#the acrimony of this current world

[ddarker-dreams]

Redamancy.

Yan Scaramouche x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes and unhealthy relationships. Word count: 1k.

“You scowl too much.” 

If anyone else were to speak to Scaramouche, Sixth of the Eleven Fatui Harbinger in this way, they’d certainly be reduced to a pitiful pile of ash on the ground. Perhaps he’s thought about subjecting you to this fate, once or twice. That number could very well have been bumped up to three times if the indignant air he currently regards you with is to be considered. 

Then again, no one aside from you would get to experience this deceptively domestic scene. You sit beneath a canopy, branches free from winter’s thaw hastily preparing buds to herald in spring. Scaramouche holds your thighs captive, the soft flesh serving as his pillow. Indigo locks splay out against and tickle your skin. 

“There’s a lot to scowl about,” he replies, though he makes an effort to relax his tense facial muscles. The contemptuous smile he gives makes his previous expression look benevolent in comparison. “I’m stuck dealing with a fool of a woman who’d probably wander off a cliff because she was too busy admiring the clouds.” 

“Clouds are meant to be admired.” 

“Case in point.” 

“You make it sound like I’m chained to you with iron shackles, though,” you raise your ankle (notably shackle free, imagine that), drawing his attention and ire. Your sarcasm never fails to rile him up. He never seriously tries to put a stop to it, however. Such is his capricious nature. “If I’m such a bother, why not let me wander off the cliff?” 

Scaramouche grits his teeth. “Because…” 

There’s a pause, then, weighty and tangible. You know what he both wants and fears to say. If he were any less of a coward, he’d fill the aromatic air with truth, rather than engaging in his usual sidestepping. He’s so proficient at the act you swear he could moonlight as a crab. This mental image earns a barely contained giggle from you, one that further sours his mood, if such a thing were possible. 

Knowing you as intimately as he does, he correctly assumes that he’s the unwitting source of your amusement. 

“I can’t stand you,” he grumbles. Whether it’s to you or himself, you can’t decide. “Truly, I can't.” 

“Then hand me over to someone who can.” 

There’s a flash in his eyes then — otherworldly, malicious — he disregards composure like a snake abandons shed skin. He rises in a flash. Inhumanly cold fingers take your chin captive, bringing you closer to him, his delight in the ease with which he can manhandle you evident. Always the type to go for grand gestures, this one. His theatrical outbursts befit his moniker. 

Scaramouche grins, beset with an onslaught of bitterness akin to a black hole. It draws in and swallows anything unfortunate enough to be nearby. 

“You just love testing my patience, don’t you?” 

If you feared him, maybe you’d tremble, but you don’t, so you are still. It’s likely that you should fear him. He is volatile, a mess of contradictions too complicated to untangle, a vessel who fills himself with acrimony, the same way humans must with air. He delights in it and considers it his birthright. 

Your smile is not without kindness and that’s what bothers him most. 

“Come, don’t pout. I have no intentions of being complicit in whatever havoc you'd wreak if I was with another.” 

His eye twitches at the pesky word ‘another’. The mere thought of this faceless, nonexistent being having the audacity to lay claim to you, even in the land of fantasy, has his nostrils flaring and jaw tightening. You can see the ripple of muscles beneath his synthetic skin. He’s a wonder, this proprietorial doll, who can exalt and condemn you in the same breath. 

You are mine, and mine alone, his eyes seem to scream, and I’d sooner end the world than exist in it without having you for myself. 

“You really do scowl too much,” you reiterate your opinion from earlier, gently, almost sweetly. Whatever spell Scaramouche was under temporarily breaks, or perhaps he’s held prisoner to a new one, far more agreeable if not equally dangerous. “Your face is too pretty to always be frowning.” 

You enchant him by running your finger over his lower lip. It trembles by your command. His eyes go lidded, a lovelorn haze obscuring the former tempest. He can never decide if he wants to destroy or devour you. For someone like him, he can’t do one without the other. His love for you is a death sentence, despite the immortality that should’ve never belonged to your mortal body. 

