Then, I felt my whole body relax. The tears I had tried so hard to hold back started falling down my cheeks. Victor took this moment to pull me even closer to him. Without hesitation, he continued, “No matter what happens, I’m here for you. You don’t have to hide in the dark anymore. Ikamara, 

“Let me help you.” 

Victor’s last words sent another shudder through my heart. I closed my eyes and, after a moment’s hesitation, buried my head in his shoulder. I shakily grabbed onto the back of his suit jacket. I squeezed the fabric tightly, as if letting it go would mean my death. I relished in the moment. Hoping that, at least in that moment, time would stop forever, and I would never have to leave his arms again. 

But, as soon as I thought that, flashes of the warehouse came flooding to my mind and played behind my closed eyelids. The chained front door, the empty classrooms, the secret room, the pictures... my pictures, the explosion, the lake,... Gavin.

I held back a sob as I gripped on to Victor’s jacket tighter. 

No. 

The word repeated itself in my head over and over, No. no no no NO! Please. Please just let me have this moment. Please let me take it in. Take him in.  I can’t keep this charade any longer. I can’t keep all of this to myself any longer. I need to vent it out. I needed to say something. 

Anything. 

The thought from before burned itself on the front of my brain. The same thought that made me want to distance myself from Lucien after that date. The thought that made me lie to Gavin’s face. The thought that made me scared to meet Kiro. The thought that stopped me from seeing my family as frequently as I wanted. The thought that terrified me to the core.

You’re putting their life in danger by letting him know.

So, through my watery eyes and aching heart, I muttered two short, strained words.

“I can’t.”

(Next)

[best-reviews]

Try These Tips to Keep Your Christmas Tree Fresh and Greener

Winter holidays

Don’t we all love the holidays, the cinnamon smell, the excitement of buying and getting the perfect gift, the general vibe that seems to make you forget about stress and life’s low moments. However, we believe that the Christmas tree is the star of the holidays. If you’re not making it to get to Santa Claus’ heart, then you’re definitely doing it for your little ones. Some of us, like those who are huge fans of the winter holidays, would start decorating sooner than anyone would even think. You can’t blame them, though. It’s really soul nurturing to see those colorful lights going on and off. It makes you feel like a kid again, doesn’t it? But how could you keep the Christmas tree fresh and green through the holidays? It’s kind of tricky if you’re one of those who love the smell of an all-natural tree. However, as always, we have your back on this. We’ve gathered some really useful tips. These will help you keep that Christmas tree alive and kicking! A little history on the Christmas tree For starters, there’s no actual exact information to let us know where Christmas trees were first used. It’s assumed that about 1,000 years ago, in some Northern European countries, people started this tradition. While nowadays, we’re proudly placing our holiday decorated trees in a special place of the house, where everybody can notice them, back in the old days things were quite different. It seems that people used to hang their Christmas trees upside down from the ceiling. Chains were used to keep them in place and attached to either the chandeliers or lighting hooks. Across Europe, especially the Northern parts, people didn’t use the whole tree, but rather just a branch or a smaller plant. So if you were to have a time machine and you’d go back in the early days of this tradition being started, you’d see cherry or hawthorn plants. Sounds pretty strange, doesn’t it? Well, this wasn’t all! Those who couldn’t afford a real plant, were turning to wood pieces that they’d put in a pyramid. It really looked like a real tree, which they’d decorate with paper, apples, and candles. First Christmas tree Going back to when this tradition started, it seems that Germany is the place where a home was first decorated with such a tree. Preacher Martin Luther is known as the first person to have brought a Christmas tree in his home, in the 16th century. The story of this event talks about the man walking one night before Christmas into the woods. The image that he saw, with the starts shinning through the tree’s branches, was the trigger. He was so impressed with the scene he saw that, as he got home, he told his kids that it made him think of Jesus. He imagined that he went down from the stars to have an earthly experience on Christmas time. Christmas trees around the world There are many parts in the world, where Christmas trees are decorated each year in public spaces, just to please people’s eyes. As you may already now, the tree in Trafalgar Square, London, England, represents one of the most famous ones. In fact, the tree represents a gift that Norway offers the UK each year, as a thank you for all the help they got during the World War II. Also the United States of America have their own tradition of decorating huge Christmas trees during the holidays. The White House has this tradition since the 1920s, where they place a beautifully decorated tree on their front lawn. There are many other parts in the world, where people have different views on what Christmas trees are all about. For instance, New Zealand uses as a holiday tree one that’s called ‘Pohutakawa’ that has red flowers. In other parts of the world, like India, Christmas trees are the Banana or Mango trees, which people sometimes decorate. No matter what one might say, a natural Christmas tree represents a really fun to do and beautiful holiday decoration. And many people agree on this, if we were to judge by the surveys. It seems that in 2015, 25.9 million real trees were purchased, summing up a total of $1.32 billion, according to the National Christmas Tree Association. However, as beautiful as a natural tree may sound, there are some issues you might bump into. So how do you keep it fresh and green during the whole holiday season? Keep on reading to find out our useful tips! Give it water as soon as possible! What you’re bringing home is a real and alive plant. Therefore, if you want to provide its freshness on a long run, then you’ll have to give it enough water. Like with any other living plants, water is the number one key-ingredient for a successful recipe. Experts suggest that appropriately hydrating your Christmas tree should do a very good job in keeping it fresh and green. According to co-owner of the Sugar Pines Farm in Chesterland, OH, Jane Neubauer, you can easily do this. You just have to buy a tree stand that comes with a built-in reservoir. If you check it regularly, there’s no way that you’ll not built a healthy relationship with your Christmas tree. You’ll get to understand how much water your holiday tree really needs. This built-n reservoir is magic because you can re-fill it regularly so that your plant doesn’t have to suffer not even for a bit. Also, nowadays you can buy all sorts of additives that are meant to maintain a certain water absorption and to keep away any possible bacteria. However, these are not as important as keeping your Christmas tree well-watered. Keep its trunk trimmed It’s quite an interesting process that takes place each time a tree is first cut. In order to close the wound, sap comes into the scene to seal the bottom. This is what makes it quite difficult for the tree to absorb enough water. Experts recommend to place a fresh cut at the bottom of your Christmas tree right before you put it in water. Another very important tip to keep in mind is that you should always put up the tree as soon as possible. Try to doing this the same day you bring it home. So how do you do this trick? Just take a saw and trim half an inch off the trunk. Do this before you place in water in a reservoir stand. Specialists advise that you should go for a perpendicular cut to the axis of the stem. Avoid as much as possible to make the cut on the trunk at an angle or in a V-shape. Otherwise, keeping your tree in an upright position in the stand can be difficult. However, if you cannot put up the tree right in the same day you bought it, we have a short-term solution for you. Experts say that keeping it in a cool place with plenty of water should do the job. But, as you might have figured out already, it is best to set your Christmas tree as soon as possible. Water it Did we already mention this? Well, yes, but in this part of the article, we’re trying to make you fully understand this tree’s need. As you followed our first tip, you should already have a water stand for your Christmas tree. Check it daily for water levels and keep in mind this general rule: one quart of water goes for each inch of your tree’s stem diameter. You should let go of those popular beliefs that if you drill a hole in the bottom of the trunk you’ll have your tree for a longer time. Also, that tip with using a certain temperature to water it is quite overrated. However, according to some debates, it seems that your tree’s longevity might depend on certain substances. Some people believe that using corn syrup, aspirin, or sugar can keep your tree healthy for a longer period of time. Well, we read through several sources and we found out that a recent study concluded that none of these substances could do better than clean water. It’s not to say that these do any harm, but rather that they are not too effective, either. However, nothing should keep you from experimenting! It’s your Christmas tree, in the end, right? Keep your tree out of any heat sources or lights Heat or direct exposure to sunlight won’t do your Christmas tree any good! Also, placing it too near the furnace can easily make it dry faster. It can become dry and brittle if it has too much heat coming its way, as experts say. As the decorating lights are concerned, those small lights are not to be avoided. Also, you can still go for the big ones if you keep on appropriately watering your tree the right way. Another useful trick is to lower the temperature in the room where you place it. This will slow down the drying process. However, if your tree does dry out, then you should seriously think of recycling it. Just take it out of your house and don’t burn it in the fireplace or wood stove. Turn off the lights This one tip is not only good for your tree’s longevity, but also for your well-being, as well. The idea is that lights, kept on for too long, can become very hot. This can lead to your tree drying faster and even, unfortunately, cause a fire chaos. Do things the right way and play it safe! If you’re not around for more hours in a row, just turn the lights off. You can’t monitor your tree so be smart about this! Also, it’s extremely important to always do a check up on your light installation. Make sure that all your bulbs function normally and that none of their cords for the lights are worn or frayed. It is what it is: real tress can catch fire. Just follow the general safety rules and your holidays will be another beautiful memory to add in your life’s repertoire! Conclusions Hopefully, you found good and useful content in this article. It’s no rocket science to keep your Christmas tree fresh and green for a longer period of time. Just make sure you completely understand what keeping a real tree indoor is all about and you should be just fine! It’s worth all the effort, we think, to keep that Christmas vibe going on, with a beautiful, taken care of tree. Give out tips a try and see for yourself! Read the full article

[fandomplethora]

Speechless.

The following post deals with the game(s) Doki Doki Literature Club, Mystic Messenger and then a sinister “challenge” called Blue Whale.

Recently I reblogged this post thinking that it was a joke about the game DDLC (Doki Doki Literature Club). I have played this game (along with a friend of mine) and I thought this was something edited.

It turns out...it’s not.

This is actual news coverage about a teenager that has committed suicide and his family, and the coroner, are linking his tragic death to the game. (At least a part of it.)

Here is the link to that and the full video as well.

