#national bomb pop day

[floridaboiler]

[littletroubledgrrrl]

[idesofrevolution]

The Journey of Dr. Santana Fabrega

There's nothing quite like your bro slobberin' over your sweaty feet while tokin' on a hookah. Let me just tell you- everybody's happy. I'm stoked to be stoned and minty fresh, and he's happy to taste my ripe size 12's. Who isn't the happiest? The folks. Sure, I dropped out of college, sure I started focusing one hundred percent on my art, sure I have a parade of guys out of my little basement lair... but I never got why they had to be such fuckin' buzzkills.

Ever since they joined that church when I was at uni, my parents have been sucked into the Evangelical cult. Not the whole lifting your hands up to Jesus & speaking in tongues sort of church, by the way. Man, they're out there with picket signs at sex clinics, bannin' books at the high school, all that crazy fuckin' Christian Nation bullshit. They're my parents, so I love 'em and whatever. But fuck, those psychos really fucked 'em up. So now, their crusade is "curing" me of my gayness. Didn't really matter that I'm pan, they don't really know the difference. They don't really care about the difference, though. Not straight, not right.

So when they caught me the other day with Sam cleanin' my dick in the basement, it was World War 3. Man, a Nuclear Bomb would have less energy than my mom's hysterical shrieking. It's Florida, so it's nothing the neighbors haven't heard before. But, shit. I thought my eardrums were gonna pop. They stomped off upstairs, bein' all 'we are going to talk about this later, Santiago.' So, I let Sammy finish up, I pulled on some shorts and I went upstairs to face the fire while he snuck out the basement window. Fuck, I wished I were him.

The 'family meeting' went about as well as you'd expect. Threats of burning in hell for all eternity, demands that I find the Lord, etc. Apparently he doesn't like a lot of things about me: my weed, my tattoos, my sexuality, my piercings, my hair for some reason? I don't know man, I just tuned out after a while. What I did catch, though, they were sending me to substance abuse counseling. Couldn't help but laugh, and that sent dad through the fuckin' roof.

"Doctor Fabrega is going to teach you some manners, young man. Make you a Godly man, like you should be." Yada yada yada. He should have known better than to give me the doc's name. After the ass reaming, I made my way back downstairs to the computer. It took five minutes of research to find this Doctor Fabrega. Turns out he's a Christian Therapist, but that wasn't what was most interesting. Down in his specializations, buried beneath substance abuse & cognitive behavioral therapy was a word that caught my eye: licensed Hypnotherapist.

I knew exactly what kind of bullshit they were tryin' to pull on me. But when I was enrolled at U Miami, my major was Psychology. Not only that, but I still happened to have access to the university library. Oops.

I texted Sammy, knowing I was gonna be up all night doing research, and that my dick would need some appropriate attention under the desk. I was gonna show this motherfucker just how sick it really is to be like me.

---

The waiting room was bullshit. Cold white walls, bright wood floors... It looked straight out of an IKEA ad. I'd already been there for like 20 minutes past my appointment time, giving me just enough time to scroll through the last chapter on my phone. I hear the receptionist call out my name, and I head toward the office. Just as bullshit as the waiting room. It's like the guy wants to live in a psych ward- no color anywhere. At least get a blacklight or something.

"Santiago Rivera. Welcome, I'm Dr. Fabrega." The guy was hot as fuck, not gonna lie. Looked like he was straight out of Sao Paulo- even with the fancy suit you can't hide muscle like that. "Please, sit. It's so good to meet you." His voice was so weird. Speaking every word with like, perfect diction. You know those AI voices that talk that way? That's what it was like, as if he were trying so hard to hide an accent underneath.

"Just call me Santi, doc." I plopped down on the leather chair, might have put my feet up on his coffee table (don't recall), and he just looked at me like he was looking in a microscope. No idea what the deal was. He walked over to the couch and sat down with my file and started to drone on.

"Alright, Santi, it says here that your parents are pretty concerned about your behavior lately. You're 23 years old and a college dropout, you take illicit drugs, you have no job, and you're having unnatural thoughts. That's quite the list, bud." He was so fuckin smug, that sort of punchable glibness that only comes from a particular kind of self righteousness. Like Jesus himself came down and kissed them.

"So, first off. I did drop out of college, because I couldn't afford it. Second, I sure the fuck do smoke green because it's a) fun, and b) prescribed to me by my real doctor. Third, I do have a job. I do graphic design and graffiti art and I pay my own bills with it. And last off, yup: I fucked him." He sat there, somehow shocked that I told him how it was right off the bat. I'm not playing his little game, and that made him angry.

"I see. So you have no remorse for any of this? I believe your parents are very right to be concerned about where your life is headed."

"Fascinating, considering I'm moving out at the end of the month and they won't need to deal with my life. So. You married?" He was thrown off by that, just as I'd hoped. Right out of the blue. Knocks them off kilter for a second. An easy question to answer, so they usually do.

"Uh, well, no I'm not married. Is that your concern in all this?" Man, I couldn't help but laugh. He's trying to be sarcastic?

"Where did ya go to school for... whatever this is." This made him close my file, he even put it on the table and crossed his arms.

"I went to Liberty University, top of my class in their Doctor of Psychology program. You, it seems didn't make it that far, so you might not know what 'this' is." Oooh, he's big mad. I thought, let's push it. I did what most of my guys love, but would piss him off, I kicked off the Vans. Made sure I wore my skating shoes that day, the super ripe ones with the same damp socks. When they came off, those puppies let their presence be known.

"Sounds boring. Boring then, boring now. I got accepted into the Art Institute in Savannah, so I'll be headed that way soon. Be legit soon, then you wouldn't have anything to say. How's your sex life?" He thought he was so tough, not flinching at the musk, nor my question. But I knew both hit him right where I wanted. The question to make him mad, the stink to get him hot.

"Santiago, I think we should continue with our session. You can put your shoes back on and we can try some exercises to help you think a bit more clearly." I crossed my ankles, wriggling my toes a bit.

"I think they need some air. Are you gonna try and hypnotize me now? Or is that the last ditch effort when everything else fails?" He leaned back in his seat, the grimace growing stronger. "That stuff is not that hard to master. A couple days really and you got it down."

"Is that so?" He ground his teeth as he spat out his words. "It seems you know all there is to know, then." Time to hit it home.

"You know what, let's put money on it, doc. Hundred bucks says I can put you under." I got him, his eyebrow shifted just enough for me to see.

"This isn't a casino, Santiago. I don't bet money on client's health." I couldn't help but smirk. He left an opening I couldn't pass up.

"Aight, no money then. If I put you under, I get the bragging rights. If I don't, I'll play your stupid games. Win-win for you, nothing to lose but your dignity." Hook, line and sinker; he leaned in, grabbing the remote on the table next to him. He tapped a button, and the shades started to come down.

"Well then, Mr. Rivera. I wish you luck."

The room got dark. Really fuckin' dark. Fabrega hit another button on the remote, and a cool blue washed over the room. Gotta say, tight LED system. I kicked my shoes off the table, and scooted my chair forward. Showtime.

"Alright, Santana, I want you to just take deep breaths." He squirmed at my use of his first name, one last dig before I brain fucked him. He took his deep breaths one at a time, slowly getting deeper and deeper. "As I count down from one to ten, each number will bring you closer and closer to relaxation. Picture a long tunnel, at the end, a bright white light. With every number, you take a step forward to the light, do you understand?"

He nodded, it was an induction I'd made up this morning. I started from 10, telling him his first step he could feel the tingling relaxation in the tips of his fingers, slowly crawling up his hands and forearms. 9. Another step, the tingling creeps up his big muscly arms and shoulders. 8. One more step, the tingling is pushing up his neck and throat, reaching his tongue and teeth. 7. The tingling bursts into his head, a paradoxical rush of relaxation, a fog of dissonance washes over his brain as thoughts collide and crash about. 6. The tingling washes down his spine, flowing through his nerves into every part of his body. His body feels electric, a painless jolt running throughout him. I watched as he tensed up, his big muscles contracting and bunching him up. It was working.

We get to 5, starting at the crown of his head, the volts decrease, turning lugubrious and liquified like molasses sloshing about in his head. 4. The light is so close he can feel the heat, but his body is cooled as the syrupy fluid flows down over him like a waterfall, pooling in his big feet as it fills every crevice. 3. It feels as if he's trudging through mud toward the light, his legs feeling wobbly and gelatinous. 2. So close, his whole body feels like a massless blob, inching toward the final drop into the cavernous light. 1. He crawls toward the ledge, plummeting down into the endless void of bright white light. There, he will sit as I have a little bit of fun.

"Alright, Santana. Can you hear me in there?" Fabrega nods, expressionless. Fuck, that was maybe a 80/20 chance I was gonna fuck this shit up so bad. But I guess God really is on my side here. "Whenever I ask a question, you will answer truthfully. Whatever I say you will incorporate into your life. Now, Santana, what do you do when you're not at work?" His lips moved slowly and replied in monotone.

"I go to the gym, I go to the golf course, I hire my date, and I go home." Ooooh shit. He's giving my friends on the corners a decent living, good for him. Hardly a Godly thing to do. Either way, it was a perfect place to start.

"You love going to the gym, don't you, Santana?" He nodded. "You love gettin' all sweaty don't you?" His head began to shake, his expression furrowing a bit in disgust. "No, Santana. You love getting all sweaty. The feeling of those cool droplets on your hot muscles during a hard workout? Doesn't it feel good?" He pauses, before reluctantly nodding. Ahh I love gettin my fingers in his brain, never ceases to please. "You love that funk that comes off your sweat, Santana. You love sniffin your pits, your big feet, your balls... That musk means you're workin' hard. Keeping in shape. Staying virile. Isn't that right?" He nodded, squirming in the chair. I watched his body try to reject the instructions, try to rebel, but just one repetition had his back to stillness.

"You don't even like golf, do you?" He nodded, I didn't even need to manipulate him. "You much prefer hitting the beach, don't you? Seein' all the guys and gals starin' at your glorious bod... You love it, don't you?" He nodded, the side of his lip curling ever so slightly. "You love bringing out the speedo, letting the goods hang low, letting the buns bulge... you know they all wanna see it anyway..." He nodded again, it was like taking candy from a baby. The guy had the mental fortitude of a frog.