It’s you who kisses him. 

He temporarily forgets himself. The arrogance, the hurt, the fear that you might slip between his fingers should he ever relax his hold. You find him foolish in that regard. He can have you in the palm of his hand if he likes, and you know he’d like that very much. There’s nowhere else for you to be. Not when he’s seen to the fact himself. 

Scaramouche melts into your person, returning your kiss with rapture, drunk on the way you offer yourself to him. He makes a deep, breathy noise, willing you closer, demanding total subservience. You let him have his way. Civilizations could rise and fall in the seconds that follow, and he’d pay them no mind, too absorbed with savoring your temporary connection. 

It is what he lives for; what he'd kill for.

His fair skin is flushed when you part. From the apple of his cheeks to the tip of his ears, he’s painted in a color from your palette. The pigmentation suits him. Red is the color around his eyes, of his longing for you, and of what would spill across the land should you ever part. 

“There,” you whisper, as if it were a secret meant for him alone, “That look suits you far better.” 

He wants to deny it — you can tell by how his grip tightens — but he remains uncharacteristically quiet. If he gets to delight in you, it’s only fair that you can occasionally delight in him, he supposes. 

Such is your capricious nature. 

[mariacallous]

The soon-to-be ruling party in Britain has alighted on two motifs for its general election campaign: the red, white, and blue Union Jack and the word “change.”

If he is to win, Keir Starmer, the Labour Party leader, must pull off a voting shift greater even than that achieved by his mentor Tony Blair in 1997, the last time their party seized power. Yet such is the calamitous state of the Conservatives that after 14 years of misrule, a victory for Labour has been pretty much priced in for the election on July 4.

The only question is how great a majority it will achieve and whether that can produce a buffer large enough to keep it in power for a decade at least to tackle Britain’s many woes—from the economy to the health service, education, social care, and failed privatizations such as the postal service and water. Indeed, pretty much every area of public infrastructure needs repair.

There is another problem, one that is harder to enumerate but that also goes to the core of Britain’s unhappiness. Starmer often points to, if obliquely, the loss of the country’s status, its decline in esteem around the world and among the British themselves. There is little any government can, or should, do to address broad historical sweeps that produce such cultural malaise, such as postcolonial decline (which also affects France and similar countries).

What governments can do is chart a new course. Blair tried to modernize Britain’s image, with some success, at least until the Iraq War in 2003. Since then, it has retreated into the default position of desperately clinging to past glories, applying balm to cover more contemporary wounds. Starmer, for his part, will not talk about the central cause, Brexit; he refuses to countenance a formal return to European Union structures.

There are other causes of Britain’s malaise, however. The two most recognizable emblems of Britain’s soft power, the royal family and the BBC, are themselves beleaguered. There is little Starmer can do to address the former (though, within months of taking office, Blair persuaded Queen Elizabeth to show a little less stiff upper lip following the death of Princess Diana).

But there is much the prospective incumbent in Downing Street can do to help sort out the national broadcaster. The BBC’s future matters far beyond the island’s shores. It is central to the global battle for hearts and minds, an important tool for liberal democracy to counter the increasingly successful disinformation strategies of Russia and China.

In short, a reinvigorated BBC would also reinvigorate Britain’s reputation in the world. But to achieve that is easier said than done and will require considerable surgery.

Nearly 20 years ago, I wrote a piece reworking the famous acronym as “Broken, Beaten, Cowed.” Needless to say, the higher-ups at the network didn’t appreciate it. I stood by my argument then. I feel even more vindicated now.

Some of the problems are self-inflicted. The organization’s management has struggled to deal with a string of HR scandals, some extraordinarily sordid, over the years. These have damaged its reputation.

In the many decades I have known, and contributed to, the BBC, relations between staff and management have veered between suspicion and acrimony. Both sides seem to be equally responsible. The tens of thousands who work there have a deeply embedded civil service mentality. For many of these “lifers,” it has been their only employer.