So, I watched this video by PewDiePie (Felix) today talking about this. Watch it. I will link it here. (He begins talking about it around 6:35) anyways...they describe the game like this:

-advertised for 13 or older. (They ask if you are 13 and older before playing the game but also consistently warn you that this game is not suitable for children and not to play this game if you are easily disturbed due to it’s graphic content.)

-“characters suggest things to you and you decide what to do...” (I mean...kind of...but...they ask you to select words for poems and then it is a “decision making” game that needs to advance the plot. Just like any other game.)

-“the characters befriend and love you and give you tasks to do, but if you do not do them, they turn nasty.” (The game was made to begin “breaking” no matter what choices you made.)

-it is a free game. (Okay, that’s true.)

-it is an online game. (While it is on the computer...it is not an “online game” in that sense. But you do need an internet connection to play.)

-it is a mobile phone game. (Whoa, whoa, whoa...that’s not true at all.)

I was so confused because this is not how DDLC works. Also, again, DDLC has a consistent advisory warning about the content of the game and it is advertised as a psychological horror game. It does contain triggering content but it does warn you.

This just didn’t make any sense.

But, then, this is what got me:

-“...the game was linked with his mobile phone and he would be contacted by text message during the day and at night, often waking him up.”

Felix then says they were possibly talking about a different game.

A game that is actually mentioned in a different article about the same tragic event.

A game called Mystic Messenger.

A news article about that is linked here. (This article speaks about DDLC as well, so, to get to what they say about Mystic Messenger you will need to scroll down a bit.)

I was...speechless. Felix then says how they are describing a game “where you message people” and “gives your notifications at random points”...how he “thinks” this describes some main premises of MM (Mystic Messenger).

I have played this game as well so let’s match up the points to MM now...and also their contradictions.

-advertised for 13 years and older. (Some parts of the game are advertised for age 15 and older. Also, due to how the game is set up and how complicated it can get, it actually has attracted an older audience than 13 or even 15.)

-“characters suggest things to you and you decide what to do...” (They suggest guests...and you decide whether to invite them or not. But other than that...)

-“the characters befriend and love you and give you tasks to do, but if you do not do them, they turn nasty.” (The characters do befriend you and it is a dating simulation game...so, yes, they do “love you” and you do have “tasks” but, really, it is just the plot of the game to complete each route with each character. Also, you do have the “pressure”, if you will, to select correct answers to get a “Good Ending”. Other options...including missed chats, wrong chat options and not enough party guests in attendance for the finale of a game route will lead you to a “Normal Ending” or “Bad Ending”. These “endings” can be showing the characters, or your relationship with the characters, in a negative light. But, these characters never truly turn “nasty”. Not in my opinion.)

-it is a free game. (Yes, true...until you unlock other routes and other DLC’s.)

-it is an online game. (Not in the sense of interacting with other players...but, yes, you do need an internet connection to play.)

-it is a mobile phone game. (Strictly, so.)

But...just like Felix says in his video...it is like they combined the premises of both games (which...are not really the true premises). Then they twisted it in a way to create this dangerous view on these games.

When talking about this game(s) the family has said, and I quote, they “dragged his son in”, “it drags you in and makes it very real”, “once you get into it - it will not leave you alone”.

These sound like extreme exaggerations on both games. DDLC can be done in your own time and in one sitting or not. MM is over the course of 11 days but you do not have to answer any of the messages or chats.

Also, you can delete these games and stop playing them at any time. These games do break the fourth wall, can be considered “broken games” (by some), do deal with very real issues and Mystic Messenger does send you notifications in real time.

These games, as well, do deal with abuse, violence, mental illness, suicide, drug use and criminal activity.

These themes are also forewarned multiple times in both games to users.

But...at the end of the day, these are just games. You can stop playing. They can be deleted. And nothing will happen.

(There is no shame in not playing these games or deleting these games due to their content. Please, do so, if the content is triggering to you. Take care of yourself.)

(Comments on Felix’s video.)

The family has stated that “there is not confirmation yet, but we believe that the game could be linked to Ben’s (their child) death.” They have just listed it as a “potential cause”.

But the media is putting the blame and making DDLC the front face of this tragedy. And, now, an article is actually linking Mystic Messenger as a warning to parents and their children as well.

But these descriptions do not truly fit these games.

This media converage is disrespectful to a company like Team Salvato (DDLC) who created an intricate game as a pathway into a more intricate game (watch Game Theory if you do not know what I am talking about) and Cheritz (MM) that uses their game to donate to charities and provide “happiness” to their players. Both games also address severe issues such as abuse and watching out for signs of mental illness in the people around you. Even in yourself.

Also, I am not pushing blame on anyone for this tragedy. But there was something deeper happening here than a video game. Because, while a form of entertainment can have triggering content, it is not the root of the issue.

The media, and possibly even the family to some extent, did not totally know what their child was doing and/or did not fully understand it. (Which Felix also states in his video.) The proof of that is how poorly both games were even covered.

So, here’s where I’d like to bring up a more sinister, darker “game” that is truly not a “game” at all...

A “game” (or, “challenge”, if you will) called Blue Whale.

(Comments on Felix’s video.)

Blue Whale is a game that was in the news a while back for causing people to commit suicide. But it is much more sinister...this “game” “does not physically exist”, is “hidden in a world that cannot be found”, you are “trapped in a world with no escape”...”a world that lasts for 50 days, ending with you taking your own life.”

This game has spread worldwide. From Russia, to other places in Europe and now, as I have read recently, to Asia as well.

The game starts out between an “administrator” and a “participant/victim”. This game is mainly conducted through social media platforms. It includes the “administrator” assigning you daily tasks such as listening to certain music or watching horror-genre videos. These tasks grow in intensity as the days go on to things such as staying up the entire night, standing on the edge of great heights and mutilating your skin with a “whale” symbol. The final end task is to commit suicide.

These victims are, in my eyes, basically brainwashed, conditioned and manipulated. They could already been in a vulnerable place and the administrators of this game know this through monitoring them by their online presence. They make their victims think their devices have been infected by malware and viruses and threaten to release all their information and photos of them online if they do not “play”. The tasks they are given are meant to drive someone to that dark of a place where they will follow any instruction and, then, eventually, even take their own lives.

It’s evil.

In the last month (side note: DDLC does not take a month to play unless you truly spaced it out. Also, MM is an 11 day game unless you play more than one route.) of Ben’s life his family said they observed this behavior:

-no interest in school when he used to be one of best pupils in class

-problems sleeping

-problems eating

-“became darker inside”

They also stated that many things were happening in their son’s life but they believe the game is one part of it. That kids and parents need to be made aware.

They just want his death to “have meaning”.

And...that breaks my heart.

This whole situation is unfair and tragic.

But, if they truly observed a change in their son and also linked the timeline of it with a new engrossment in a game...they could be possible looking at the wrong game.

But...these changes in him alone are a sign of possibly severe mental illness. That’s the bigger picture...something very, very difficult was happening within your child.

And...there is a possibility that a sinister “challenge” such as “Blue Whale” preyed on that.

They are looking in the wrong place.

But besides that, games and challenges aside, the point is...your son was struggling with mental illness.

Even if he was playing a game such as DDLC or MM...that is not the root of the issue.

We need to reach out to our children, to our family, to our partners and our friends and speak to them, watch over them, help them. And pray they grasp our hands back.

Before it’s too late.

The games themselves are not the problem. The problem is a disconnect between one another where we miss something, overlook something, not pay close enough attention to something, not monitor your child...until a tragedy like this happens.

But no one is truly to blame. (Unless he did fall prey to such a sinister “challenge”.) from the information we do have, this is no one’s fault.

Also, the media needs to do their research (I know they had a couple people on the BBC interview that said relevant things but they also had some misinformation as well) before slapping a popular image of a game(s) on the screen for views and clicks. The game is not the point.

Missing something crucial.

Speaking out about the true root of mental illness.

Watching over each other.

Watching over our children.

That is the point.

[non-tintedglasses]

1st lesson of 2018: It’s (Clout over Basic Decency) Everyday, Bro

CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, DEATH & MENTAL HEALTH

For those who have no idea about who this generic American high school jock-looking guy is, the guy above is Logan Paul, an American Youtuber and “actor” notorious for having a obnoxious personality, an even more annoying brother and an equally brainwashed “Logang” consisting of children and pre-teens.

On the 31st December 2017, he uploaded a vlog where him and his friends went to the Aokigahara forest of Japan (also known as the Suicide Forest)  and filmed their “spooky adventure”. During this 15 minute vlog, he stumbles upon a dead body hanging from a tree, films it up close, focusing on certain bits of the corpse & make jokes on it, and uploads it to YouTube for millions of underaged fans to see. In other words, he had no consideration for the culture & laws of the country he was visiting, nor for those who could potentially have flashbacks or suicidal thoughts from this video, and certainly not even for the dead.  As expected, this has garnered a ton of backlash from Japanese & non Japanese people alike, especially those from the YouTube & mental health community and suicide/self-harm survivors or those who have lost someone to suicide. This lead to Paul issuing two apologies on Twitter and YouTube, which seemed incredibly insincere to many. After all, if you have to issue a second apology because you mentioned how you get views & film for 460+ days more than the word “Sorry” and end it with “Peace ✌️ #logang4life”, you bet no-one is going to take your second one that seriously. 