"You like fucking, too. You can have any girl or guy on the street with a single wink." He nodded, and I couldn't help but watch as his groin started to bulge. "Yeah, boy. You love taking that horse cock and plowing it into some ass... plowing it into some pussy... fucking their pretty little mouths..." Drool started to drip from the corner of his lip, and a little wet spot quickly appeared on his pants. "You're a freak, aren't you, Santana? You like fuckin' in the car, in the sauna, at the gym, under the desk... gushing gallons into them while you shove your sneaker on their face." He was moaning, slowly grinding against the open air. Can't lie, I was gropin' myself a bit just watching him.

"Now, Santana. I'm going to bring you back to your office, but when I do, you are going to be super laid back and chill with Santi during your sessions. If he says the word 'sniff' you will return to this space, return to an open mind, just as we have done here today. Do you understand?" He nodded one final time before I began his emergence. Counting back from one to ten, I watched as he slowly came back to the real world, and with one snap, he blinked his eyes and wiped his brow.

"Well, doc. I got the bragging rights." Fabrega pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a headache. Time to see if it had all paid off.

"Uhh... yeah... Santi. You got me there..." Perfect. He pulled his hand away from his nose, clicking the shades back up to their little hole. It didn't take long until he saw the wet patch on his bulbous package. He chuckled under his breath. "You'll have to excuse the mess, Santi... I have hyperspermia, so sometimes it all just flows out." Hot- and totally unprofessional. Just how I like 'em. I leaned back in my chair, smirkin' the whole way.

"Damn, doc. Firehose down there. Gonna have to show me sometime." He smirked and waved me off.

"I don't fraternize with clients, Santi. Oh, look at the time. I'm late for my 5:30. Alright, I'll see you next week." He stood up, extending his hand, his whole demeanor entirely changed. I slipped my Vans back on, spitting on my hand before gripping his. He shuddered a bit, sure. But we were gonna get real close, real quick.

---

The next few days flew by. My folks were so excited to see that I was looking forward to seeing Dr. Fabrega, and I loved knowing what they didn't. I was excited to see if Dr. Fabrega was gonna be Santana. So when I finally got back in for my appointment, I didn't need to wait long at all. Only five minutes and the door swung open, the receptionist completely flustered. The anticipation was killing me. She sat down behind her computer with tunnel vision and I walked into the office.

At first, I thought it was empty. He wasn't sitting at his desk, on the couch... but as I heard huffing from the balcony, I knew where to find him. I walked up to the sliding glass door, and turned outside to see one hell of a sight.

It was Santana. Nothing on but his whitie-tighties and his damp socks doing pushups on the bench. Fuck, those muscles were glistening in the light, his underwear with damp patches on his ass and bulge. His clothes sat in a pile near his head: jeans, a Miami Heat jersey, some sick dunks I wanted to steal... far from the stuffy suit he had on just the week before. He finally noticed me, and smiled.

"Santi! Hey! Just finishing up my lunch workout. Thought I'd get a session in today on the balcony. Damn, the fresh air is good for exercise!" I smirked. It was night and day. So far, gone was the bible thumping hypocrite, and here was what was underneath. If anything I was doing him a service.

"Shit, Santana! You're looking prime today. You gonna funk out our session today, or?" I punched him in the shoulder, and he giggled like a kid.

"It's eau naturale, my friend. Natural water. That's what it smells like." He slipped on his jeans and his big fuckin' sneakers, tossing the jersey over his head while we walked in. He trailed some deliciously ripe musk, and I couldn't help but savor a bit of it. We plopped down on our seats, and just started shootin' shit. I bitched about the parents, he bitched about his receptionist, I told him about Sammy suckin' my dick clean, and he told me about the threesome with a gym bro and his girlfriend. He was coming along beautifully. Though, I thought to myself, how's about a round two?

"Dude, by the way, those kicks are fuckin' tight." I pointed to the dunks, which he smugly kicked up onto the coffee table, showing them off.

"Thanks, man. They're the lifting shoes. My work boots, heh." I reached out, grabbing ahold of his foot, and yanked it off. He chuckled like a fuckin' idiot while I looked at 'em. Size 13, nice and big- and the smell wafting out of there... Fuck, man.

"Damn, dude you never wash your socks? These stink!" I playfully tossed the shoe at him, and just as he started to brush off the comment, I said my magic word. "Sniff it." Like a flipped lightswitch, his expression turned numb, slowly bringing the shoe to his nose and inhaling his own musk. I clapped my hands, rubbing them together: let's do a little more programming.

"Santana, You're a pretty chill guy, you know that?" He nodded. "You smoke, don't you? You know, the good shit?" Deep in his mind, he had to know it was me talking at this point, so I was talking to him like a bro. Establishes trust, ya know? He shook his head no. "Ahh, come on man. You love kickin' back and toking on that reefer after a long workout." Santana chuckled a bit, before nodding, still nose deep in his sneaker. "Yeah, you love smokin' out your bros, your babes... when you're not shootin' tequila!" He full out laughed on that one, nodding along. The sneaker slowly dropped from his hand, and he laid back in his chair.

"How old are you, Santana?"

"28." Shit, he was only a few years older than me. I mean, he looked young. But hell, you wouldn't have known it from the way he acted.

"Where are you from?" "Rio de Janeiro." Interesting. I clocked the accent. I was pretty proud of myself.

"Why do you try so hard to hide it? The way you talk, the way you dress, the way you act... You act like you're from Ohio." Another chuckle, I should have had a Netflix special. "You're gonna embrace that Brazilian pride, bro. Don't hide it for some mayo drinking buzzkills!" He furrowed his brow, nodding intently. This one was for his own fuckin' good. Be proud of that shit! "You should get some ink to really embrace it. Nothin' sexier than a tatted up stud, am I right?" He nodded again, his bulge once more springing to life. I smirked, simply wanting to know a little something somethin'.

"Do you think Santi is hot?" He sat there for a second, before slowly smiling and nodding. I didn't even need to program that one. Aww, big old himbo. "You're not afraid to let him know, are ya? I mean if you tell his crazy fuckin' parents that he's cured... He wouldn't be your patient anymore... Right?" His bulge twitched again, and he smirked devilishly as he nodded. "You like it when he's all up in your brain, don't you? You like it when he gets his dick deep in there and mind fucks you into a chill, laid back stud. Don't ya?" The dampness grew and his breath got heavy. He nodded, drooling down the sides of his cheeks. "Yeah, you wanna let him in completely, don't ya? Make you like him?" Moans grew, and his thrusting in the air quickened pace. "You wanna be best bros with him, don't ya? Bros with benefits... hangin' out, smokin' weed, hittin' the clubs, swappin' spit... swappin' cum... swappin' subs..." He started fuckin' howl. He was beggin' to splurge. "When I tell you, you will cum. And when you do, everything we talked about will be your truth. Now... Cum."

His eyes opened, still moaning loudly. He gripped onto his jeans, pulling down the waistband and underwear, that big old uncut donkey dick flopping out before shooting his load all over himself. Volley after volley. He wasn't kidding about the hyperspermia: maybe four double shots of his spunk sprayed like a geyser into the air. The 8th Natural Wonder of the World. He laid back and chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head.

"Fuck, brother!" The thickest accent flowed of those lips, deliciously thick. "After today, that'll be down your throat, cara." He pointed at me, hopping to his feet and shoving his python back into his pants. "So, I'll write your discharge papers, it'll get the pais off your back. Act the part until you're out, and just go live." Fuck yeah, we high fived, and I ruffled that sweaty mullet of his. "Hey, come over tonight. I got some friends comin' over... if you and Sammy wanna join." He winked and slapped my back. Damn, I did good.

"I'll be there, man! You save me a round so I can show you how to clean this dick." I groped my bulge, smirking as his bit his lip and winked. I've created a monster.

---

"Ei, sexy! Come get a toke before it's gone!" Such a demanding little bitch, I love him. I slipped his filled condom off my cock, the kinky fucker insisted, and I happily complied. If I'm being real, this psycho has taught me things! I flushed it down the toilet, and swung the bathroom door open to see him lounging on his bed, toking away at the blunt I packed.

"Hey you fuckin' hog, don't you smoke it all!" He chuckled dumbly, reaching over to hand me the blunt, taking the opportunity to snatch my wrist and pull me forward into a kiss. Fuck those lips were so good, pressed against mine or around my cock. "Isn't Carrie coming over soon? You gonna be able to get off so quick?" I pushed away, taking my puff.

"Ahh, plenty to go around, eh?" He groped that musky bulge that I had a feeling Sammy would be huffing later. "Ey, bring me my pants. We can go get a shot before she gets here." Heh, the last month or so crashing with him has been fuckin' sick. The folks think I'm rooming with some guy from the church, when really I'm gooning with my therapist every night in his bed. Savannah is letting me take online courses, I'll have my B.A. in a couple of years, and I'm already getting some gallery hits. Santana is gonna be my armcandy for the opening, and I told him to forget his deodorant. Fuck he’s perfect. But a thought had crept in my head the other day. One last program, one final idea planted in his head... Though, at this point, there was no need to put him under. I'd just ask him.

"Hey, so I gotta go to Georgia to finish up some paperwork at the school. It got me thinking... I'm followin' my dream. What about you?" I tossed him his pants and passed the blunt, taking a deep whiff of those ripe dunks before throwing them his way too.

"I could go back to the practice, though I think the bible thumpers would lose their minds, heh."

"Well... What we did for eachother... What if you did it for others?" I slowly got down to my knees, a smirk crawling across my face. "What if you could help those poor... misguided young men change their lives?" I crawled toward him, spreading his legs wide as I tossed his legs over my shoulders. "Wouldn't that be so... so... fun?" I slowly pulled down his musky briefs, releasing his monstrous cock again, the musky hooded beast slapping me on my cheek. "Then, we could have so... many... new.. friends..." I pulled down his slimy hood and wrapped my lips around his tip. I should have known better. His hand grabbed the back of my head, slamming it down onto his spear, my nose buried in his bush as he thrust back and forth into my mouth.

"Unff... Yeah, brother... Oh yeah... That sounds like a good... unhhhhh... good idea." Grunting, slapping, moaning, slurping... it all rang out in his room, until he gushed another thick load down my throat. "You wanna join me?" And in that moment, I smiled. It was the best idea he'd had yet.

[inkmonster21]

Sing for Me

13. You Know Me

Cooper Howard × Fem!Reader / The Ghoul × Fem!Reader

She's a singer the nation adores. He's the actor everyone respects. What happens when these two get entangled in a heated affair? Passion, regret, rage, and even murder will commence.