Most of those now in charge of the organization have spent much of their careers outside it. That brings with it a difference in perspective but also a lack of loyalty to a venerable institution. They have pushed out a large proportion of the news and current affairs department and shut or pared back important foreign bureaus. Much expertise has gone with them. Many esteemed journalists have claimed they have been discriminated against and sometimes humiliated, while being encouraged to leave. Several employment tribunals are ongoing.

The bigger issues at stake are financial and political. The BBC has had to operate in an environment of deliberately stoked hostility. A series of Conservative culture ministers, almost one for each year in office, have either loathed or barely tolerated the publicly funded corporation. Its budget has been cut; its system of funding through a direct tax, the license fee, is now open to debate. Meanwhile, a Fox News-style culture warrior channel called GB News has been lavished with praise by the government.

The organization is facing a series of technological and demographic headwinds. Far fewer Gen Zers watch and listen to BBC output than older generations (a problem that other legacy media organizations grapple with). In a bid to keep up with the times, the BBC has changed the nature of much of its content. Serious detailed documentaries take second place to competing with TikTok.

The evening current affairs program Newsnight, on air since 1980, is now a low-cost, low-grade chat show. The morning radio program, called Today, which used to be an appointment to listen, has replaced much of its (more expensive) international coverage with round-Britain lifestyle segments.

The most visible area of withering is in the BBC’s global output. In a note to staff in April announcing her departure after only three years as director of the World Service, Liliane Landor expressed deep concern about the “operational capability” of the service, which broadcasts in 42 languages. “With media freedom under threat, the World Service is a force for good and the BBC needs to look after it,” Landor said in a statement.

The BBC announced in September 2022 that nearly 400 jobs in its global arm would be lost to save 28.5 million pounds (about $35.6 million). Several languages have been dropped, including Arabic, with Persian to follow. In 2021, the BBC spent 290 million pounds ($368 million) on the service, with the government, via the Foreign Office, committing to invest a further 94 million pounds ($120 million) a year until next March. After this, funding is up for grabs.

BBC Director General Tim Davie, while pushing through the cuts, has urged the government to provide more of the funding. “We cannot keep asking U.K. license fee payers to invest in it when we face cuts to U.K. services,” he said. “We will need to discuss a long-term funding solution … that comes from central government budgets.”

Back in 2021, during the height of the COVID-19 fake news battle, the government gave the BBC an extra pot of money to fight disinformation coming from Russia, China, and elsewhere. The idea was to help expand a new unit verifying information and tackling bots. The sum, 8 million pounds ($11 million), while not unwelcome, was a drop in the ocean and does not compensate for the contraction of its traditional journalism.

The organization’s most recent annual report revealed that the weekly reach of the World Service had declined 12 percent year-on-year to 318 million people. Shortly after celebrating its centenary, the BBC is losing global influence at a time when it is most needed, with democracy in so much peril in so many parts of the world.

Starmer and his ministers will not want to get involved in the BBC’s day-to-day problems. Indeed, they will be keen, after a decade of interference by the Conservatives, to give it more operational independence.

Yet if there is one area where the government should be active, it is in preserving and extending the BBC’s role in providing impartial and reliable news and analysis to as many people as possible around the world. That will cost money – and Labour has made clear it will not spend what it can’t afford. Much of it could be found by abolishing the comical ‘GREAT’ campaign of British flag-waving that costs the taxpayer 60 million pounds per year. The government will have to do a new cost-sharing deal with the BBC and even if a little more has to be found, it is surely a price worth paying to give the UK an influence in the world it has steadily lost.

Whatever the costs, the long-term cost of watching as the organization’s international output continues to wither will be greater still.