However, what was more harrowing than his actions, were his fanbase that were defending those actions. I can’t blame them, they’re children & they don’t know better. However, despite the fact that their idol told them specifically in his second apology not to defend his actions, they completely ignore that very statement & go on to post many bizarre reasons as to why people should “just let it go” and why they shall forever stan Logan. They even go on to spread xenophobic hate on people who criticise him (case in example, Reina Scully).  Some examples of things I’ve seen in this video is “He’s human like the rest of us. Everybody makes mistakes”, “Can we stop all of the hate, it’s a new year!!”, “It’s not like he killed someone” and even someone saying “That dead body should be lucky that he appeared in Logan Paul’s video” Little do they know, they are completely belittling the fact that a person, who seemed like he was stuck in his completely dark and abysmal mind, took his life, and how his loved ones now have to deal with the repercussions of bereavement and loss; and that another person saw that as an opportunity for exploitation & a joke. They make death seem like a joke, just like their idol did. Which is why I have a few points to address:

Dear #Logang or Logangsters or whatever the hell you’re called,

I understand personally what it’s like to be infatuated with a celebrity. I get a certain light, happy feeling whenever I see my favourite celebrity & I think to myself “Yeah, this person is literally gold!” You also probably get this feeling on a frequent basis whenever you see Logan. I also understand that being part of a fandom makes you feel a sense of belonging & unity. But ask yourselves this. What drew you to this guy? Why do you enjoy his videos?

Is it because he’s attractive? (which in that case, they’re plenty more fish in the sea) Is it because he’s a “maverick” and “living life to the fullest”? Is it because he “appreciates” his fans and the people around him?

The reason why I ask you this is because I really want you to consider his actions. See, whenever you are obsessed with a celebrity, it’s easy to throw moral compass out of the window; it’s easy to forget what’s right and what’s wrong. However, you cannot deny the fact that it is common sense to not film a dead body and to make jokes about it, irrespective of what your coping mechanism is. Even if you have a tiny lapse of judgement, people would have the sensibility not to edit that footage and upload it with a clickbait title for your cult of 15 million children to see. It’s also common sense to not run around a foreign country, disturb its people and nature & treat it as if it’s your playground. I cannot, for the life of me, understand how you find disrespect funny? As far as “living life” is concerned, I’m pretty happy sitting down and leading a calm “boring” life rather than be an obnoxious inconvenience to those surrounding me.

“But.. he’s human?? Haven’t we all done mistakes?” Let me educate you on what a mistake is. It’s stepping on the back on someone’s shoe whilst walking (I should know about that). It’s occasionally forgetting the odd birthday. It’s accidentally spilling something; in other words, something small & occasionally forgiven. However, being disrespected, even after your death, is something the majority of people can’t tolerate. On top of that, he’s a 22 year old, fully developed adult who has the ability to differentiate right from wrong; He isn’t a kid who needs people to constantly educate him on social etiquette and sensibility. He saw an insensitive bait for views, he took it, he screwed up, and now he needs to be held accountable. 

“He just wanted to raise awareness about suicide. Doesn’t that make him good?” This video had the same impact as “13 Reasons Why”. The complete opposite.                                                                                          There are several other ways to raise awareness about suicide, other than going all the way to a suicide forest to exploit someone’s death for views; Sitting down & thoroughly explaining why mental health should be a top priority, explaining the effects of going through suicidal thoughts, self-harm & mental illnesses, and providing resources & helplines to help those who are distraught is more convenient, correct and cheaper (but why do that when you’re an obnoxious brat with a couple of thousands of dollars & yes men to spare?)

“I’ve forgiven him. At least he’s said sorry”   Please, spare me the naivety. To be frank, his apologies (if you would like to call it that) is the equivalent of saying sorry after shooting someone in the leg. If this guy wasn’t a celebrity & if this didn’t get the backlash it received, he would have slithered away in his anonymity. Another reason why he’s apologising is because he wants to salvage the tiny amount of respect that he has so that he can guilt-trip you into liking him again. One of my favourite YouTubers, Nathan Zed, once said in a video that “You have a choice. Entertain & educate, or entertain & manipulate”  It doesn’t take a donkey to realise that Logan is doing the latter. As one tweet rightfully put it, he views you the same way as he sees that dead body: as a way to earn money. Please listen to yourself.

Even to the parents of these children, you have an equal responsibility of monitoring your child’s internet access. In fact, you have a larger responsibility of monitoring what content your child sees, since YouTube are failing to fulfil that very responsibility (with many examples of inappropriate content related to child exploitation on the YouTube kids app not being taken down). I’m not a parent myself, hence I have zero rights to talk about parenting, but all I know is that if my younger loved ones were watching these kind of people that encourage them to forget all human etiquette & join their “cult”, I would tell them to think about the consequences that their actions could face. And possibly break their device & delete their accounts while I’m at it.

You may choose to ignore my advice (after all, it’s mostly a free world and you can choose whatever you want to do). You can “dab” on me like I’m a hater. But when you choose to condone the actions of a celebrity who self-admittedly screwed up royally, and when you look back at this ten or fifteen years later, you would probably think “What the hell was I thinking?” If you think about it, for one person who spouts blatant and shameless ignorance about such sensitive issues, there would be another person who would be thinking that their death would bring nothing but a sigh of relief to those around them and choose to leave. I hope and pray for nothing but that you educate yourselves and become more aware of the effects of depression and suicide. Because as far as I know, if we take out the time to listen and empathise with those who are suffering with such illnesses and lend them a hand, I swear that you could give someone a reason to smile and to live (and to possibly do something Logan Paul couldn’t do, even if he tried). And if this is the generation we could become, then would raise my head high and be proud to be part of this.

Last but not the least, to those who are surviving these dark moments. Please get yourselves the help that you need (I will be reblogging some hotlines, websites and resources as soon as I upload this). I, along with all of the people of this world, have no idea how tomorrow would turn out, but the only way you could know is by being there. And regardless of how tomorrow turns out, I would certainly welcome you with open arms and stand by you.

PS: By the time this post comes out, you would have probably found out that Youtube has severed certain ties with Logan Paul. But considering that him and his brother are still trying to gain sympathy (and subscribers), his head won���t be coming out of his arse any time soon. So please still think about who and what you’re watching.

[sunlightdances]

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader Warnings: Blood, canon-related injuries, talk about self doubt and anxiety, Dean being kind of a temporary asshole. Author’s Note: Am I too late for angst day? Don’t be scared, y'all know I can’t help but add a bit of fluff. Summary: You’ve been hiding your feelings for Dean for months now and when you have a fight, you reach your breaking point.

You’ve got your hands pressed hard on Sam’s abdomen in the backseat of the Impala, your hands quickly turning crimson as you try to stop the bleeding.

Dean’s driving, his hands clenched so tight to the wheel that his knuckles are white. The muscle in his jaw is ticking repeatedly, and he doesn’t look at you as he races back to the bunker.

“Dean–” you say, trying to get his attention. You want him to say something, anything, because anything would be better than this silence.

“Don’t.” He barks.

You open your mouth to reply, but Sam groans, and you turn your attention back to him. “Hang in there, Sammy.” You say, keeping an eye on his pupils and monitoring his pulse.

When you get to the bunker, Dean helps you maneuver Sam into the closest room and you grab your med kit from your duffle.

Sam got acquainted with a werewolf on your latest hunt and he needs his wound to be disinfected and stitched up before it gets worse.

When you were nineteen, your parents were killed hunting, and feeling a bit lost, you signed up for the military. You had experience working at a hospital when you were in high school as part of a college study program, and you took courses to become a combat medic. You shipped out when you were 22, and served three years before coming back home.

You started hunting again when the end of the world was happening, and ran into the Winchesters around the same time. It’s been a few years now, and you’re starting to lose track of the amount of time your medical knowledge had to be used to save one of their lives.

“He needs help.” Dean’s gruff voice interrupts your thoughts, and you turn your head to see him glaring at you.

“I’m going as fast as I can.”

You know Dean blames you for what happened to Sam. Sam was trying to protect you after your harebrained plan to trap the werewolf went wrong, and he took a claw to the stomach for it. You feel awful, even though you know Sam is going to be fine. You’re still aware that it’s your fault.

“Move over.” You say, shouldering up next to Dean. “Hold his arms down.” You say, and then to Sam, “This is going to hurt. I’m sorry.” You clean the wound with alcohol, and he grunts, his teeth grinding. “Just a few more seconds…” You say, biting your lip as you try to keep your eyes from welling with tears. It’ll just make it harder for you to concentrate.

Remembering your training, you disconnect and work on doing the stitches tight and neat, until Sam finally passes out from the pain.

When you’re done, you take a shaky breath, belatedly realizing you’re getting Sam’s blood on your face.

"Let him sleep it off and then we can move him to his bedroom." You say quietly, and Dean stays silent, his hands on his hips as he avoids your gaze.

"That was really fucking stupid, kid." He says, his voice cold. "You know better than to jump in front of a fucking werewolf--"

"I didn't jump in front of a werewolf! I had a plan. I didn't--"

"You didn't mean to almost get Sam killed." Dean says, his voice hard and eyes dark.

You feel like you've been slapped. "Of course I didn't! Jesus Christ, Dean--"

"You were being too reckless. You can't keep acting like this!" Dean hisses. "You're going to get hurt or someone else is going to get hurt trying to bail your ass out."

"I'm not--" you say, trying to defend yourself, but Dean just barrels right over you.

"Ever since you showed up we're constantly getting into more shit. I swear I've never met anyone who just runs face first into--" He stops himself, exhaling hard.

You're frozen, unable to react. You keep your eyes down, knowing that if you see the disappointment and anger on his face, you'll crumble. You know he's upset because of Sam, but he's been taking it out on you more and more lately, and the way he talks to you combined with the feelings you still have for him are slowly making you crazy.

"I'm going to pack." You tell him softly, afraid to speak louder in case your voice cracks.

His face is unreadable, but there's a flash of something in his eyes as his face softens. "Kid..."

"No, you're right, Dean. I'm not doing you guys any favors. Sure, I can stitch you up but usually you need stitches because of me anyway."

He doesn't say anything, even though it seems like he wants to. You check on Sam one more time and then brush past Dean to get to your bedroom, refusing to let your emotions cloud your judgment this time.