From before the bombs drop to the vast wasteland, these two souls live for one another.

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

Tagged: @fallout-girl219 @harmfulb1tch @themadhattersqueen @one-of-thewalkingdead

I was tracking that Doctor in the wasteland. He hasn’t left long ago, only a day ahead my me. The dog was now at my heels. He stops at the buried diner, where the bloody remains of Doctor Wilzig lay, now headless. Kneeling as a coughing fit captures me. I dig into my pocket retrieving the chem and my inhaler. The weakness being taken away, the hurt in my bones being lifted, and the sweet lull of her voice now present in my ears. I take another inhale, just for shits and giggles. Call me guilty, but I just want to see her again. The more I do the more I’m able to see sweet hallucinations of her. 

I look up seeing the ghostly figure of her waving through the sand. She stares at the body of the Doctor with wide eyes. "Well, he must've said something mean." I let the corner of my mouth tug in a grin. "Come on, let's go find the rest of him." I begin to walk again, watching the dream of her pacing around before my eyes. The dog in tow of my shadow.

The trail of footprints leads to a tiny pit stop. A small bar and a row of cabins across the way. In all my travels I hadn't seen this place before. Seems I missed some things when I was buried in a box for 30 years.

Fucking Dom Pedro, I'll be coming for that ass one day.

I walk into the bar, the crowd slim. The bartender wiping a glass looks at me with nervous eyes. The young kid couldn't have been but 17. I lean on the worn wooden top. "You see a girl come through here? Decapitated head with her?" He looks over his shoulder, gazing at a door before thinking twice. Bingo. He shakes his head, "No, no one passed through here. Just the regulars for Melody." "Well, can I speak to this, Melody?"

"She's not here." A ghoul spoke. "Yeah? She ain't back there hiding?" I point back towards the door. "Don't mind if I check do you?" I walk over to grasp the knob. As I do the fellow ghoul pulls his gun up, but I pull my trigger first blasting a hole into his abdomen. I turn around, addressing the whole establishment. "Now, if ya'll don't mind. I'll be taking a tour." Without any protest, I enter the room.

The small room is lit by several small lamps. A vanity mirror against the wall, and makeup littering the top. I walk along the empty room the space feeling relaxing. déjàvu at its finest. I could almost... smell her. I run a hand over a beaded outfit, a stage costume. I take the fabric off the floor and look at it at full length. I shutter an exhale dropping the dress to the floor.

I move to the wall across the way, my breath getting caught in my throat. Posters from the movies we had done. Her album covers line the walls. One individual catches my eye. The while smiles of two lovers on a Christmas evening. I run my finger over her face. Could it be? Could this Melody... be my (Y/n)? I take the photo tucking it into the inner rim of my hat.

I exit the building, more determined than ever to find the target. Where the head was, she was, and if it was really her... I don't know what I would do first. Question her of her every move, or instantly attack her with starving passion. A starving man who’s ached for her touch for over 200 years.

~

Lucy gasps as she stops. "Look!" She peeps in a hushed voice. A baby deer pokes its head from the grass near the water. I roll my eyes at her incompetence. Such a simple-minded motherfucker. I dig for a cracker in my bag and hand it to her. "Go and feed it if you want." Her eyes got even larger I was worried they'd pop from her head. She nears the animal with a smile, leaning down she feeds the baby the cracker. She smiles and looks back at me. I shake my head with my arms crossed. "She's like a toddler," Conor whispers from behind. "Yep."

Suddenly the deer was snatched into the water. A gulper lunges out of the water and snaps at Lucy. "Ah, shit!" I yell as I rush to her side, dragging her away. Conor shoots it in the side, but as we know these motherfuckers are tough. It snatches at her hands, getting hold of the head and retreating back underwater. Lucy stands as she chases the creature's current across the lake. "Wait, Lucy, wait!" I yell as I run after her.

Just as I come to see her, a figure looms over her hunched body, pointing his gun at Lucy. She exhales a small breath and smiles, "Hello again." I raise my gun in haste pointing it at the figure. He's yet to notice me behind him. I continue to creep silently behind his body.

"Where is it?" He kicks around her bag, "The head." He whips her across the face with the butt of his gun.

I press the barrel of my gun to his back. His entire body stills as I apply pressure."Is that how you treat a lady?" The Ghoul tips his head, his face hidden, "Well," I can hear the smirk in his voice, "You gonna pull that trigger darlin'?" I look him up and down, something strangely familiar about him. "I might. Haven't had had a thrill in a while." Conor comes out of the shrubs as well, weapon drawn. The Ghoul looks over the new arrival, his tongue darting out of his mouth. A dark fire in his expression as he glares at my backup. He draws faster than I had ever seen before shooting Conor dead on the spot. I scream in shock, no one in the 30 years had he ever been caught off guard.

I look up to see The Ghoul with his weapon now raised to me. "This ain't the greeting I'd had hoped, darlin'." I lunged at him, grabbing and clawing at his frame. "YOU MOTHER FUCKER!" He tosses me off and gets on top of me, straddling my body as I roll in the dirt. He grabs my hands forcefully and ties them tightly together. I glare at him as I smell the crimson blood flow from Conor's body. "Fuck you!" I scream at him. He glares at me, meeting my orbs. I suck in a breath, his glare making me cower, making me weak. "You upset I shot your little boyfriend, honey?" He laughs as he stands, dragging me beside Lucy. She cries for Conor, spewing apologies.

The Ghoul points his gun at Lucy questioning about the head once more. She shuddered, "I-I don't know where it is, okay? I lost it. I lost it." I watch him shake his head. He meets my eyes again. They soften slightly. I couldn't look away from him. I wanted to lean into the touch of his gloved hand. "Where'd it go, sweetheart? Huh?" The answer falls from my lips. "A Gulper got it." He smirks before tipping my chin, "Good girl."

I stare at Conor's body slowly coming to the realization. He was gone. My friend, my brother, now lay dead in the dirt. What the fuck was I going to do now? He was the one who knew all the code when an issue occurred, all the maintenance, all the parts, and the work it took to maintain my memory drive. If I didn’t have my drive reloaded onto the memory stick I would start shorting out.

I look at the blades of grass stained with my friend's blood. This Ghoul stings Lucy up to a pull system rig. "Stop, please! My dad, he's an Overseer. He-he got taken by raiders, and I need that head to get him back. If you help me find him, he'll do whatever you want." Lucy begs as she cries out. He drops her into the water, calmly turning to me watching as the worry grows. "You're going to kill her!" "Oh please," He brings Lucy back up, and she struggles to catch her breath. "Stop. Stop! Torture is wrong," Lucy coughs. The Ghoul leans on the post. "You know, they used to do these things called "studies." Why, you couldn't open a newspaper without reading about one study or another. Anyway, this one particular study came out, and it said that torturing a person doesn't do shit." He drops her back down into the water. I look at him curiously. Those were prewar references. Studies in the newspaper.

I remember Cooper making the same complaint. “Can’t turn a page without one popping out at you.” He’d roll his eyes as he turned the page. The memory pushed a ghostly smile on my lips.

He brings her up again. Lucy cries loudly, "Sir, please, I need the head. It's the only way I can get my father back." He ignores her, "My point is... if you ask me, them studies, they were right. Torturing a person don't do shit." Lucy shakes her head in confusion, "Then why... why are you doing this?" I huff, struggling against my binds. "He's using you as fucking bait, Lucy!" The Ghoul drops her down once more. I slip from the rope and go to tackle the Ghoul. I punch and roll him away, getting to my feet and raising Lucy just in time for the Gulper to jump from the water. It attaches to her feet as I pull her back. Lucy tosses anything she can at the Gulper, including the stranger's bag. I light a flare and throw it into the Gulper's mouth. It shrieks before releasing Lucy's leg and retreating into the water.

The Ghoul stands with fury in his eyes. He points the gun at us with a firm hand. He makes eye contact with me and huffs lowering the weapon. He reaches inside his bag, pulling out a small case, upon opening shards of glass fall out. His breath becomes even more rigid. The anger unleashed, “FUCK!” He screamed out.

I push a laugh and sneer at him, “serves you right.” He glares at me while pointing a gloved finger at my chest, “Shut your fuckin’ mouth.” He grabs hold of my throat, “or I’m gonna have to shut it for you.” He tosses me aside.

Lucy gathers herself on her knees, "You can't treat people like this!" The Ghoul looks over the water. "Yeah? Why's that?" "Because of the golden rule." I roll my eyes at her, "It's not the fucking time, Lucy." She shakes her head and continues, "Do unto others as you would have done unto you." The Ghoul ignores her, muttering under his own breath. "Those Gulpers digest real slow. You got time." He turns on his heel. He kneels to Lucy on the ground binding her hands together. He turns to me, "You." He places the loop end of his lasso around my neck and tightens it. He glares into my eyes as he tugs it, "Come on."

He tugs me behind him, Lucy following as well. "Where are we going? What about the head? I need the head to get my dad back." The Ghoul continues walking, "Yeah, well, the Wasteland's got its own golden rule." "Oh? What's that?"

I say without thought, "Thou shalt get sidetracked by bullshit every goddamn time." The Ghoul looks back at me as we track through the greenery. He stares into my eyes, his lips drawing into a smirk.

We walk through the noon wasteland heat, the sun hitting high in the sky beating down. Lucy gasps in small breaths. Her steps closer together as she staffers, her exhaustion battling. "Do you plan on stopping for a break? Or are you going to drag my ass through this hellhole?" The Ghoul looks to his side catching my features. I was in perfect condition. I could travel for miles unfazed, but Lucy looked like she was about to fall over. If I was to get anywhere near Hank MacLean, I needed his daughter alive. "Ain't stopping for shit." I watch his features contort. He's in pain. I lean into his space, our arms brushing. "I have a vial in my bag." I offer him. "If you allow us to stop, even for just an hour, I'll give it to you." The Ghoul stares at me, the ache in his bones growing. He didn’t have much of an option. If he had any brains left at all he’d take the deal.

"Fine." He huffs as he spins me around and digs into my bag. "Side pocket." He dips his hand down, skimming my side through the thick fabric of the bag, still a shiver runs up my spine. A long-forgotten feeling I didn’t want resurfacing.