[diddybok]

born to die | minho

all characters depicted in my writing are from my own imagination and do NOT in anyway represent nor reflect the people in real life :)

➩pairing: minho x gn!reader

➩genre(s): ANGST, fluff, smut, non-idol!au, switch!minho

➩warnings: death, smoking, pet names, sexual themes (18+) sex (unprotected- pls use protection!), explicit language, people watching (not sexual!) [anything else i have missed]

➩summary: a story based on the song ‘born to die’ by lana del ray. minho was the chosen victim i’m afraid.

➩wc: 5k (5,046)

➩author’s note: i am so sorry.

don’t make me sad, don’t make me cry.

Cold, wet, miserable. The transition from autumn to winter makes itself known harsher than it has ever done before. As the wind cries, an acrimonious chill soars through the air looking to communicate with the souls that are derived of their light.

Minho walks down the desolate street playing with his lighter. A custom made lighter; a muted grey with the engraving of a peacock feather on it. A gift he got on his birthday from an old friend. It packs quite a punch he must say.

He takes one last long drag from his cigarette, taking back the nicotine to fill his lungs before freeing the smoke to dance through the smog. It feels familiar, the taste of nicotine on his tongue. It has been a while since he has smoked. He didn’t miss it per-say, but fuck did it have its way of ebbing the pain.

A brown weathered bench comes into his line of view. He sits at this bench so much that he has assessed the best and worst parts of it to sit on. He collapses down, slightly off-centre and releases a long sigh.

Dawn is his favourite time of the day. The route he can walk with his eyes closed allows him to pass by the type of people he finds pleasure in watching. Minho was adroit at reading people. He much preferred to observe rather than enter a conversation in which he would need to cue his laughs and pretend to be sympathetic towards people who, he concluded, deserved nothing but to get castrated.

05:29am, right on time. Paul flits around the corner and continues down the path. Minho monitors the morning runner closely, counting his steps. Usually Paul does four hundred down this path before he is out of sight. His strides are longer today, seems he wants to get his run over and done with.

Minho likes Paul, though he’s never interacted with him. He needs not to, him watching from afar every dawn for the past ten months has made Paul the closest person he can refer to as a friend in his life currently.

Sad? Far worse. Depressing.

Things in his life changed drastically when you left him. You…your name leaves a vexatious taste in his mouth. It ire’s him just how easily you ruined him. He didn’t think he could possibly hate anyone on this planet as much as he does you. All because you broke the promises you made him.

He hates you. He doesn’t think he will ever stop hating you. He can’t, he won’t.

The friends he did have, he casted them aside. Dropped them like a tree ridding itself of its leaves. Every now and then one of his old friends, Chris, checks up on him. Whether it be sending him a letter -Minho had blocked his number- or a care package. He can’t deny the fact that it really pisses him off.

There goes Vanessa, or as people formally call her, Miss Phillips. He discovered that she is a teacher who specialises in helping children with special needs. Minho is quite fond of Vanessa. He usually likes to guess what style her hair will be next. She untucks her hair from her coat, braids. He hisses and shakes his head slightly as he guessed wrong again.

Minho reaches for the cold flip lighter and runs his thumb over the engraving. Never one to believe in superstitions, he thinks about the argument on whether a peacock feather brings good or bad luck.

It attracted the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in this world. For that, he was beyond grateful for this small object. Until the thing that was so beautiful became cold, unknown, and cause him the worst ache of all. Ache from the heart that shattered into many, many minuscule pieces. One that he knows can never be meticulously mended.

He shouldn’t be thinking about that, about you. His therapist strongly advises against such and directs him to remember his two little people he keeps an eye on. ‘Paul and Vanessa, just think about Paul and Vanessa. You have formed some sort of relationship with them in which you have developed a fidelity. They aren’t any the wiser, but they are a reason for you holding on and gravitating your mind to moving forward.’ His therapist had said.

Minho’s hands start to shake and not due to the cold air. He curses to himself as he opens his cigarette box to find it empty. He was perturbed by his thoughts and needed to rid his growing anxiety before he has an attack.