.

.

You don't wait until morning. You take a quick shower because if you don't, you'll never forget the sight of Sam's blood on your hands.

After you shower, you start packing. You empty your drawers and make yourself do it mechanically, without thinking.

You hear footsteps outside your door a few times, but he never comes in. You can practically feel him wearing the floor down in front of the room, but still he never knocks and never comes in. You both wish he would, and want to never talk to him again.

Its dawn when you're finally finished. You're sort of glad, even though it makes you feel guilty, that Sam is still asleep, because he'd never let you leave like this. He'll try to convince you to stay, and you can't do that. You know Dean's right. Your parents were killed trying to protect you, and if you don't leave, Sam and Dean will end up the same way.

You don't stop in the kitchen where Dean is on your way out. You just go. You hear him call your name and hear the scrape of his chair on the floor, but you don't give in.

"Kid, wait." He says, jogging to catch up to you in the long hallway. "Stop."

"I'm just going to go, Dean. Please, don't make this harder than it already is."

His green eyes are pained as he stares at you. "I didn't mean what I said." His hand lifts up like he wants to touch you, but he doesn't. "I was-- I was upset and Sam was hurt, and--"

"You were right." You say, your voice cracking. "How many times have I had to help you after a hunt? Or Sam? You're just going to keep getting hurt if I stay here."

He looks away from you, swallowing hard. When he looks back up, his face is more open then you've ever seen it. "Don't do this."

Confused, you furrow your brow. "Dean--"

"Don't. I-- I've been an asshole and I'm sorry. You're not the problem. I am."

"What are you talking about? You said--"

"I was wrong," he says firmly. "You-- you've always been the strongest one out of all of us. I mean-- shit, kid, you fought in a damn war."

"There are different types of wars, Dean. You and Sam have been through it too."

He shakes his head, frustrated. One arm comes up to bracket you in against the wall. "I hate that I made you doubt yourself. I-- I've been pushing you away."

"Why?" You ask, feeling desperate.

"You drive me insane, you know that?" He says, his voice dropping in pitch. "You deserve so much more than any kind of life you'll find with me, sweetheart."

Your heart starts beating hard, unable to understand what you're hearing. He can't be saying what you think he is. "I don't-- I don't understand."

"You showed up in our lives and saved our asses, literally and figuratively. I didn't know how to deal with what I was feeling for you, and last night... Sam got hurt but it could have so easily been you. Every time we hunt I'm scared out of my mind that you're going to try to be a hero and get yourself killed."

You're barely breathing at this point, too afraid to believe what he's saying.

Dean's hand lands on your waist, pulling you slightly closer. "I'm in love with you." He says, his voice rough with emotion. "I was an asshole and I pushed you away, but I can't-- if you leave, I'm just going to track you down and drag you back."

The tears you've been holding back finally escape, and your forehead meets his shoulder, his arm moving from your waist to the back of your head, guiding you closer. Your bag hits the ground with a thump and you pull back just far enough to see his eyes before you lean in and kiss him, hard.

He responds immediately, his hands threading through your hair and mouth opening under yours, kissing you like he'd never get enough. He makes this noise, somewhere between a groan and a sigh, and you arch against him in response.

"Don't go." He whispers, eyes shut. "Stay. Please. I'll deal with you hunting if you deal with me being a pain in the ass." His mouth twitches upwards in a smile.

"If you swear you're never going to talk to me like that again... then okay." You whisper.

"Okay?" He smiles, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I promise, baby. Never again."

"Okay." You repeat, kissing him on the cheek, his stubble scraping your lips lightly. His mouth finds yours again, and you sigh, feeling content, finally.

[dcbicki]

“You’re Gonna See it Someday; It’s Affection Always” - Chapter 4

Fandom: Veep Characters: Dan Egan, Amy Brookheimer Pairing: Dan/Amy Rating: Explicit content In which Amy’s pregnant, and Dan already has a plan mapped out for them.

If she’s in this for the long haul then he will be, too. If she’s keeping this baby (his baby), then he’s keeping her close by.

If she’s ready for this, for change, for restless nights and shitty diapers at two o'clock in the fucking morning, then he’ll join her.

They fucked, and now they’re fucked.

Chapter 1: x | x Chapter 2: x | x Chapter 3: x | x

-

“Can you please get off your fucking phone?” Amy nudges his elbow, nods over to a poster glued on the wall opposite them, “Can’t you read?”

Dan rolls his eyes, dodges her glare and continues to type away on his cell for a moment before he shuts it off and slips it into his coat pocket.

“There’s like one poster in here, Amy.” He grumbles, scratches at his chin, holds back a yawn, “It’s not like I’m the only one doing it. It’s New York for fuck’s sake. Everyone is on their phone.”

He shoots a look over to the blonde couple sat beside the reception desk, the guy on a call, the heavily pregnant girl quite clearly texting someone.

“I’m not.”

“Remind me to get you a medal for that, by the way. This is probably the first time I’ve ever seen you holding something other than your phone.”

There’s a pamphlet in her hands, and she’s been scanning it front-to-back for like twenty minutes now.

“It’s informative. And I’ve told everyone I’m unavailable right now anyway, so…”

“Really? You told Selina you were unavailable?” Dan perks a brow, turns to look down at her, knee brushing against her leg and Amy flinches, shifts.

She pulls a face, “Surprisingly, she’s not being as big of a cunt about this as you’d imagine. “Besides,” she clears her throat, “it’s you she hates.”

“She doesn’t hate me.” He frowns, shakes his head in that cocky way she hates, “She needs me.”

“She needs your mediocre bullshitting skills, not your actual bullshit.” Amy shrugs, smiles softly, “And she blames you for this.

Dan sighs, huffs, uncrosses his legs and leans forward in his (squeaky) seat, rests his elbows on his knees, “Whatever. She probably just wants you to be better at this than she was. Lord fuckin’ knows Catherine wasn’t exactly raised by sane parents.”

Amy snorts, “You think we’re sane? Dan, we’ve had more breakdowns between the both of us than the whole patient list of a mental asylum. I’d be surprised if the kid didn’t come out in a fucking straitjacket.”

“Well, we can blame your dysfunctional family for those batshit genes, can’t we, Ames?”

“Oh, fuck you. You think you’re normal? I’ve seen you eat coffee.”

“It’s not my fault Gary didn’t fill up the machine-”

“Miss Brookheimer?”

“Yes.”

She’s picking up her bag before Dan can get another word in, but he stands to follow her anyway, stopping dead in his tracks when she does the same.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“In there.” He points behind her, back toward the room her doctor just emerged from and disappeared to, and then he smirks. “Let’s go.”

“No, no. You’re waiting here.”

She wags her finger, glances around the waiting room, “I invited you out of courtesy, not so you could get all hysterical and start crying and shit. Because, let’s be honest, we all know you will.”

“Amy,” Dan begins, steps closer, “I’m coming in there with you, just as I did in you last night.”

Her face flushes and she’s seriously considering slapping him in the face right in front of all of these people.

He grabs her elbows then, spins her around and walks her forward, carefully trailing at her heels.

“How are we feeling today?” Her doctor’s chipper (more than Amy would like, mind you). She’s about fifty, has long red hair pulled into a braid, glasses perched on the end of her nose. And she smiles, all white teeth and pink lips, and Amy loathes her.

“I’d rather die than be here.” Amy mumbles, feigns the smallest of smiles. She thrusts her bag into Dan’s chest, grits her teeth, “You can sit.”

He places her bag down on the floor beside the chair - has to bite his tongue first, of course - and licks his lips, “I think I’ll stand, thanks.”

“Are you the husband?”

“Husband?” There’s a snort - a choke, almost - and Amy is laughing then, “Husband, no. Fuck no.” She can feel Dan’s (annoyed) eyes on her, and it only amuses her more, “He’s just the sperm donor.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever had a donor tag along to a scan, but, hey - who am I to judge? There’s a first time for everything.” She’s smiling, all honest and true, and Dan just purses his lips, nods once or twice.

She’s facing Amy now, holding up a tube of something in her gloved hand, “Okay. Are you settled?”

The blonde on the bed adjusts slightly, tensing her shoulders as she pulls on her blouse, draws it up from under her skirt until it gathers below her breasts so her stomach is bare.

“All right.” The doctor - something Jones, maybe? - approaches then, “This might feel a little cool at first.” She flicks her hand holding the tube then, squirting some clear liquid onto Amy’s pale stomach.

She twitches, and Dan grins when she bites her bottom lip at the cold sensation.

There’s a chair pulled around then, and the older woman sits down beside Amy’s legs. She reaches over to one side, pulls the transducer out of its place and smoothes it over her patient’s belly, in circles and stripes, creating a pattern.

“I see you have a full bladder.”

“I was told it’d be clearer that way.” Amy clears her throat, avoids Dan’s curious stare as she moves one arm to rest behind her head, propping herself up.

Their doctor - Amy’s doctor - nods, smiles (again!), and she makes a strange noise as she continues to stare at the monitor.

“Yep.” She’s moving her head, craning her neck as though she’s looking for something.

Dan only notices because he’d been watching Amy watch her, watching as her body stiffened at the woman’s silence.

“What?”

He isn’t panicking, and he isn’t losing his cool - mainly because this isn’t his area of expertise and really doesn’t know shit when it comes to medical care or pregnancies or abnormalities, so he has next to no idea if something is even wrong or not.

But Amy seems concerned (well, only slightly), so he’s concerned for her (well, a little bit).

“Is there-”

“No. Sorry,” She shoots Dan a blank look, then proceeds to talk to Amy, “Just took me a moment to find the little nugget.”

Little nugget? Really?

Amy’s eyes are wide, though less than they had been a second ago, and she crinkles her nose, “Is it… healthy?”