I grit my teeth, "Watch it, cowboy." He smirks, showing his teeth, and biting his lip slowly. I take in every movement, my body unable to stop this natural attraction. Such a familiar urge pulling in my core. The familiarity in his eyes fights the harsh demeanor confusing me even more.

He grabs the glass vile, applying pressure to my side as he pulls his hand out. "Sorry, darlin'." He steps closer, running his fingers on the skin of my neck, I close my eyes as I get drunk on his touch. He loosens the rope on my neck, taking it over my head. "Go on, then. Rest.”

I turn to tend to Lucy. Allowing her to sip the little water we had left. “Thank you.” She croaks. “Don’t thank me yet, Lucy.” I look behind me seeing the Ghoul watching with his hat tipped ever so slightly. He watches with a smirk, staring directly at my frame. I feel that same shiver in my spine and I take a breath. Beyond him was a large building, halfway buried in the sand. The land resembles the once-thriving town. The current building was the movie theater, next to that was the restaurant, and down the way was a candy shop.

I grab Lucy’s arm pulling her with me to the building to take advantage of the shade. “Stay here.” I pass her the canister of water and silently move my way toward the entrance of the abandoned building.

I wander deep into the halls, most of the rooms torn apart with little to salvage. I see a poster crumpled under my shoes. I move the rubble to get a better look. I laugh lightly, bending down to retrieve it. A movie poster. One of his favorites actually. The special movie he was able to make with Rosevelt. I pick it up with a small grin.

“Anything in here worth a shit?”

I turned to see the Ghoul as he silently leaned against the doorway. I folded the worn faded poster quickly, stuffing it into my bag before shaking my head. “Nope. Just some junk.” His eyes shifted to my bag quickly. I push past him in search of caps, food, anything to distract me from dipping into forbidden waters.

“Then what’s that?” He grabs my bag tugging it down my arm. “Hey!” I fight for it back but he pulls the crumpled post out. Barely recognizable, but I knew what it was, who it was. “Give that back, fucking asshole.”  

The Ghoul laughs as he holds the poster out for his viewing eyes. He reads off the words, his southern drawl thick in his words, “Cooper Howard staring in A Man and His Dog.” He looks down at me. He raises a hairless brow, “this your type of thing?” I snatch the poster from his gloved hand. “It’s a good movie.” “Cute dog.” I stuff the worn paper down into my bag. “Best fucking dog around.”

I venture to the next room. The projection booth remained pretty untouched. Being tucked away from most wanderers. I look over my shoulder seeing the Ghoul leaning against the door frame with a shameless smirk. “Why are you following me around? She'll make a break for it if you’re not around.”

“Nah, I doubt she’ll be able to run.” He lifts himself from the door, his boots scuffling the floor with each step. I look between each case, and box, only finding a handful of caps. “I’m more concerned bout you, darlin’.” I turn around, having to back up into the shelves. His face is at a perfect angle. I can truly see him.

He takes one step closer, pinning me to the bookcase. My breath shutters as I inhale, soaking him in. He bores into my eyes silently. Words are not spoken but a conversation is taking place. One I am unable to hear. A private conversation between souls. I crave him, this stranger with the familiar glow. He runs a finger over my bottom lip. I turn my head away, but he readjusts it to meet his gaze. He dips his head lower, our faces inches from each other. "What are you doing?" The Ghoul's smirk rises again. "Just takin a look." He pulls a case from the shelve. "Ain't this you?" The film being a musical I starred in. I look at him curiously. "You know me, cowboy?" He shrugs, his hat shielding his features once more, "Well, that depends." He raises his head, allowing his orbs to pop through. "You know me?"

I stare at him, the missing pieces of a puzzle I didn't know needed solving. He felt so familiar. He knew of a life before the bombs, maybe that's why the connection was there.

A loud scream breaks me from my trance. I push past him and race outside. Lucy tied to a wooden beam in the front kicks at a rad roach with a panicking whine. I shoot the bugs with an annoyed expression. "Calm down would you?" She shakes, her eyes wide, "Those things were about to eat my toes!" She panics as she pulls against her binds.

We continue on walking through the wasteland to some unknown destination. The Ghoul walks behind Lucy and me; making sure we advance on his path. He stares at me with each step. His eyes glassed over slightly. The one vial only would hold his pain over for so long.

Lucy pants in the sun her legs threatening to fail her. "Melody. Do... Do you have any more water?" I shaky my head at her with a sympathetic look. She turns to look at the Ghoul. "Sir. Sir, please. I need water. Please." He goes and pulls out his canteen, opens the lid, drinks the remaining water, and even dumps out the last drops onto the sand. I shake my head at him. Such a petty man. Lucy's pants of dehydration make him smirk. He looks me up and down. "How come you're all dandy? Hadn't seen you want for nothing." "I don't need water." "Everyone needs water." I shake my head, "Not me." The Ghoul challenges again, "Well why the fuck not?" I sneer at him with a smirk, "I guess you'll just have to wait and find out." He smirks, his teasing behavior continuing, building the tension between us. "Shit, darlin', I like surprises."

I could feel his wandering eyes rake over my body. The burning gaze made my hair stand and my stomach turn. Passing a building, a groan and a shout ring out. "Roger! My name is Roger!" The Ghoul makes Lucy enter first. He places a hand on my lower back, "Come on, darlin'." I fight the urge to lean into his touch, in hopes he would use both his hands.

Upon entering we see a man sitting and thrashing on the sand. "Roger. My name is Roger." He's going down and fast. I press my lips together watching the stranger twist in pain. "Roger. Roger. My name... is Roger!" He screams out again. The Ghoul leans down in front of the turning Ghoul.

"Hey, Rog." He focused his gaze, a small smile coming up at the sight. "Hey. Hey. Fancy seeing you out here. You out for that bounty, too, huh?" He nods, "Yep." Roger unwillingly snarls and wails. The Ghoul looks towards his acquaintance. "How you feeling?"

Roger chuckles after a harsh exhale. "Oh... You know... it's hard out here. Dang smoothies can be so unkind." Roger turns to look toward Lucy and I. He points at me with a chuckle. "Hey! I saw you not too long ago. Sang that one song, real pretty but real sad, about going to your grave." I push a smile, "Yeah, I wrote that a while back. Glad you enjoyed it." Roger huffs looking towards the Ghoul. "Got yourself a nice-looking smoothie. Sings like an angel." He snarls loudly making Lucy jump.

"You're turning." Roger grunts, "Yeah. Yeah, maybe. Maybe. Hey, you-you don't happen to have any vials, do you? Just one little puff and I'll be back on my feet. You know I'm good for it." The Ghoul shakes his head, "I'm sorry, Roger. I'm all out." Roger holds his hands up, "That's okay. That's okay. Though, um, you and your smooth-faced friends, you, um... might want to clear out... before things get ugly." He snarls loudly. I kneel, smiling at Roger. I began to sing the lyrics he spoke of.

It's sooner than later that I'm six feet under

It's sooner than later that you'll be alone

So who will you turn to tomorrow, I wonder?

For when the bombs drop, lover, you're on your own

Roger smiles at me as the words echo in the beaten-up building. His eyes glossing over, he's almost completely gone.

I am the one who you let see you weeping

I know the soul that you struggled to save

Too bad I'm the bet that you lost in the reaping

Now what will you do when I go to my grave?

His eyes close as he sways. As the last word leaves my mouth a shot rings out, splattering Roger's brain on the back wall. Lucy covers her mouth, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Wh... why?" I look back at her. "You're going to have to toughen up, kid. It was for the better." The Ghoul spends no time putting his gun back in his holster and flipping Roger over. I scoff as he cuts into his flesh, skinning him in strips.

The Ghoul brings a slice up to his lips taking a large bite. Lucy gags and protests, "Stop. Stop, stop. Please, I... No, I know it's hard up here, but you don't... you don't have... you don't have to resort to... to..." The Ghoul looks up from his work with a question. "What'd you say your name was?" "Lucy MacLean." The Ghoul stills, he turns to face us, an unreadable expression as he speaks, "MacLean? Huh." He begins his work again, "Well, Lucy MacLean, it ain't all canned peaches and marmalade left up here, sweetheart. Sometimes a fella's got to eat a fella." Lucy pushes her point even further. "You know, my vault has endured hardship, too. In the Great Plague of '77, everyone had to quarantine, they couldn't work the farms together. People starved. My mother included. My dad dropped to 128 pounds, and he still refused to do anything like this." I laugh at her words. She looks at me with wonder, "What? What's so funny?" I shake my head at her, distracting myself with the broken plates on the floor. "No, no, nothing. I feel for him. Must've been so hard." My sarcastic tone is thick in my words. The Ghoul chuckles, "There's what people say they did and what they really did. I'll bet your daddy was first in line at the cookout. I bet he had a bib with a drawing of his neighbor's ass on there." I laugh at his words. "That's funny."

Lucy looks at me in disbelief. "How do you live like this? Why keep going?" The Ghoul turns to her, a glare in his eyes. He stands and stalks towards her, a smirk playing on his lips. "Well, one good question deserves another." He turns the handle of the knife to Lucy, "Why the fսck am I doing all the work? Now come on, Vaultie. Ass jerky don't make itself."