The universe astutely discerns the situation, for a small friendly body rubs against his calf. Purring fills his senses and he looks down to see the stray cat staring up at him.

The cat seems to mimic his every move. He lifts an arm, the cat lifts its paw to touch his leg. He tilts his head, the cat does the same. If Minho clenches his fist tightly in his lap, then the cat rubs on his calf to soothe him.

It doesn’t take long for a decision to be made, for he and the cat coalesce. He gently picks it up and continues his journey home. The cat immediately becoming the third most important thing in his life.

──・──・・✿ ・・──・──

come and take a walk on the wild side. let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain.

“Honey?”

“In here!”

Minho follows the sound of your voice, finding you snuggled up in a blanket snacking on some popcorn and listening to some music. You turn to acknowledge him and he physically feels his heart swell. The way you look at him with such light and love is enough for it to be his main source of oxygen. God he is painfully in love with you.

“Hello my darling, how was work?” You ask with a tilt of your head. His heart skipped a beat.

“It was irritating,” he moves to lay on you, resting his head on your stomach as your hands find their way to his head, “Chris is annoying me again.” He says with a roll of his eyes. You chuckle lightly at that.

“Did he put his lunch in your designated spot in the fridge again? Or was it that he offered you an iced latte instead of an Americano? Oh! Maybe he asked whether you were free this weekend and asked you to hang out? Or-”

You are cut off with a rambunctious groan that makes you erupt in a fit of laughter. Minho goes to roll off you irked by your teasing, but you trap him with your legs and apologise by smothering his face in kisses.

Hearing just some of the things that he relayed to you about his days at work made him sound ridiculous for even being annoyed at such things.

You have an extraordinary way of doing that. Reminding him that he’s being too pessimistic about life without explicitly saying so. He realistically doesn’t need to be pessimistic anymore. Not when he has you in his life, you are warm sun to shine through his cold grey skies.

It’s astounding just how long he was able to survive before you. You have moulded him unknowingly into a man capable of loving someone to an extent which is unearthly. He is your paean to how beautiful love can be and you are his saviour.

“What’s going on in that pretty head?” You ask, rubbing your hands up and down his back. It should not surprise him how well you know him.

“Do you know how much you mean to me? I can’t breathe without you Y/n. That’s frightening. I never thought I could genuinely be so happy. I never knew what love was until you y’know?” Minho says.

He can feel your breath quicken and your heartbeat increase, but you’re silent. So he continues.

“I truly think, no, I know you make me a better man. I don’t know why I am being sentimental right now, I think you have me in a lifelong trance.” He lifts his head up, resting his chin on your chest. He watches a tear fall from your eye. He wishes in that exact moment, that he could read people’s minds. Read your mind.

“Why must you do that to me unprovoked?” You sob. It’s his turn to comfort you as he manoeuvres his way out of the position you both currently hold. He lifts you gently and places you on top of him to which you bury your face in his neck.

The pitter-patter of rain starts to make itself known as the weather mimics your mood. Minho enjoys the rain though, it soothes him. Much like you soothe him. It’s strange, he can see the similarities between you and droplets of rain. Both refresh and cool him down when he’s too hot. Both make sounds that immediately puts him into a tranquil state. Both necessary to the world to make the flowers bloom and the grass look greener.

You are his rain.

He runs his fingers along your spine as you mutter incomprehensible words. If he had to guess you are telling him that he’s a villain for making you feel such a way randomly in the day. You referred to him as such before.

Minho is a prick, albeit a lovable one; a prick nonetheless. He loves the way you react to his spontaneous outbursts of reasons why he loves you. Maybe it’s the way you look so adorable when you cry. Maybe it’s the way you will always cling to him after he does so. Whatever the reason, it only makes his heart grow fonder.

The room is filled with your sniffles here and there, low music, and the sound of heavy rain hitting the window.

Minho lays with you, his eyes closed, swaying you gently.