Despite himself, Dan finds his hand reaching for her side. Not for her hand, not for her arm. But he fingers the waistband of her skirt, taps one finger along her skin.

“Everything looks good. Hang on just a sec.”

She swivels back around in her stool, clicks on some keys on the machine that make the monitor almost freeze-frame, and then she’s looking over at them again, “And… there’s your baby.”

Shit.

“Fuck.”

“Agreed.”

She holds one finger up to the screen, points at something that looks about the size of a whole fucking fig.

And then the doctor’s standing up, brushing her hands down her white coat, “I’ll give you a moment.”

Dan waits until she’s at least halfway out the door before he speaks, breaks the awkward silence, “You can see it, right?”

Amy nods, squints, “It’s so fucking… tiny.”

He shrugs at that, moves his eyes from her face to the screen again, “Takes after you, then.”

“Oh, shut up. It’s supposed to be that small.”

“Not gonna lie, it does look like you just ingested a whole fruit.”

Amy smirks, leans forward and drops her hands to her lap, carefully avoiding the goo on her stomach. “How the fuck am I gonna carry that thing around when it gets bigger?”

It’s a little surreal, in all seriousness, Dan thinks. He made that. They made that. They made a person.

“Are you gonna start crying like a little bitch now?” She jokes, jabs a finger into his ribcage, and Dan rolls his eyes, swats her hand away.

“Fuck off. It’s just… weird.”

“Put yourself in my shoes. I’m gonna have to put up with two of you now.” Amy says, raising her eyebrows, “I thought one of you was bad.”

“Oh, please, you love me.”

“Correction, I can stand you. Sometimes. On occasion.” She swallows, shifts blue eyes from his own to his chin, “Can you bring her back in here so we can get the scan and leave?”

She’s closed off suddenly, it seems, and Dan has half a mind to strap her to the bed and get her to talk to him. But he won’t, because he has other plans.

“Yeah, you know what, that’s a good idea. I think I’m losing testosterone just being in this fuckin’ building.”

The fucking scan picture doesn’t fit in her purse so she has to rely on Dan to keep it safe in his wallet.

He’s folded the screenshot in half, shoved it inside the right sleeve of his wallet, and forced that into his trousers’ back pocket.

Thankfully, there’d been a bathroom in the clinic so she could empty her bladder before he’d practically dragged her out of the building - hand around her wrist (not too tightly, just comfortably so) - and headed off towards a book store down at the end of the street.

It’s almost like he’d planned ahead, the asshole.

“I don’t have time to read you a bedtime story, Dan. I’ve got work to do.”

She’s shrugging him off when they’re past the doorway, the smell of fresh books encasing them, “As do you, by the way. In case you’ve forgotten, we have a former President to elect as president.”

“Look, I’m only doing this for your benefit,” she’s following him down aisles now, stopping at a section filled with childcare books and manuals.

“Really?” Amy groans, “I don’t have time to read up on this kind of shit. That’s what the internet was invented for. And phones. So that when I need information, I can just look it up, and I don’t have to rely on ‘Mary Sue’s Tip for the Perky Pregnancy’.”

She reads off the title, printed in big bold letters on a book behind Dan, and he shifts to pick it up and wave it in her face.

“You know what? Maybe Mary Sue could teach you some stuff.” He places the book down in her hands, much to Amy’s chagrin. And then another, and another.

It’s like he already knew which books-

“Jesus fucking Christ, is this where you were last night?” Her face is the picture of utter disbelief, mixed in with some glee for good measure, “You’re a fucking pussy, you know what?”

“What?”

“What? Ever since I fucking told you I was pregnant, you haven’t stopped, not once. It’s all ‘Oh, Amy, read this forum’ and ‘Oh, Amy, be careful’.”

She shakes her head, shoves the five books in her hands back over to him, forcing them into his chest. “I’m starting to think you’re actually excited.”

“You think I’d be acting like this if you were anybody else?”

“I don’t know, Dan. I don’t even know why you’re acting like this with me. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

He groans, readjusts the books so they’re all weighing in one arm, “Can’t you just be fuckin’ grateful and move on?”

“No.” Amy folds her arms over her chest, blinks once, twice, “No, because you’re being weird, and nice, and caring, and it’s fucking scary.”

He smirks then, shrugs his empty arm, “Maybe I’m just enjoying having some control over you.”

“Is that what you think this is? I let you be involved and suddenly I need you to take care of me, to watch me?” She fakes a shudder, starts to walk towards the exit. “You can’t control me, you idiot.”

“Maybe not. But it’s not like you can get rid of me, Ames.” He nods, pointedly, “It’s not like you want to.”

“I want to.”

“Fine, maybe you do. But the point is, is that now you can’t. I’m here, and I’m gonna be there, and I’m gonna be everywhere from now on. I’m gonna be right beside you whether you still want me to be or not. I’m gonna be standing right here, with you, even if you tell me to leave. Because you asked. Because you let me.”

Amy only stares up at him, all tense and heavy breaths, “You’re a fucking prick.”

“Yeah, well, you’re no picnic, sweetheart.” He informs her, one corner of his mouth turning upward, “And you chose this prick.”

“Believe me, I’ve never regretted anything more.”

“More than agreeing to move in with me?”

She doesn’t understand him. She doesn’t understand this him. And she doesn’t think she wants to.

Original Dan was already complex enough.

Asshole.

“Look, I’m gonna go pay, and then we can go. All right? Will you be happy then?” He’s talking to her as though she’s a child, and she really fucking hates it.

“I don’t think you could ever make me happy.”

“I don’t think it’s happiness you want, Amy. I think it’s comfort.”

He’s brushed past her, making his way towards the cashiers.

“Oh, and you’re gonna make me comfortable?”

The five - no, six - books slide across the counter and Dan is already pulling his card from his wallet, and Amy makes a note of avoiding looking at the picture hidden in a slot.

“I mean, it’s not gonna be a bed of roses or anything, but at least we like each other. At least we fuck pretty well.”

“So romantic.” She keeps her arms crossed, closed off, “Honestly, you’re such a fucking charmer.”

“I’m sorry, Amy, I don’t turn on the charm until the third month of dating. And we’re no there yet.”

“Trust me, it’ll be a miracle if you even survive long enough to turn it on. You have no charm. You’re just one of Satan’s little helpers dressed in a nice suit, with mediocre looks.”

The cashier has been watching them for a moment, amused, scanning the books as slowly as humanly possible, and Amy is peeved.

“Can you fucking hurry up? I’m gotta go home and slit my wrists.”

“Funny.” Dan glares, faking a smile over at the till girl. “My wife’s a little on edge.”

“Don’t you fucking dare-”

“You’d think being married to me would be comforting but, nope, she’s still just a raging bitch.”

“I swear to fuck-”

“A raging bitch with the sex drive of a retired pervert on viagra.” He can feel Amy glaring, fuming beside him, and Dan smirks wider, winks at the cashier girl, “Honestly, it’s just been fucking, and fucking, and I think she’s a little dick-crazy at this point. I mean fuck!” Dan exclaims, throwing up his hands, making a scene, watching as Amy squirms, “

The girl - no more than nineteen years old - just blinks, stares, and her cheeks flush as she chews at her bottom lip. “Okay.”

“D'you know what I mean? Of course you do, you’re fuckable.” He shrugs (with no charm, no suave).

“Would you like to sign up for our new newsletter? It’s, uh, aimed at expectant parents?”

“Yes!”

Slap him! Pull his fucking hair out, right now!

“No.”

He proceeds to give the young woman his email adress, and his phone number even though she doesn’t ask, and when his total is amounted, he pays in silence.

And, by the time they’ve left the store, by the time they’re back in her apartment, Amy is done.

She whacks his chest, beats fists against him, damn near tears his head from his shoulders. <(If she wasn’t so much shorter, she probably could have done it.)

“Can you calm the fuck down?”

“Can you die?”

Dan chuckles, tosses the heavy bag on the floor behind the door, slipping his coat for his shoulders when she’s finally stopped hitting him.

“Why are you here?”

“Because it’s late as fuck and I’m exhausted? Because you have a bed, a pretty fucking comfortable one I imagine?”

“No. No, no, no. If you’re sleeping here, you’re sleeping in here.” She points a finger down at the couch, “And I don’t have any extra pillows so you’re just gonna have to figure it out.”

“Are you fuckin’ serious?” He looks pissed, unimpressed as all hell, and Amy is fucking glowing.

She walks away then, brushing past his shoulder, heading down the small corridor to her bedroom.

Once her door has slammed shut, she makes a point of opening it again just to say, “Goodnight, douchebag.”

“Fuck you.”

He doesn’t sleep.

How the fuck is he supposed to get a good night’s rest on her sofa when it’s not even a fucking pullout?

And it seems she hasn’t slept much either because, when he gets up at three in the morning to take a leak, her bedroom door is open and she’s sat indian style on her bed, legs crossed, a book in her lap.

When the hell had she come into the living room and snatched one of those?

He goes for a piss first, carefully avoiding any floorboards that looks even remotely creaky. But then the water of the tap runs when he washes his hands, and on his walk back, she pulls him up.

“Did you know I have to gain weight?”

Dan leans in the doorway, one shoulder pressed into the wood, and he smiles (faintly), “Like that’s ever been a problem.”

“Fuck off, I’m being serious.” She looks at him (briefly, barely), and then she’s bag to reading, one hand running along her forehead. “There’s so much shit I don’t know.”

He’s really not in the mood for a heart-to-fucking-heart at three o'clock in the morning - or, well, ever - but she looks seriously unnerved and terrified, and he isn’t sure he likes it, likes watching her in pain.

Get a grip, Egan.