[begaycommittreason]

things that the batfamily have been banned from (by majority vote of the others)

bruce: the kitchen, stealing new children without prior notice, using “teen lingo”, shovel talks, kidnapping and psychologically altering his children’s brains (no i’m not bitter), bodily removing clark from gotham in front of cameras, reviving the fucking joker again

dick: designing new costumes unsupervised, using other people as springboards without warning, reality tv show offers, shovel talks (for a very different reason), wearing overly tight pants in public, making crowbar jokes (canon), giving other people fashion advice, trying (ie. forcing) his siblings to do acrobatic tricks they aren’t capable of with him

jason: paintball, more than 3 daily death jokes, speaking to the press, convincing sleep deprived siblings he’s a ghost, showing up to galas in increasingly bad disguises, laser tag, dressing normally on halloween and claiming his costume is a zombie (their main problem with it is just that it’s over done at this point)

tim: monopoly, clue, unrestricted access to barbara’s files, stalking, overexposure to the x-files, ra’s al goul, being awake for more than 3 days at a time, prolonged amicable exposure to villains (he has a worrying amount of potential), blackmailing his family members, overcaffination (to the point of paranoia, body spasms, openly admitting his inclination to commit war crimes)

dami: adopting any stray he sees (it’s genetic), publicly unacceptable displays of violence, threatening a fight to the death over minor inconveniences, referring to his siblings as bastard children in public, referring to his siblings in public at all (literally nothing good has ever come of it)

cass: hide and seek, painting unconscious family members nails before press conferences, jumpscaring the paparazzi, honestly it doesn’t really matter bruce lets her get away with everything

duke: using his powers to predict when one of his brothers is showering and flushing the toilet, blaming everything on his brothers “initiating” him, looking into cameras at big press events and describing bruce’s ‘brucie’ antics as ‘white people shit’, pretending he’s been kidnapped in public before ppl knew he was adopted

steph: explaining (lying about) pop culture things to bruce, glitter bombs, inciting prank wars on national television, standing behind bruce or tim during press conferences and mocking them

babs: toppling regimes while sleep deprived, hacking and altering nasa’s data for fun to see scientists have meltdowns, enabling tim’s blackmail hobby, passive aggressively running people over in her chair when she’s mad

bonus:

selina: inviting the sirens to the manor without prior notice, trying to turn tim and dami into her apprentices, faking pregnancy scares to see bruce get gray hairs on the spot, needing to get bailed out of jail more than 4 times a month (they just expect her to not get caught)

alfred: not taking any vacation days, making waffles (canonically awful), using his shotgun on rats in the house, shaving g his mustache (the family had a collective meltdown)

[theoutcastrogue]

the internet is rotting, as Jonathan Zittrain noted in an important (but paywalled) 2021 Atlantic article. A huge percentage of the links on the internet are broken, and there is no single authoritative, accessible universal repository that keeps track of everything. It is frighteningly easy for crucial information to slip away. ...

The practice of making changes to an article without noting that you’ve made them is called “stealth editing,” and even the New York Times does it. ... The existence of stealth editing means that it’s difficult to trust that the version of an article you click on at any given moment is the article as it was originally published. ...

I also, to my alarm, realized just how dependent we are on private publications themselves to give us access to records of their own work. Often, they keep it payawalled behind locked gates and charge you admission if you want to have a look. There are lots of sources in the Chomsky book to which you have to subscribe if you want to verify, such as this 1999 story in the Los Angeles Times about NATO’s bombing of a bus in Yugoslavia. This is a story of national importance, far too overlooked at the time, but if you don’t subscribe to the LA Times, you need research library access or a workaround if you want to read it.

Thank God for the Internet Archive, whose Wayback Machine preserves as much of the internet as they can and is invaluable for researchers trying to figure out what was once housed at now-dead links. But the Internet Archive has its limits. Social media posts, YouTube videos, paywalled Substack posts, PDFs—all can be very difficult to track down after they disappear. If a politician tweets something embarrassing, for instance, and then deletes it, it might be preserved in a screenshot. But we know screenshots are easy to fake. So where do you turn to prove satisfactorily that something was in fact said? ...

it’s very easy to lose pieces of information that seem permanent. E-books, for instance, can be changed by their publisher without the changes even being noted. You might read a book on your Amazon Kindle one day and open it up the next day to look for a quote only to find that the quote has disappeared without a trace. The Guardian, for twenty years, hosted a copy of Osama bin Laden’s “letter to the American people,” an important historical document. After the letter went viral on TikTok, the Guardian removed it from the site entirely. The New Republic did the same after an article of theirs about Pete Buttigieg caused controversy. The documents in question can still be found, but only by digging through the Internet Archive. If that ever goes down, researchers will find that trying to piece together the online past is like trying to learn about a lost civilization from excavated fragments. ...

I think that in an age where people (rightly) don’t trust the information they’re getting to be true, it needs to be as easy as possible to do research. Instead, while we have better technology than ever for sifting through information, it’s still the case that the truth is paywalled and the lies are free. If you want to “do your own research” to check on the veracity of claims, you will run headlong into a maze of broken links, paywalls, and pop-ups. How can anyone hope to find the truth when it’s so elusive, trapped behind so many toll gates? 

[lime-ether]

Why the , fuck are you blocking your fans? They just repost artists that are Russians, and it’s not their fault that their Putin attacked you

I didn't want to write something like this on this blog but damn. I wanted to close this topic once and for all. There's quite a lot of text here but I'm just tired of being called guilty for the fact that I'm still alive

Ahem, The most important

Don't talk to me in Russian. Do I understand it? Unfortunately, Yes. But I don't want to see it here in my safe space. There is UKR/ENG in my description for a reason.

Maybe when you come to this blog, you think that I am a friendly creator who treats everything neutrally, but no.

If you repost, draw, promote any content in Russian or Russian projects - go away, I'm not happy for you here.

Imbeciles who have never experienced real thought and learn about the world solely through fandom love to tell you wrong with the certainty of a gnat. They relax in their armchairs, scroll through TikTok, think poverty means not owning a house, maybe an iPad, and maybe check one article a day on Twitter/ X — only if it's about pop culture. Then they slide in a news of someone who survived the bombing, acting like they're the moral police. If you know nothing and your understanding is woefully shallow, at least try to resist the urge to write all kinds of nonsense

"bUt wHy cAn't I tAlK aNd sPrEaD fUnNy rUs mEmEs" or "LANGUAGE CAN'T HARM YOU" of course. but the people who use it have killed my neighbors, my parents friends, my uncle, Friends and EVEN A NIECE WHO WAS NOT EVEN A YEAR OLD and many more than just my family.

destroyed other people's houses and my plans for the future

They wish death on each of us every day and the saddest thing is that I grew up with this I don't remember what it was like to live without war, do you think it was three years? 10 years? No. It was practically always like that

So you know they organized the Holocaust–Or famine , made 'fraternal' wars between Ukrainians, simply KILLED OUR NATION EVERY TIME, but we manage to resurrect ourselves almost every time, And every time they try to break us again. It's not just Putin who comes and kills everyone, it's a whole nation that steals, kills and erases important things from history, it's a nation that comes and steals and abuses and steals our children, or do a crimes to women or men.

The most big thing

I hate when westerns joke about 'soviet'

But what I hate most is when they hypocritically repost pro-Palestinian posts and are completely calm about Russians who post what a good day they are having after bombing another residential area

If you are a western that somehow supports Russians and reposts their work, arts, animation, game's, Creation

you are a bad person for me, I'm disappointed in you, get out of here, And don't you dare come back here.

Because Is it THAT HARD for you to at least try to understand what other people might be feeling? It's so hard to check that the person you follow pays taxes and continues to support the nightmare?

[taxfruad4ever]

Howdy and hello! Could you write some platonic headcannons for Sonic and a Reader who hops universes every time they sneeze? They keep popping up in his, and they keep getting wrapped up in his nonsense, and they keep loving it every time

"Do you think we're friends in every Universe?"

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

• Both Sonic and the reader both have the ability— if Sonic sneezes but you don't (or vice versa) he'll teleport but you won't, But if you sneeze at the same time, you teleport to the same universe.

• Whenever ethier of you get that weird tingling in your nose just before you sneeze, you basically throw whatever's in your hands. That way, if you end up in a world were that object dosen't exist, you won't have to hide it! (e.g. phones, tools, currency, or just anything valuable.)

• ^ This lead to Sonic throwing a box of homemade chocolates that Amy made for him on Valentines day. She was not very keen with him for the following week.

• allergies SUCK way worse than they did before. Like, A LOT.

• ^ Sickness too.

• Sonic loves site seeing, hiking, and Especially running, so exploring new worlds is an absolute treat for him. He beams whenever you two come across some waterfall, national park, or just a nice sunset.

• You both carry around (a) small camera(s) to take pictures with. You have a whole stack of pictures that you've taken across different worlds and galaxies.

• ^ Sonic loves photo bombing your pictures. Giving you bunny ears and hiding in trees just to name a few. One time, he bombed All of your photos — He would pose himself in really strange ways. When you got home, you figured out that he had spelt: "ur a butthead".

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Thank you so much for the support! And thanks for reading! Baiiii 💖

[themthrfkinprincess]

My Astro Observations . . . TROIS

Welcome back to my posts. 😁👋🏾💗

Erm let's get into it I lol haha

This first one is not even an observation ✨but✨ whenever I just hear about Pisces I think of this photo:

This probably does not even freaking make sense to you. Well literally I was on Pinterest and I saw this and the very first thing that popped into my mind was Pisces. Like I don’t know. I think that the seal signifying toothpaste laying on the toothbrush in the middle of a rainy day very mutable water energy. There is something neptunian about it. It’s very Pisces moon to me being specific. Probably doesn’t not even make sense. My cousin is a Pisces, he reminds me of this. Hm. Idk. 🐟🫧🐟🫧

The three fire signs for absolutely no hickory darn dickory reason at all :

OOF Okay. Stereotypical. But these fuckers are just loud for no reason !!! Like fren I PRAY THEE TO SHUT THE FUCK UP🥺🥺🥺. I’m lying lol !! I love loud ppl ahaha !! 😭🤣 Like girl yes let’s yell for no apparent reason at all 😆💖 !! They’re so crazy you can take them anywhere !! But like girl wait cause you don’t want to be in A Quiet Place with them- they will have you UTTERLY. FUCKED😵🤯. Like okay- it’s not even if the person just talks loud or laughs loudly- the fellow sillylington just might quite literally make random noises. These are very spontaneous individuals. And when I speak of this I mean like maybe they might have a good amount of fire placements dominating or have some good influence of it. Like girly your just loud. 😭 I also want to include Gemini partially in this mix cause you guys do weird things out of nowhere I love it- I kind of mentioned this in my last post.

These placements are the Fifth Harmony of astrology- im talking Demi Lavato💀 I'm talking Exo 💀 Just big and loud 💀 You guys give Secret Love Song by Fifth Harmony💀

Taurus, Aries, Capricorn, Sagittarius ,Scorpio remind me of this:

My mom is a Scorpio- with prominent Capricorn influence- she is very much welcomed into the Nation of Idgafsia. LIKE WOW. I aspire to not give a fuck like her !! Like these five placements be minding they bussiness foreralzies !!! Like a bomb in somebody house across the street could go off and mean while they’re in the bathroom setting up their soaps and bodycare right before they get in the shower- like dimming the lights n lighting their candles n everything IM CRYING😭 AOSNDODNSK. These ppl r nonchalant. They’re relaxed and easy to hang around, I love it I love it I love it 💖

like no this be them fr 😭😭😭 :

But personally and specifically I think a Taurus would be the mayor/president of Idgafsia. Using a old friend for observation, I don’t personally know how you could not be cool with one. She reminds me of capybaras.