“Do you want to go and play in the rain?” He says breaking the rhythm of sounds.

“Do I want to go and play in the rain?” You echo, laughing, “No, I don’t want to get my hair wet.”

“You can wear my hoodie and my raincoat?” He suggests. You look up at him, sitting up fully. He just smiles at you, awaiting your response.

“You really are serious…wow.”

“It’ll be fun, come on!” He exclaims picking you up with him as he gets up from the sofa. He goes to grab a hoodie of his, one of your favourite ones to wear. He tucks your hair inside of the hood and pulls the drawstrings to tighten it around your face.

He laces the string with a bow and kisses the tip of your nose. He then runs to get his raincoat and swiftly encloses you inside of it. He laughs at you.

“What?” You say feigning annoyance with a tilt of your head.

“Nothing…” He hums with laughter. “You just remind me of an Ewok” He laughs pinching your cheeks. You scrunch your face up due to the attack of his fingers and try to bat him away.

“You basically just called me a tiny bear.” You groan.

“My cute tiny bear. Come.” He grabs your hand and leads you towards the front door so you can both put on your shoes. He glances you way, shooting you an ‘Are you ready?’ look, to which you just roll your eyes at him.

He doesn’t give you another second to change your mind, him basically lifting you off your feet and into the empty street. You squeal as the rain comes down hard, instantaneously soaking both Minho and you.

Minho closes his eyes and raises his head to the sky, letting the rain trickle down his face. He laughs and then looks down at you. Staring up at him, you look at him like he is the only person ever. He scans your face, taking in your beauty. He is too in awe to speak, instead choosing to try and contain his smile by biting his lip. It doesn’t work.

“I’ll love you forever.” You say loudly over the rain. Minho’s heart stops beating for several moments.

“Promise me that, my love.” He says, cupping your face in both of his hands. His thumbs rest just beneath your eyes and he wipes the water away from them.

“I promise.”

He kisses you deeply, lovingly, passionately. And the both of you stand there in the pouring rain, smiling through your kisses and failing to suppress your laughter.

It was in that moment, that you two were the only people in the world. The two brightest of stars, conjoining to rival the sun.

──・──・・✿ ・・──・──

choose your last words, this is the last time

Minho paces back and forth in front of your driveway before approaching your door. He messed up big time, so he keeps being told by your friend Jeongin. He has always found your friends tiresome. Why being sent a paragraph long text of middle finger emoji’s is warranted for his jealousy? He will never know.

He isn’t quite sure how to say he is sorry for what he did. He trusts you. Of course he trusts you, it’s you. You would never do anything to hurt him, let alone in spite of his childish moods.

He musters up enough courage to knock on your front door. Yet as he was about to, he retracts his hand. What if this is something you will never forgive him for? That can’t possibly be an outcome of all this. Can’t it?

He backs away from the door, pacing again. To any of your neighbours, he must look like some creep trying to talk himself into breaking into your house. It’s best he just be brave and-

“Minho?”

He freezes in his tracks as he sees you in your pyjamas, carrying a trash bag. If your face didn’t hold that nasty scowl directed towards him, he would have thought you looked cute in the set he got you for your birthday. You clear your throat. Right, he is here to plead his case.

“Hey…bin collection day tomorrow?”

An awful start.

You brush past him, throwing the bag into the bin. He watches you awkwardly, placing a hand on the back of his neck.

You walk back inside, but open the door wider. Taking that as his cue to go inside, he scurries in, sure to be quick as to keep the warmth inside.

You immediately head to your room and he sheepishly follows, acting as if he doesn’t know the layout of your house by memory.

As you both enter your room, you go off to the bathroom to wash your hands. He sits and waits for you on the bed. His attention momentarily drawn to the window where he sees drops of rain run down the glass. He smiles softly before returning to his solemn state.

The bed dips beside him and he has to force himself not to stare at the side of your head. The remote control to your television gets thrown into his lap. He looks down, then up at you confused.