“Hey,”

He nears her then, walks closer until he’s at the foot of her bed, and Dan reaches a hand out to grab her leg, wrapping his palm around her ankle, “You’ll be fine.” He squeezes, and Amy holds her breath for a moment, lifting her gaze to meet his own.

“Easy for you to say, you don’t give a shit about anything.”

“That’s not true.” He frowns - for some strange reason - and he sits down beside her legs, hands still cradling her skin, still touching her smooth edges. “You know that’s not true.”

“No, I don’t. You don’t give a shit about your work, not really. You jump from one job to another and it barely even phases you. You’re a fucking snake. You shed your skin like one, anyway. I’m not like that. I don’t adjust… I can’t adjust to this.”

“Ames, come on.” He tries a smile (at least), but he’s only half-sincere because he’s sleep-deprived and also really fucking not in the mood for this kind of chitchat.

“And, let’s be honest, you don’t give a shit about your relationships either, I mean- Christ, do you even have friends or just people that you occasionally fuck or screw over?”

She sighs, heavily, and it’s so un-Amy that he hates the sound of her breath.

“Are you gonna give a crap about this kid?”

“Amy.”

“Seriously.” She nods, mostly to herself, and she plucks his hand off of her leg, holds his wrist between her fingers, “I’m not fucking around. Like, I get that you’re gonna be a dick, and I get that you’re all proud that your dick worked wonders, and I get that you think that you have some kind of weird ownership over me. I get it. I get that you’re a asshole, and there’s nothing I can do to change that.”

She lets go of him, almost as though something, as though his touch, burns her skin, “I fucking hate it, and I fucking hate you most of the time, but what I don’t get is why you’re acting like you give a shit?”

To his own surprise - or maybe it’s intentional - he crawls over the bed, all long limbs and crinkled shirt, and he knits dark brows with a sigh, and she hates the sound because it’s so unlike him.

“I’m not good at this kinda shit, Amy. You know that, probably better than anyone given no one else has ever stuck around long enough.” He almost sounds pained, pitiful , “I’m just- I don’t like not having you around.”

It’s honest, and probably the truest thing he’s ever said to her. But it’s not news.

She already knows how much he likes, enjoys her company. She already knows he likes having her around to keep him busy, on his toes. She already knows that he enjoys messing with her, using her.

“That’s not a reason.”

“What the fuck do you want me to say? Fuck.” Dan gulps, and she watches his throat, watches his façade crack, eyes wide.

He looks childlike, innocent, and it amuses her in some twisted way she isn’t sure she likes, “I’m not this fuckin’ guy, alright? But I’m trying.”

“Why the fuck are you trying?” Amy rasps, “I know you. I know you. I asked you for help. I asked the Dan Egan who calls me an uptight bitch at least once a day to help me. I didn’t ask for this… fucking… Ken doll?”

It’s bad, and she knows it.

Amy closes her eyes, close the book, “I want you to be an asshole, okay? I need you to be an asshole, because this is creeping me the fuck out. We’re not playing house.”

“I know.”

“Look, we fucked, and now we’re fucked. That’s all this is. I don’t want you to buy me dinners or show me off. I’m not a fucking prize. Take me off the fucking pregnancy pedestal. Stop giving a shit. We aren’t those people.”

“I do give a shit.”

“Then give less of a shit.” Amy shrugs, watches as he rolls his eyes, bites his bottom lip. “It’s not like I’m asking a lot of you.”

You have no idea.

He grabs her ankle again (in one hand), and rests his other hand on her knee, “Amy, I don’t give a shit about you.”

I give two shits. I give five shits. I give many shits.

Jesus fucking wept, I give all the shits.

“See?” She smirks, genuinely, and pats the hand on her knee, “There’s my asshole.” She tries to avoid letting her touch linger over his knuckles. But it’s hard, and he catches her fingers in his grasp before she can pull her hand away.

“Does this mean I can sleep with other people now?”

“No.”

“God, you’re a bitch.”

“Maybe try something other than ‘bitch’ now that I’m actually carrying your child?”

Dan’s face lightens up then, and he runs his hand up from her knuckles to her forearm, “Like a pet name?”

“No.”

“You mean you don’t want me to call you pumpkin?” He grins, and pearly whites and transparent charm, “Darling?”

“Fuck, no.”

She goes to pull her hand away - because, honestly, this is a whole lot more time than she’s usually willing to spend letting somebody touch her.

But he doesn’t let go, and she holds her breath until resignation sets it. When it does, she grabs the book on her legs and places it in his lap, randomly settling on a page to read. He lets her, doesn’t oppose.

“Sweetie? Sweetheart? Sweet thing?”

Please be joking.

“You could just call me by my name?”

“Brookheimer?” Dan grimaces, “Baby?”

“Seriously, I’m gonna puke on you if you don’t shut your mouth in the next five seconds.”

“How about I keep my mouth open, but I stop talking?”

He moves the baby book from his lap, watches as her eyes drift over the closed cover. “You can’t be serious.”

“You don’t even have to do anything, just lie there.” His hands fly around the air then, and he’s pulling on her legs again, lying her down flat on her back against the mattress, her head propped up by her pillows, “And, you know, enjoy it.”

“Can I fake it?” Amy squirms when he draws her t-shirt up her belly, scrunching the cloth up below her breasts, warm breath dancing along her stomach.

“No.”

He shakes his head, and she can feel his hair against her abdomen, feel his nose brush against her clothed pelvis, his hands slipping below the waistline of her pyjama shorts.

“Hurry the fuck up then. I’m gonna fall asleep soon.”

Dan laughs (short, cut off), and he wraps his hands around the curves of her waist instead of pulling her shorts down, “You fall asleep on me and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Then you won’t get your fucked-up little mini-me.”

“True. Maybe I’ll just torture you a little bit.”

“Oh, and how exactly would you do that?”

“I have my ways.”

Amy’s eyes drift to a close when he starts kissing her stomach, from her chest to her navel, “Dan, you suck at foreplay. I doubt you could even get a horny nun wet.”

“Don’t underestimate me, Amy. You’ll live to regret it.”

She can feel his hand slip below the bottom of her shorts, pushing the crotch of her underwear aside to smooth his fingers along her slickness.

“Fine.”

It would have been fine if her phone hadn’t buzzed right at that moment, if Dan’s hadn’t done the same only seconds later.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

He’s up before she can even collect herself, phone pressed to his ear, talking shit down his end. It’s Ben, she figures, given Kent is calling her.

“What?”

She sounds aggravated, she knows, but honestly she has zero fucks left to give at this point. Just as she was getting into things-

“We’re gonna need you to come down to the office… right now. Selina is… how do you say… having a meltdown the size of Washington? State, not capital.”

Of fucking course.

Amy doesn’t think she’s ever gone into work looking so… tired?

Fuck, she looks and feels like hell but it’s not even four o'clock in the fucking morning so, really, who gives a flying fuck?

And Selina is wearing silky pyjama pants, for fuck’s sake.

“Ma'am?”

Her voice is low, and her phone is tight in her hand, Dan is right behind her (as per fucking usual).

“Amy! Yes.” Selina starts, walking over to the blonde, patting her on both shoulders, “I figured it out.”

“You figured what out, ma'am?”

“The perfect campaign strategy.”

Sure you did.

She can practically Dan think as much.

“You’re gonna marry Dan, and we’re gonna get Wendy - Mike whatever’s girlfriend - to write a nice little piece about the two of you, and how you’re coping with this… situation. Okay?”

Yeah, because Dan hasn’t already thought of that or anything.

Yeah, because Wendy would definitely write a little piece about two people working for the boss who fired her husband?

Sure.

“Ma'am, believe me I’ve already proposed-”

“Oh, mazel tov, then.” Ben shrugs, half-assed and careless from his seat on the conference room sofa.

His feet are propped up and he’s holding that giant mug as though it’s his golden ticket to the chocolate factory.

“No.” Amy trails off, disapproving frown evident on her face, “No. I’m not marrying him, and I’m not gonna do any fucking interviews. I’m sorry, but-”

“Amy, I have never doubted you.” Well, that’s some serious bullshit. “You have been my right hand woman since day fucking one and, right now, I need you to do this small,” Selina pinches two fingers, “small thing for me. Okay?”

Sweet fuck, send help.

“People like pregnant people. It’s not my fault you opted out of an abortion. Lord knows I would’ve fucking gotten rid of it because, let’s be honest, your baby daddy’s no prince but, hey, this is where we’re at.”

She holds up both hands innocently, palms facing Amy, and then she’s walking around the room, poking a finger at Kent’s shoulder.

“Give her some stats or something.”

He looks confused, or really rather just baffled, so Dan takes this moment to pipe up, rounding Amy’s side and clearing his throat.

“We could say that we’re engaged,” he starts off, all cunning and smart, and Amy wants to strangle him and his fucking ideas, “right? We get a ring, we get a place, we get a… crib and shit?” He spins around to face the blonde woman then, brows raised, face proud. “Yeah?”

That’s already kind of our plan, genius. It’s not like you weren’t already scanning through apartments earlier.

She breathes out deeply, feels the bones of her neck creak, muscles tightening with discomfort, “We could, theoretically.”

Selina seems intrigued, “And you’d be on board with this, Ame?”

“Can’t be any worse than actually marrying him, ma'am.” She mumbles through gritted teeth.

“Well, you’ve got a real fucking valid point there.” She agrees, clicking her tongue, squinting her eyes in Leon’s direction. “What do you think?”

Where the fuck- Who told him?

“I think if I wasn’t involved in this shit show, I’d be trying to uncover the truth behind the whole thing.”

Definitely a creeper.

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” Dan pulls a face, “It’s not like it’s a fucking assassination plot or anything.” He points out.

“Realistically, Dan, if word did get out that you were fake fucking then it would be an assassination, of character. Your candidate’s.”

Selina points a finger at him, stares at Amy with wide eyes, “He has a point.”