When I litteraly say shes this gif I mean it. I could put a posionus snake her bed. She would have probrobly wake up and be like “not you put a poisonous snake in my bed while I was sleep. girly that’s so crazy girl let me go to the hospital real quick. ima be back. 🏥🚶🏻‍♀️🗿 ” LIKE HUH??? CQFBHENNR😭. Like if it SERIOUSLY has nothing to do with anything pertaining to them they will rlly just be chilling forreal foreal. 🗿

Aries/Gemini/Water men are so breedable imo

LOL. Let me stop😭

but yeah i could give these men the meanest strap.

Also water sign men are so sexy? wtf??

You can’t tell an Aquarius or Scorpio SHIT. They are very much “erm ackshually my fellow scholar🤓👆🏾 the sun is shuprshingly 📝🤓not the biggest 🤓📚🧪 celestial body within our vast mind boggling universe-🤓👆🏾 you may want to consider looking into stars such Sirius 🤓🤓🤓”

Like yeah dude. We know that. An Aquarius would probably try to explain to you how to walk as if you had not learned that many years ago in your fresh years on this planet. Girl move.

It’s so infuriating!! I CANT count how many times I’ve seen Aquarius like this specifically. Like ouu girly you want to be an encyclopedia soooo bad 🙄🙄 Like I don’t know. You guys really seem like know it alls, it’s really your way or the highway. I wanna prove an Aquarius girly wrong so bad. JUST BECAUSE 😈

They are the personification of finding out your ass was really on the remote after all- and now you just don’t want to admit it. Like we don’t care fren just give us the remote I’m trying to watch Once Upon a Time for the 12948372th time. 😔😞

Like girly wrap it up or whatever 🙄

But no.

No.

I do understand genuinely you guys really like to find information that really helped you out at times-and spread it to dear ones. It's very nice of you seriously- we appreciate it. Thank you my beloved wanna-be-encyclopedia, like rlly seriously my pookie scrimblo sticks. 💗🥰

Speaking of Aquarian influence. MY GOD. Idc if it’s Saturnian or Uranian or whatever. If it’s Aquarian/Capricornian (does that even make sense? I have come to this DEFINITE conclusion; that AQUARIUS/CAPRICORN IS JUST SO SEXY🤯🤯🤯 but the big emphasis is on Aquarius like MY GAWD.

*Dance for You by Beyonce starts to play* Like no . . . Papi Hiddleston is SO. FOINE. *DRAMATIC EXPLOSION* He be having me GAWKIN!! you ever see somebody so sexy you get scared ?!?! 😧 like oooh im shivering in me timbers !!! 😰🫣😨

several Aquarius have done me like that N LOOK. DONT EVEN TRY IT- Yes. I’m a marvel girlie. I might litterly bring up anything marvel related on every post so don’t even be shocked lol. Just expect that from now on im so serious lol. and yo my sister mad whacky she said he’s ugly and talked about his bamboozled hairline what a friggin' bitch😔✋🏾n if you think so too on January 22nd, 2024- on that Monday at 8:17 AM you will slip on a banana peel. 😈 🍌🍌🍌

I’m getting sidetracked BUT I watched that new BBC interview of him after season 2.

AND YO.

HIS VOICE IS SO DEEP WHAT?? ZOO WEE MAMA !!! 🤤🤤🤤

But this is how Capricorn/Aquarius have me😋😋😋

like it’s me bby . . 😜😉 let me be ur girl . . . mmmh stop trippin papi 😚😋🥰

They are sex walking I’m so sorry. This goes for Capricorn too with that Saturn energy. You guys r so hawt n sexay. Like sheesh meowwwww puurrr slay the boots house down yas. 🐈😼 😈

Like jeez let’s play Cool Cat by queen real quick.

Now listen up!

Virgo, Sagittarius, Leo, Aquarius, Aries, Capricorn, and Gemini !!! Im talking to you !! 💗😋 These placements are so accepting imo. Like no- I've just noticed that these placements.

Virgo- I think you guys seem to be good listeners. This goes for Gemini too- maybe because they may share qualities with Mercury. They both do so in a caring sense- such in a sense that if you feel like maybe no one is hearing you/dont feel heard they will maybe at least try to hear you out. I think they r just great when u need an ear 💗

Now Aries, Sag, Leo Gemini and Aquarius I LOVE YOU AGH. Is it me or like I LOVE WATCHING YOU GUYS BE YOURSELVES AHH. You inspire me so much AHH!!

YOU GUYS INSPIRE ME TO BE BOLD N TO JUST BE MYSELF LIKE ARGHH MATEY!! IM GONNA DO IT!!!!!!

I feel like there are times. Where you can feel or felt unsure or awkward about yourself. In my opinion I often see these signs just doing their thing at times- it can be unapologetic. It does not even have to be bold or anything they can just be minding their business doing their everyday thing. I guess what I'm saying is I love how authentic the sign can be.

There is some sort of level of confidence in them that they can stand on. I love it.

And yeah- I've just come to this conclusion that Capricorns, Geminis and Aquarius can just be weird? Like lol. Thier humor can be so weird and so out of the box sometimes- personality too. I feel when they are literally just being them, it is very inspiring to me imo.

Like i feel like you can have a dance off in the kitchen like this at 4am with them idk 😭:

N i guess its why I think these signs (Cap, Leo, Aqua, Aries, Sag) can usually be very sexy easily bc they r just so authentic n raw to me its kind of poetic like im twirling my hair rn n giggling 🤭

I feel like Leo, Aquarius and Scorpio can be like this when hurt:

"I'm so tall, can't get over me

I'm so low, can't get under me

I must be all these things

For I just threw out the love of my dreams"

Of course- when it comes to modality the four signs will obviously have something in common. What I mean with Leo Aqaurius and Scorpio is- they are just so- well- fixed. I noticed they try to act like they don't care about something- when they very much in fact do. You can't jump over them, you can't get under them- you can't get besides them, and like even if you did- it cannot really affect them that much anyway . . . -right? It feels like punching a stone made of jelly on the inside (literally so random- ik fren lmfao) I can punch a stone, It's fine- well not my knuckles ofc- they can be so hard when hurt. Sheesh. Only if you knew that you wobbled up that Jello a little bit on the inside. (Does that even make sense?)

And don't even try to pick up the stone- its too heavy. They ground themselves whatever philosophy they got going on in their noggin🥴🥴🥴🥴- no matter if its emotionally or whatever.

"He is in my eyes, he is in my ears

He is in my blood, he is in my tears

I breathe love, and see him everyday

Even though my love's a world away

Oh, he's got me wondering

My righteousness is crumbling"

It will bother them. And bother them. And bother them. And bother them. Bother them. And Aqaurius with think about it- try to bargain about it imo. Scorpio with feel a very fucking speicfic way about it and not say SHIT. 🙄😒 Leo's are so silly- they just try to act unfazed

but we easily know lol like ok girl-I'm sorry but there is something too whimsical/unserious about them to not know when somethings wrong 😭. But yes-back to the point. In short- its so annoying with them bc three gwrorlies dont just want to admit or submit to things at first. These three live off of cool down time !!! lmfao 🤣 you really got to give them a moment. Maybe a long time too. They care so much. Too much at times- like girl be calm.

I feel like they can do the most. They will do all sorts of things just to stand on something- or an idea or feeling that they had. It is hard for them to be wrong, or to lose. Sometimes I feel like these three need to learn how to truly let things be or go. Not everything has to be a chess game fren. ☹️💗 It like they feel they need to be a few steps ahead- they might feel ashamed or disappointed or sad or otherwise with them.

erm i have few more things to say but im literally tired of typing lol.

Ciao!!

[shuinami]

Part 2: Why is the accent? Where and when does Hobie come from? Part 1: Who, What (London Accents) | Part 3: How (Writing Tips)

In this section, we'll touch on racism since the 70s, black Londoner youth culture and how punk has historically interacted with those things.

To begin, let’s answer the question of what the hell all us black people are doing here in the U.K. 😂

Long story short, after World War II, the U.K. invited subjects of the empire over, in need of help rebuilding the place and doing essential work after getting bombed and stuff. There was further incentive on the subjects’ side to come as many of their men had been sent off for the war but were out of work and not properly compensated upon their return, leading to a poor economy and many people hoping for better in the ‘mother country’. Caribbean people, mostly Jamaicans, came over from then right through the 60s but were not welcomed and treated as British as many of them thought they might be… cause, you know, racism. 

In 1962, 1968, 1971 and 1981, legislation was passed that made it incredibly difficult for black Caribbeans to come over, even to this day, which led to the migration of black people shifting to predominantly Africans, mostly West Africans, in the 80s, who would come for education and work purposes mostly. (For context, in the 2020s, there are more African people than Caribbean people in the U.K.). In the 70s and 90s, East Africans fleeing conflict have also immigrated en masse, although the numbers were quite a bit smaller than the West African and black Caribbean diaspora.

[not an expansive breakdown of all ethnicities, I just wanted to talk about the most populous black nationalities for the general gist of where black British life really got on a roll]

So, onto life as a black person in the U.K. 

It’s important to remember that the U.K. was racist as fuck AND did not have Jim Crow laws or a history of relegating certain cities or neighbourhoods to ethnic minorities because, by the time we had been invited, there were not so many of us living in England for such laws to be deemed necessary (by racists). 

Living literally side by side, often in the same building, with people who wanted to see them brutalized had a big impact on how black British people navigated life back then and has residual cultural effects on how we behave to this day. 

One thing that stood out to me was the line where Hobie says he has “a laugh at the pub with the mandem”. As many of you will know, the pub is a large part of general British culture as the main drinking scene. Until more recently, you couldn’t just go and buy alcohol from the supermarket or whatever like you can now, so people had to go to the pub for a drink. Additionally, during times when getting clean water was unreliable due to cholera outbreaks, a drink from the pub was safer than drinking water.

It’s also important to know that, unlike clubs, many pubs sell food and are family-friendly, so while it’s not likely for a little kid to be bouncing to go the pub because it’s just basically like a restaurant to them, it’s a place that a child can be used to going to.

Not only do pubs sell food, but pubs also are places that are mostly used to watch football, as well as play pool, participate in pub quizzes (competitive general knowledge pop quizzes done in teams) and generally be out late to sit and talk.

That being said, as I mentioned before, how black people navigate where we live is different to how white people do.

Whilst many black people will go to the pub with their work colleagues or with their mixed friend groups, pubs generally have never been a haunt for black adolescents.

Instead, black drinking culture is more associated with dance and music, i.e. house parties, clubs (particularly clubs or club nights where music popular amongst the black community is played and, in older times, basement boozers) and lounges. Unlike white counterparts, most black kids will not have grown up going to the pub or around people who went and would not be used to going until they got invited out, likely by workmates.

To this day, although racism has chilled out so much since the mid-20th century, a lot of younger people actually still have a latent fear of facing racism from white football hooligan types and drunk, older white people in pubs. If you went to a pub, you typically wouldn’t see many young black people in there, if any. 

The epitome of this mindset was on display during the last World Cup, during which Gen Z black U.K. TikTok was filled with half-jokes about the brutality they would face sitting in the pub to watch an England game if a black team member were to miss a kick or otherwise make a mistake. It was something we joked about in real life too and there was a rumour that went around - which many of us believed to be true - that two black guys had been thrown in the Thames because the black players had missed the penalty kicks they took. 

It was just a rumour, however, people did take to racially abusing the players online and, whilst it wasn’t true, you can see what the general attitude towards pubs tends to be and why it’s not a hotspot for black youth. 

There are U.K. pubs that historically have had more black patronage in black communities but there’s only a few and they’re not really a thing in London.

Knowing that, it’s not to say that no young black people frequent pubs, but it means that it says something about Hobie that he does (or his world, which we’ll talk about later). What it says exactly is up to your headcanon, but it’s worth noting that it’s not typical for a black teenager in London to hang out at the pub, even if they are rebellious and not concerned by the drinking age.

So you may be thinking, damn, why do pubs have such a reputation? What happened that meant that - to this day - there’s such a divide?

While the U.K. was always racist and was unwelcoming to those who arrived during the Windrush period, it continued to get worse going into the 70s. The increasing popularity of the fascistic political party called the ‘National Front’ saw the rise of ‘the immigrants are taking our jobs’ rhetoric used to appeal to the white working class that persists, to a less extreme, today, such as with the political party UKIP, as well as the English Defense League (EDL), both of which have taken on a more Islamophobic angle than the focused and explicit anti-black & anti-browness of the National Front. The National Front’s supporters would chant and sing stuff like “We’re gonna send the blacks back”.

In daily life, black kids had to deal with shameless racism, bullying and violence from their white peers. There was a ‘sus’ law implemented, which essentially made it so that police could (and very much did) stop and arrest any black person they saw on the street that they felt was ““““suspected person””””, which included unprovable and outrageously ridiculous bullshit like being suspected of ‘loitering with the intent to steal’ (so basically, if you’re black and outside, you were - and still are, especially if you’re young - likely to be suspected of this). As mentioned earlier, there were people who would watch games and get drunk in the pub, then go out into the streets on a destructive rampage would also take those opportunities of chaos to physically assault black and brown people.

All of this was on top of institutional racism and micro-aggressions like we have today but turned up to 10. Minorities didn’t feel safe going around their own city alone for fear of getting mobbed or having rocks thrown at them. Even in their own homes, racists were putting literal shit and bombs in their letterboxes. The popularity of the National Front saw a rise in Nazism - an especially wild expression of racism, considering the Nazis had bombed the fuck out of London in WW2, which was the reason the U.K. went crying to the subjects for help in the first place. 

So, naturally, ethnic Londoners tended to craft and operate in their own spaces when it came to leisure, more attuned to the cultures from their family’s countries of origin as well as the kinds where they were just generally more accepted for who they are. Though no longer out of necessity for safety, this aspect of Black British culture persists today, to a lesser extent though, and latent anxieties about acts of extreme racism still remain in the collective subconscious, even though most young people today will have never experienced such extremes.

Just for clarity, this is not to say black people are afraid of white people in general, I’m not sure that could even have been said in the 70s, since there were also plenty of non-racist (aka normal) people too. Back then, the culture was probably a lot more gatekept than it has been for the past few decades, but I’m trying to explain why black British culture and black British life is a different experience to being white British, it’s not only experiencing racism, but it’s also that we just do different stuff cause we historically didn’t feel welcome at their figurative tables and thus did our own thing mostly. It’s why you still get friend groups that are predominantly black despite everyone’s families likely coming from different countries with different cultures, because we relate in terms of black British culture and not feeling especially understood amongst white counterparts. But if white people make us feel like they are down with us, we’re down with them, as one would hope lol.

Speaking of down white people, another huge part of Hobie’s character is that he’s a punk, of course.

So, not gonna lie to you guys, due to the things I just stated about how black people had to navigate the world and craft their own spaces in order to feel comfortable and safe, the punk scene (as we would think of it) has never been a thing that was popular amongst black British people. It’s a predominantly white scene and during the 70s was not unaffected by rising Nazism. To this day, there are still Nazi punks and what we call dirtbag leftists, so you can imagine, at the time, though there were and still are more non-racist white punks, there were enough Nazis that a. it’s not something that seemed welcoming to black people and b. non-racist White punks in the 70s felt that the Nazi problem was bad enough that they needed to do something big about it, which we’ll get onto. 

Because we’re not a monolith, of course, there were black punks such as Poly Styrene, the lead singer of X-Ray Spex, and Basement 5, a punk-reggae band (remember this), but other than that, I haven’t been able to find documentation of black punk life in particular, nor have I been able to get any personal accounts from family. Punk is a small-ish scene to begin with, so you can imagine that the black people who participated are very few. Here, I’m not trying to say that few black people enjoyed listening to the music as part of their taste, I’m pretty sure a lot of young people would have liked the music but not necessarily been active in the scene/culture in the way that white counterparts were. 

Again, the fact that Hobie is a full-out punk as a black teen says something about him or his world; what in particular, is totally up to interpretation and headcanon, but understand that it’s another unique behaviour.

A similar thing that did include black people was ‘skinhead’ culture, something that emerged from and celebrated the working class, especially Jamaican people, in the 1960s, but it was co-opted by ‘punk’ and white people, then drifted away from its associations with and relevance amongst black people and became most popular amongst Nazis in the 80s, associated with the ‘British Movement’. Most people will think of racist white football hooligan types when they think of skinheads nowadays, even though in reality, for both punks and skinheads, not all people in these subcultures are racist/fascist. 

As I mentioned earlier, because minorities were living side by side with working-class white people, a lot of stuff that wasn’t kind of gatekeepy (i.e. super black) has always been at risk of being yanked from us and has historically been done by literal Nazis and I’m sure this plays a part in alternative scenes that stray very far from the cultures we’re raised in not being the most popular amongst us.

Nonetheless, non-racist punks and black people agreed on a lot of core points about classism/capitalism and the need to stomp out racism, which led to white punks starting the Rock Against Racism (RAR) organisation, which held concerts across the country with the intention of bringing people together to take a stand against racism. If you’re able to, I recommend watching the documentary about it called White Riot (2019), which whilst it does include some black interviewees, focuses on the white punks’ side of things and the racism of the time, as opposed to black life. Still worth the watch :)

Other than punk rock, you know what other acts were invited to play at these RAR concerts?

 Black musicians who played funk and reggae were also invited. Even though their music taste was different, the message was the same. Additionally, it might surprise non-British people to hear but even white British people have long loved themselves some reggae, hence Bob Marley’s popularity here.

Reggae is a genre that is often used to speak on politics and social issues, it’s why Rastafarians love it and make such music. So, whilst the punk-reggae fusion of Basement 5 might sound strange today when reggae is not as popular as it once was, it makes total sense why. You can also see references to the London punk scene in the 70s (the time he was living in London) in Bob Marley’s song “Punky Reggae Party”.

I mention this to emphasise how the blackness of black British people, even in white space, has not typically proven to give way, that to be punk or believe in such values is not to relinquish all traces of black culture. I also say this to say, as I’ve said in a previous post bouncing off of Daniel Kaluuya’s thoughts on ‘punk’, that people who are adamant Hobie would not listen to genres of music that are popular with or created by predominantly black people alongside the more typical punk rock give off strange vibes. There’s no precedent for a black person to totally give up that part of them that they would’ve grown up with just because they’ve solidified a political view. Of course, some people are less into it than others, as I said earlier, black people are not a monolith, but given all this context, I’m begging people to not post things like ‘Hobie would never listen to [insert black genre here] because he’s a punk! Other people’s headcanons/playlists are stupid and they’re punk posers!’. 

You can believe he only listens to genres of rock, and that’s fine, but stop telling black people that their headcanons where they project their more black tastes onto Hobie are inaccurate because they aren’t and it’s very strange to gatekeep interpretations of a black character from blackness in that way.

If you do want to know some genres popular amongst or pioneered by black British people, most of which popped off in the 90s, look to grime (hip hop, electronic), garage (electronic), drum n bass (electronic), jungle (electronic), U.K. drill (hip hop), afroswing (hip hop, r&b), reggae, dancehall (hip hop, reggae), hip hop, funk and r&b. I’d say pop since it’s popular amongst all ethnicities lol but, since Hobie is a punk, you’re gonna wanna exchange that for rock and indie, though I think it’s also fair to think there’s a few pop songs that Hobie would like, since being an anarcho-communist doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun, idk. Headcanons and stuff are not really what I’m here to share or enforce. Plus, of course, a lot of these genres are anachronistic but, at the same time, I’m pretty sure most people’s playlists feature more modern songs anyway, hell, even the song selected as Hobie’s intro is from 2011.

And none of this is not to downplay Hobie’s love of rock genres either.

I did make a playlist for myself, if anyone wants it or recommendations you can drop an ask 🤓

In the past few years, there’s been a noticeable growth of alternative life in London black youth culture, notably the roller-skating scene, as well as more people participating in more classic takes on alternative culture like goths, punks, etc. and, of course, black nerd culture has been popping since the late 90s. The black people participating in these alternative cultures aren’t relinquishing their blackness, putting hip-hop in the bin and whatnot - people can be multi-faceted.

What I hope you take away from this is that Hobie is a unique and nuanced character, he’s not a typical representation of any of the things he is, which is personally why I love him so much. I also hope you understand that being a black punk in the U.K., before more recent times, would have been a different thing to being a white punk because, not only are you participating in a counter-culture, you’re going outside the safety net and norms of black British culture which has been positioned as inherently counter-cultural anyways and is one you can never hide your associations with or come out of. It says a lot about him, it comes down to headcanon what, but it’s important to recognise that these aspects of him are not a given but things that would have been purposeful developments or huge moments of self-discovery in his life.