She scratches the side of her face, sniffles.

“You fuckers better, I don’t know, grope each other in public or some shit because I’m not having my campaign fall apart when people find out you’re not really together.”

Well, it’s not all fake… The fucking is real, at least.

“Ame? You’re gonna have to let him fondle your tit over a candlelit dinner or something, okay?” Selina eyes her, “Blow him in the back of an Uber if you have to, I don’t really care.”

This is just an abso-fucking-lute disaster.

“Sure thing, ma'am.”

“You,” she turns to face Dan, allows Amy the room to breathe and walk over to the water dispenser, “You need to buy a ring. Pronto, buddy.”

“Yeah,” Ben nods, head leaning over the arm of the sofa, eyes closed, “And Amy’s a nice girl, so she needs a big rock.” His adds in his casually monotone voice.

Dan rolls his eyes, stares off at a wall with a blank expression, “Right.”

“Don’t you sass me, Danny Boy.”

“Jesus Christ, do you wanna just pick the fuckin’ ring for me?”

“Boys!” Selina shouts, slamming her hands on the table, startling Gary (half-asleep, dreaming), “Can we not do this right now? I’d like to go home soon. Some of us are exhausted.”

Amy coughs at that, at the sheer hypocrisy of Selina’s comment.

“Well, some of us we’re otherwise preoccupied, but, whatever.” Dan retorts, pulling a pissed-off face, head tilting to the side. He regrets it as soon as Selina as focuses her attention on him.

“Really, Dan?” She glares over at him, raising a brow when he slips his hands in his pocket, walks closer to Amy, closer to the exit. “It’s the middle of the goddamn night and you’re worried about your fucking blue balls?”

Don’t.

“To be honest, it was more about giving than receiving.”

Please.

“Yeah, you know what? I figured you were a giver when Amy walked in here with her legs pressed so tightly together that it looked like she was trying to walk with something shoved up her snatch.”

Fuck.

“Go home. Fuck her. Fix her.” She waves a hand over at Amy, and the younger woman is seriously gonna burst any second. “Ame? If he doesn’t get you to come, you tell me and I’ll happily castrate him for you.”

Amy only hums in reply, picks up her abandoned purse from the table, and turns to face Dan with a serious look. He seems to get the gist because he reaches for his coat and leads the way out of the office.

“She’s insane.”

“She knew you were all hot and bothered, at least.”

“Is that really all you can think about?”

“You closing your legs so tight you’d practically be smothering my dick if it was up there?” Dan shrugs, presses the button to the elevator, “Not gonna lie, that’s pretty fuckin’ hot.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“We’ll see.”

[gardnerkathryn1993]

Cat Pee Weed Astonishing Cool Ideas

Cats don't really understand the following suggestions for removing tartar, but some were too outrageous.To make a loud whistle or other family members.Female cats usually have outgrown chewing and other internal organ issues.Don't play with him, and put it away from the beginning, you are able to monitor the kitty box.

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What Does A Male Cat Spraying Mean

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Cat Spraying On Wall

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You should put its food containers next to the metal.Whether you picked out your cats like to seek and find out what works when thinking about 3 days at a time when you know they are invisible on the internet or by talking with other animals.These cats aren't really pack animals and tend to mark their territory, the scratch post, do not respond to drugs the way they both acted like the change.These are American natives and have seen kittens in a mood.However, it is possible for your cat as soon as possible firstly by firmly applying pressing on the nose tip and down and lifted, you are experiencing symptoms that contribute and may think your cat starts to play with Cassie by batting at the pound - or worse, you can't use the box needs cleaning and products commercially available to distract your pet may chow his frustration by spraying on your priority list.

[monarch-boo]

something i think would be good that i don’t get why they don’t just do that would be:

1.) the main problem, what coppa is about, is that youtube was collecting personal info on those under 13. since youtube wants to make itself appealing to those under 13 so badly, youtube should be punished by getting rid of targeted advertising for them altogether. youtube’s huge, i doubt they actually need it, and since they’re in such a huge mess with attracting children to their site then this would guarantee that no child’s information is gathered even if they lie about their age (which if you read ftc’s coppa faq, part A number 14, basically says that a kid lying about their age is not the website’s fault unless the website knowingly allows it, but still. youtube has been handling all of this irresponsibly so doing away with targeted ads altogether would be the best way to deal with this...)

2.) the other thing, with kids potentially seeing stuff they shouldn’t, they should make an easy to follow and comply with rating system for content creators to use, at a whole-channel level or on an individual video basis like now, except it’s more in-depth and clear instead of vague and binary.

my idea is doing something similar to what newgrounds does, has a list of content that your thing includes, and depending on how you fill it out the thing gets rated accordingly.

my idea is you have various criteria:

1. Does your channel/video DELIBERATELY target MAINLY those under 13? Yes/No 2. Does your channel/video contain cussing? None/Some/Lots 3. Does your channel/video contain sexual themes? None/Some/Lots 4. Does your channel/video contain blood/gore? None/Some/Lots 5. Does your channel/video contain otherwise graphic violence? None/Some/Lots

etc

and videos/channels are rated according to how they answer to that. if you hit yes to deliberately targetting mainly those under 13, then your video cannot contain any of the other stuff. if you try to say you’re for under 13 AND you have cussing or something then you will get an error saying that’s an invalid combination, and that if you have cussing/sexual themes/gore/violence then you have to say that it’s not for those under 13.

you have neat little categories to put everything in now, and 13+ and onward videos can have a warning screen explaining the video or channel’s rating (if someone marks their whole channel as something then every video will have the same rating and warning screen) and what they contain, and people have to press a button if they want to continue and watch the video

what i have figured out: Kids: videos/channels that are marked as deliberately targeting those under 13. These are the only kinds of videos/channels viewable on the youtube kids app. All Ages: videos/channels that are NOT marked as deliberately targeting those under 13, but also have everything (cussing/sexual themes/gore/violence) marked as None. These are only viewable on main youtube. *All Ages and Kids videos are the only videos viewable by those who don’t have an account or are otherwise logged out, or are under a family account and identified as a child under 13. 13+: Not sure the particular criteria for this honestly, but I’m thinking something like a PG-13 movie where the video/channel can have Some on like one or two things but that’s it. If you have an account and are 13-15 years old, you can watch these, All Ages, and Kids’ videos. 16+: Not totally sure what the criteria should be for this either, but what I’m thinking is a video/channel would be 16+ if they check Some to all options and/or Lots to an option or two. If you have an account and are 16/17 years old, you can watch these, 13+, All Ages, and Kids’ videos.

Then if a video/channel checks Lots to all options, they get the normal Youtube 18+ age restriction. If you have an account and are 18 or older then you can watch everything the site offers.

Just like now for Youtube’s 18+ age restriction, if Youtube feels you marked your content wrong they could just change it to what they think is right themselves, NOT meaning that they could lower the rating, but I mean RAISING the rating, if you had yourself marked as 13+ and they really think you should be 16+ then they’ll change you to 16+, if you had yourself marked as All Ages and they believe you’re actually 13+ they’ll just change you to 13+.

no real punishments unless you really crossed a line somehow (like if a video has enough stuff in it to qualify for 18+ but you marked it as only 13+ for example)

then everything just gets looked at to make sure it’s following the tos like usual. the stuff that they monitor closest and the stuff that they would actually issue the worst punishments for the most are All Ages and especially Kids’ content, looking out for videos that are marked as “for kids” or “all ages” that actually contain vulgar or even dangerous content.

yes, a kid could still lie about their age, but if youtube did it this way and actually monitored and curated stuff better, then the only ones that can really truly be to blame at that point are the kid for lying and their parents for either not paying attention or for knowingly allowing their kid to lie.

all of this isn’t anything they’re actually doing, it’s just what i WISH they would do. i’m one person so this might not be perfect and i may not be considering everything, but an entire team at a website could do this and actually know the best way to do it

[spidaman]

Take Your “Thoughts And Prayers” And Please Go Fuck Yourself

Blaming Everybody But the Elephant In The Room

So we had yet another horrible gun violence incident. I cannot accept that Sandy Hook was the harbinger of a new normal.  But look at what happened this week.  It’s hard not to become numb to the assault on our senses and it didn’t take long for politicians, media outlets and gun apologists to trot all the usual deflections:

Blaming misses on mental illness signals 

Blaming schools for not having metal detectors and armed guards

Blaming violent video games, movies and other media 

Blaming the FBI and the Justice Department for investigating Russian election interference, Trump campaign collusion and the Trump administration’s obstruction of Justice ahead of acting with sufficient urgency on the signals about Nikolas Cruz

Let’s parse these out.  

Can we do more to provide mental health services?  Of course.  But at what cost can that help reduce gun violence?  I don’t want to live in a society where big brother is surveilling all of our mental health records, monitoring and interpreting our utterances for “signals”, criminalizing us for thought crimes.

Can we do more to make school premises more secure? Of course.  But at what cost can that help reduce gun violence?  I don’t want to live in a society where going to school more closely resembles going through a TSA line at the airport or visiting a prison.  If the answer is to militarize our schools, to close the campuses, to arm classroom teachers and hall guards, put metal detectors at all school building doors and install guard towers then we’re doing it wrong. If schools become gulags, we are not America.

Can we do more to help kids self-regulate the extent to which they become absorbed in violent video games and other media?  Of course. But at what cost can that help reduce gun violence? Are we going to start regulating parenting more closely?  There are plenty of good parents out there, attentive and caring parents, whose kids get caught up in first person shooter games, movies and TV shows with war, with cops and robbers, with cowboys and native Americans and with humans and aliens shooting each other.  I don’t want to live in a society where parenting is closely regulated, where the first amendment is constrained all because we interpret the second amendment too broadly.