Headcanons are something that throws somewhat of a spanner into the works. Everything I’ve said is historically accurate but we also don’t know that Earth-138’s New London would reflect all these aspects of our Earth’s London. Perhaps 138 is written in a race-blind kind of way or, not coming from black British culture, the writers may not envision the world authentically from our point of view and might be unaware of how it’s different; maybe the execs would not allow them to tap into the racist aspect of Nazism and have the writers keep it vague for marketability's sake; hell, maybe the date on the mugshot was just an Easter egg and not a canon-accurate date, who knows? 

On top of that, if you headcanon Hobie as a transracial adoptee (meaning adopted by people of another race) or that he was orphaned at a very young age or otherwise not enculturated and socialised as a black boy, maybe none of this applies. 

From the current slang to the casting of Daniel Kaluuya, it seems clear to me that, in tandem with the retro vibe, Hobie has been designed to also evoke more contemporary ideas of blackness so the full picture of what the writers have in mind is anyone’s guess at this point.

That being said, I feel like those conclusions would all take some stretching and reaching to come to. I’m not here to tell you what you can and cannot interpret or write, but I’m just trying to give some information so you can write more accurately and understand Hobie and Black Londoner life better.

So, now you understand where we’re coming from, I think you’re ready for the writing advice 😎

[floridaboiler]

[arthurmargon]

watching biden’s state of the union address is so comical, he can barely speak without his dentures falling out and he’s stuttering so much. kamala keeps popping up every 30 seconds behind him like a pez dispenser and republican hecklers keep yelling whenever he brings up trump which is also every 30 seconds.

congressmen are clapping like seals as if their applause can drown out the sound of the genocides they’re funding. bragging about the hundreds of billions in tech development built on the blood of congolese ppl dying in mines and fields. bragging about being the arbitre of freedom and democracy in defending ukraine from occupation while sending bombs to kill 35 000 palestinians and to maintain the bloodiest apartheid system since south africa’s which america coincidentally fought tooth and nail to maintain too.

it’s truly mortifying to witness the spectacle of american politics. every single person in that room watching him and having watched every president before him deserve the hottest spots in hell. it feels beyond dystopian to see all these old fuckers cheering on the supposed bright future they’re building for americans while damn near everyone is living paycheck to paycheck, working multiple jobs, can’t access medical care, can’t afford basic prescription drugs, can’t pay rent, don’t have bodily autonomy, are drowning in debt. while they’re killing thousands upon thousands of black and brown people every day.

“4 more years! 4 more years!” whoever fucking gets the job in the fall won’t give the ppl 4 more years of anything but misery, poverty, and military oppression. that is if either one of these fucking demonic fossils last 4 more years. cop cities are being built all over the country so that the american military complex can kill as many ppl nationally as it does internationally! i love america!

[skzkiyoon]

💤 A IS FOR :

“all that’s on my agenda today is sleeping. please go away.”

💤 B IS FOR :

“bro thinks I don’t know the trick he tried to pull.. ahah. STAY, say goodbye to hyunjin. I’m bombing his dorm room with missiles.”

💤 C IS FOR :

“CALLING ALL UMIS. COME GET YOUR BREAKFAST.”

💤 D IS FOR :

“do I look like I care about a hater? girl bye talk to my manager and i’ll meet you outside my company building.”

💤 E IS FOR :

“everyone has just been wished goodnight. except for minho. i hope he wakes up in a cold sweat to a dream of his cats falling off a cliff. JUST KIDDING!”

💤 F IS FOR :

“from this day forth I’m no longer a stray kids member. CALL THE MANAGER!”

💤 G IS FOR :

“gogy moy my brethren. it’s a good day. that might change if changbin doesn’t stop screaming this early in the morning.”

💤 H IS FOR :

“'HAN JISUNG. THE MAN HE ISN’T. I HAVE TO PICK UP HIS DIRTY SOCKS EVERYDAY. IT’S DISGUSTING.”

💤 I IS FOR :

“I’m about to kick you in the ass if you don’t sit down.”

💤 J IS FOR :

“‘jypapi’— HELP WHAT IS THAT?!”

💤 K IS FOR :

“‘kie you look like a tired mom of 3 kids’ actually I’m a tired mom of 8 kids.”

💤 L IS FOR :

“let’s sacrifice changbin to the demons.”

💤 M IS FOR :

“motherflipping tammy better hurry her ass up, big girls got to eat.”

💤 N IS FOR :

“no I will not steal chan’s laptop… or will I?”

💤 O IS FOR :

“originally I was going to tell hyunjin he looked like a prince, but instead I was a little devious and called him a quadrilateral crooked looking toe.”

💤 P IS FOR :

“put that back. I’m not buying that and YOU’RE definitely not buying that either.

💤 Q IS FOR :

“quokka prince? more like furry prince… my bad.”

💤 R IS FOR :

“right when we were filming skz family I tripped over my heels.. that’s where I got this bruise from guys don’t worry.”

💤 S IS FOR :

“seungminnie told me to watch his puppy.m while he did his laundry. this is such an honor.”

💤 T IS FOR :

“today is national pay kie money for babysitting 8 grown ass men. STAY, YOUR MONEY WAS DUE 7 HOURS AGO. PAY UP.”

💤 U IS FOR :

“uhhh.. so when am I getting my paycheck?”

💤 V IS FOR :

“very well done.. what are you expecting? a cookie? some chips? a gold medal?”

💤 W IS FOR :

“well I’m not going outside. why you ask? it’s currently mating season. you think I wanna be out there with all those hungry hooligans?”

💤 X IS FOR :

“‘x minus y is equal to—‘ just because I said I was bored doesn’t mean I wanna go through hell and back all over again…”

💤 Y IS FOR :

“you’re the first person that just so happened to pop into my peripheral view.. so now I’m holding you at gunpoint because the store I just tried to uber from doesnt have my snack cakes or the tea that I want. this is a total nightmare.”

💤 Z IS FOR :

*sleeping with hyunjin and han*

[willknightauthor]

It's completely unsurprising that fascism has become so popular in Revachol. I couldn't conceive of a society more set up to buy revanchist nationalism if I tried. Revachol is ripe for it.

They were the greatest world power, founded by Dolores Dei's divinely inspired colonization program. Then their corrupt, drug addled aristocrats drove everything into the ground. Then they were the center of a global communist revolution, but the entire world ganged up on them and bombed them back into the stone age. Now they're a neo-liberal hellscape ruled by a completely undemocratic government imposed by foreign powers. International ministers and capitalists use them for sex tourism. They had a brief period of false euphoria in the drug-binge of the disco days, before that financial bubble popped. Now they're back in the shit, walking through craters, and still addicted to the drugs long after it was "cool." They all grew up in a post-war post-utopia that has never advanced beyond that "post-" feeling, and most of them can't afford to leave.

If I was a fascist looking for a recruiting ground, that would be it.

[moderntragedyseries]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❝ WHEN THE CRASH HAPPENED. ❞

tw: bombings

It was supposed to be a normal day that February. It was around 3:00 PM and I had just been dismissed from school. My older sister Harmony had been walking me home, clutching me close to her. I remember Festerchapel being loud and crowded, but it didn't bother me at the time. I actually enjoyed the noise.

After we had went down Spring Street, I noticed the sky had turned an ugly gray. But not the gray that you see before a storm comes, it was darker than that. It was like an oil spill in the sky, spiraling into different clouds.

Then everything went downhill for the next twenty minutes.

A large atomic bomb hit the center of Festerchapel, a deafening explosion following it as smoke erupted and spread rapidly, the shockwave knocking me into my sister, who was just as concerned as I was.

When my senses returned, all I could hear was screaming and crying, and all I could smell was the sickening taste of smoke. I could barely see anything past the raging flames as they towered over the city, engulfing buildings and homes in mere seconds.

Everything after that is a blur, and I'm glad it is. My sister, along with the few survivors of the sudden attack and I, had evacuated to the eastern side of Festerchapel. News had spread everywhere of the bombing, and nobody had any clue who did it.

Harmony and I were fine for the next 6 months, safely kept away from the demolished other side of the city. Then another bomb hit and I was completely cut off from my sister. I barely could see her through the crowd of people trying to escape the flames. I cried out for my sister right before I was shoved to continue moving forward.

The people evacuating Festerchapel had no set destination, they just wanted to get out.

And so did I. But not without my sister.

I finally managed to return to Festerchapel hours after my forced departure, and to my chagrin, I couldn't find my sister. No trace of her was anywhere, and I just broke down right then and there. I barely could comprehend the fact I was being forced to defend for myself at the age of ten.

For months on end, reports of bombings would pop up from all over Hypoxia. I felt sick hearing each and every report. Then everything went silent one day. All radios, all televisions, everything just went into silence.

I found out a year after my displacement that our newly elected president, Pandora Azrael, was the reason for all of this. That was the first time I felt true betrayal from within my own nation.

For the next four years, I had fought my way through several cities in Hypoxia. Ever since the second bombing, everyone became antsy and trigger-happy. It was sickening how many times I nearly got killed because some maniacs thought they'd get something out of shooting a damn child.

Hypoxia has been becoming worse by the years. Not just politically, but physically. Everything is decimated to the point we can't even recognise which cities are what anymore.

Fuck you, Pandora. Fuck. You.

[drowninginredink]

Spommy nation. I just need to be honest with y'all. I am working on an atom bomb right now. When I drop this, you are never going to be the same again. I am a good writer, and I am using my powers for evil. It is a very strange feeling, knowing that for once I am not working on some short idea that popped into my head that is really just me writing the very specific things I want to see; I am creating An Event that is going to Change a subset of this fandom. Hell, even if you're not a Spommy person? I know some of the "what ifs" I'm exploring will fuck you up.

I know you all like angst. But not this kind. This is not what you're used to. There's not enough Major Character Death smosh fic, and goddammit, I'm here to change that.

Right now I'm at 5k and it's been a little over a week of writing; I'm thinking it'll probably be 10k? Knowing my schedule for the next few weeks, I'll probably finish it around the 31st? So that gives you ten days to prepare yourselves. Good luck!

Feel free to DM me if you want me to talk your ear off and send you snippets.