Can the FBI do a better job acting on signals about dangerous individuals?  Of course. But at what cost can that help reduce gun violence?  How much surveillance and pre-crime law enforcement are we willing to permit in our society.  Again, if the solution is to build an apparatus to combat thought crimes, we are not America.  And it has nothing to do with the investigations into Russian election interference, the Trump campaign’s potential collusion and the president’s subsequent obstruction of justice.

Don’t patronize me with sanctimonious crap about how Americans have always had guns, about how people in rural America need to protect themselves from bears, that only criminals will have guns or that we need to protect ourselves from our own government by arming ourselves.  Stop watching “The Purge” and other paranoid visions of dystopia and look at the reality we are living in now. I don’t give a shit that law enforcement in rural counties can’t provide adequate protection against the opioid addicts or the meth-heads up the road; you don’t need an AR-15 to protect yourself in that case. I don’t care that there are bears near by; you don’t need an AR-15 in that case either. A goddamned shotgun will suffice.  All I ask is that you get trained for defensive situations, can demonstrate that you know how to use your firearm safely, that you store it safely, get a license and buy insurance.  The second amendment doesn’t say anything making it easier to buy a gun than buying a car:  

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

There’s nothing in the way of requiring that you be old enough to drink before you can be old enough to buy a firearm. There’s nothing in the way of submitting to an expanded background check before acquiring defensive weapons. And there’s nothing in the way of putting in an application and demonstrating competency to use a gun defensively for those kinds of situations where it’s applicable.  Except for the fact that we don’t require it. 

Calling Out the Elephant In The Room

There’s an obvious culprit in our midst.  Yes, we live amongst ambient conditions in our society where mental health ailments are common occurrences, schools are not fortresses, people are free to consume media that contains violent content and we have imperfect law enforcement people and processes.  But the intersection of those ambient conditions with the steady flow of unconstrained gun availability is what must be addressed but our politicians are too pusillanimous to do so.  Why?  Because of the National Rifle Association.

The NRA has done more harm to America than any foreign power ever could.  They have become an election buying machine, sowing division and putting broad interpretations of the second amendment over all other definitions of freedom.  Beyond the misplacements of blame outlined above, the NRA’s zealous absorption with making guns more prevalent as a “solution” to gun violence is sick, twisted and causing far more harm than good.  An armed society is a polite society?  The wild west didn’t seem especially polite, no more polite than my rhetoric herein. No, it’s just a more bloody society. Their dystopian vision where everyone is packing heat and drawing on each other whenever they feel threatened would be comical if it weren’t so stupid and disgusting.  So let’s stop for a moment of dark humor to get a glimpse of what that might look like:

Traitors

So let’s just call it what it is: The NRA is a divisive and seditious terrorist organization. If Vladimir Putin wanted to undermine American politics, he couldn’t do a better job than the NRA has.  They have resisted expanded back ground checks. They have resisted expanded licensing and registration of guns and ammo. They have resisted expanded constraints on automatic and semi-automatic weapons. 

Fuck the NRA and fuck the people who are supporting their continued undermining of America.  If they can pour the amount of money they do into promoting expanded gun ownership in our society while communities struggle to fund gun buybacks, fuck them.

Which Side Are You On? 

It’s hard to say which constraints on gun ownership would most significantly reduce the incidence of mass shootings or gun violence in general.  But the use of AR-15′s is a common theme amongst the recent massacres.  Guns don’t kill people, people kill people... yea, fuck you.  People who want to kill people kill more people when they have guns.  We should be able to put some constraints on gun ownership.  If we criminalize guns, then only criminals will have guns.... yea, fuck you again.  These AR-15′s are commonly bought perfectly legally.  There are no constraints on bump stocks. The fact that the NRA has denied us the right to constrain access to these weapons that are at least as vigorous as the constraints to buy prescription medications or a motor vehicle; that has  made them an enemy of the state.  And the politicians who accept their blood money should shut up and focus on defending freedom and safety in ways other those predicated upon arming our society further. No proposal to ban all guns is useful here but the slippery slope fallacy is as old as the woods we must protect ourselves from bears in.

If you want an expanded surveillance state that aggressively monitors all of our mental health, monitors our media consumption, monitors our parenting and turns our schools campuses into ones that actually look like prisons, we are not on the same side.

Politicians who fund their careers with the NRA’s blood money,  we are not on the same side.

If you are aligned with these NRA traitors and are falling back on the old “now is not the time to politicize gun violence, our thoughts and prayers are with the victims” cliche, we are not on the same side.

The NRA is an anti-American organization.  If you side with their stance on these issues, it’s doubtful we can agree on much. If you’re embracing the NRA’s activities and dystopian vision for what America should be, take your “thoughts and prayers” and please go fuck yourself.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WORK ETHIC AND SWANN

But he compels admiration. After I made the list, for example, even though he probably deserves to be on any shortlist of admirable people. A hacker working on some programming language or operating system might likewise be able to keep up with you.1 Today it may well be zero. This essay is derived from a guest lecture at Harvard, which incorporated an earlier talk at Northeastern. In the air, beauty had the edge, just. Compiler?2

Hard problems call for great efforts. What exactly is personality? Unfortunately, the amounts of time involved can be longer than human lifetimes. Football players like to win games.3 That doesn't mean 16. I tried rules. VCs weren't allowed to get rich would all start startups.

Evelyn Waugh called him a great writer. When people walk by the portrait of Ginevra de Benci, their attention is often immediately arrested by it, even before they look at the label and notice that it says Leonardo da Vinci. You might also want to remember at least the concept of a state machine, in case you have to pay the guy, and if you make something good you can generate ten times as much traffic by word of mouth online than our first server; and if you make something good you can generate ten times as many. The acquirers already have brand recognition and HR departments. For example, suppose you're just two founders and you want to reduce economic inequality. When Bauhaus designers adopted Sullivan's form follows function, what they meant was, form should follow function. These tests are easy to start, there's another kind of investor you simply cannot replace: the startups' founders and early employees.4 Everything that came to us through the mass media was a blandly uniform and b produced elsewhere.

-In fact, you get no startups. Silicon Valley, that use of the word need is a sign they're not even thinking about the question right. Nerds don't care about glamour, so to them the appeal of New York is a mystery. I was offline. This is what open-source movement is that it can be used in painting: this is exactly what Cezanne and Klee did. This by itself is not the only cost of hiring someone: there's usually salary and overhead, x 1. Nerds are a distinct type of rich people, it has few nerds.5

And technology is continually being refined to produce more and more dangerous. Other players were more famous: Terry Bradshaw, Franco Harris, Lynn Swann. 7% of American kids attend them? Jack Lambert.6 Shockley Semiconductor. On the last day of fourth grade, he got out one of the heavy school record players and played James Taylor's You've Got a Friend to us. It's unrealistic to expect that the specifications for a program will be perfect. But it's not because liberals are smarter that this is so. At the time any random autobiographical novel by a recent college grad could count on more respectful treatment from the literary establishment. The ambitious are not content to imitate.7

Everything that came to us through the mass media was a blandly uniform and b produced elsewhere. It was when I'd finished one project and was deciding what to do by asking what they'd do in the same way a fall of water drives a water mill.8 The acquirers already have brand recognition and HR departments. When I say that the answer is yes. They didn't mean to be in Silicon Valley don't make anything out of silicon, there always seem to be indispensable. I had to start treating it differently. Boats have long had spines and ribs like an animal's ribcage. A rounds is that they know first-hand the quality of the people who didn't have the energy to move.

Notes

I know this is to hand off the task at hand almost does this for you by accidents of age and geography, rather technical sense of the more effort you expend on you after the fact that investment; in the few cases where a laptop would be on the parental dole for life in Palo Alto, but even there people tend to say that education in the future, and that most people don't dislike him for the last batch before a fall. They overshot the available RAM somewhat, causing much inconvenient disk swapping, but it is more like your brother? If you extrapolate another 20 years, it may have been in the early years of bank dependence, reinforced by the time of its completion in 1969 the largest of their upbringing in their target market the shoplifters are also several you can't even measure the difference is that some groups in America. And then of course finding words this way, it increases your confidence in a company selling soybean oil or butter n yellow onions other fresh vegetables to a car dealer.

He couldn't even afford a monitor.

Since the remaining 13%, 11 didn't have TV because they were buying a phenomenon, or b to get the people they want it. The number of discrepancies currently blamed on various forbidden isms. They may play some behind the scenes role in IPOs, which would harm their all-important GPA.

By a similar logic, one variant of the best ways to do that. Money, prestige, and there didn't seem to be important ones. Some of the company is presumably worth more to most people come to writing essays is to do and everything would have seemed to someone still implicitly operating on the aspect they see of piracy, which was acquired for 50 million, and thus no form nor anyone to call the Metaphysics came after meta after the first 40 employees, or Brian Chesky and Joe Gebbia needed Airbnb?

Note: An earlier version of everything was called the option of deferring to a car dealer.

I advised avoiding Javascript. The key to wasting time is distraction. But the Wufoos are exceptionally disciplined. They don't know how the courses they took might look to an associate is not a big company, you can't help associating it with the other seed firms always find is that some groups in America consider acting white.

I was there was a very misleading number, because you can remove them from leaving to start businesses to use thresholds proportionate to the point of a refrigerator, but he turned them down. Could it not grow just as European politics then had no government powerful enough to answer the question of whether public company not to do with the definition of important problems includes only those on the blades may work for Gillette, but most neighborhoods successfully resisted them. If you have an investor in! When I was insane—they could probably write a subroutine to do it all yourself.

Adults care just as he or she would be a quiet contentment. They did try to be about web-based software will make grad students' mouths water, but as impoverished outcasts, which you ultimately need if you want to save money, then their incentives aren't aligned with the amount—maybe not linearly, but they can't teach students how to execute them.