“Pick something. Give yourself a couple of minutes to calm down and then say what you have to say.” You speak assertively.

He does as you say without question. Even if you are mad at him, you still know that he can struggle with righting his wrongs. Oh how he loves you.

A few minutes pass and Minho does indeed feel calmer. Enough to start the conversation he is still, slightly, scared to have.

“I am sorry. I had no right to tell you what to wear that night. I also acted like a dick to every single person that approached you, even your friends. That was not cool of me. At all.” He starts.

His eyes meet yours and it takes everything in him to not cower away in embarrassment. The reality of his actions settling in.

“You are beautiful. I know that, everyone else knows that. I think I just got annoyed by people gushing to me about you and how they would love to be with you.” He turns to the window again, watching the rain as it gets heavier.

“It triggered a protective side of me, well, a primal one.” He looks towards you now as you sit against the headboard, waiting for him to continue. “You’re mine and I didn’t want people to think they even had a chance with you.”

“Surely you would only think that if you didn’t completely trust me.” You argue, raising an eyebrow.

Minho starts to fiddle with the remote. Casting his eyes away from yours in embarrassment.

“That, would be a viable response to that yes. But I do trust you! I promise. You haven’t given me any reason not to trust you I just-” He cuts himself off, holding back on what he truly wants to say.

He hears you sigh and you move to place your hand on his forearm. You stroke his arm softly with your thumb, letting him take his time. He really appreciates this side of you.

“I haven’t been feeling like I am enough for you. I don’t feel good in my body as of late and I think those insecurities translated through my actions of how I ministered to our relationship,” Minho takes a long, drawn out breath before continuing. “I think I was trying to drag you down with me into the same state of mind. For that, I am sorry Y/n.” He finishes looking up at you as his eyes shimmer from the fresh tears that threaten to fall.

You two stare at each other for a little while longer, the silence making Minho more panicked. You crawl over to him and straddle his lap, taking him by surprise. Your hands finding their rightful place in his hair, stroking softly.

“Thank you for apologising to me. Make sure to also apologise to the many of my friends you rubbed the wrong way,” You chuckle lightly. “But thank you for opening up to me and telling me what has been troubling you.” You take a deep breath and release with a sigh. “It doesn’t mean that I am completely happy with you, but I do want to show you that you are beautiful. You are everything and more to me Min.” You say smiling softly.

Minho swallows, his eyes blinking rapidly as he listens to you. He places his hands on your hips and strokes them softly. He may not be able to respond right now, the words caught in his throat. So he wants to let you know that he hears you.

“This is a conversation that needs to be finished when emotions aren’t as strong. However, I have failed as your lover to not make you feel like you’re enough. To not make you feel as if you are the sexiest man I have ever laid my eyes on.” You tantalisingly move your hips on his crotch.

The way his body responds to you will never cease to amaze him. All it takes is you sitting on top of him, hell, one look when you stare at him with those eyes and he is ready to go.

Gyrating slowly and pressing down on his now evident erection, a small whine escapes his lips. You smile at that and lift your shirt up off your body. Grabbing his hands, you lift them up to your chest for him to pay attention to your nipples.

He immediately began pinching and rolling them between his fingers. Your moans elicits a thrust of his hips up into your heat. Wanting more, you grab his head and he understands what you want of him. His eyes flutter closed and he attaches his soft lips to the bud, sucking and swirling his tongue. Releasing beautiful moans, he gets off to the salacious image of you using him at any given time to make him suck your nipples.

“I love the way you love my nipples Min. Love the little sounds you make.” You throw your head back in pleasure. “All reasons why you are the sexiest man I know.” You mewl softly.

He switches nipples frantically. Always eager to please you. Only you. He craves every little thing about you. The way your lips taste, the way you taste. The way your body shudders around him as he takes you whenever you let him.

He is love drunk off of you. You are like a drug to him and he wishes to consume you ‘til his dying breath.

The way you grind your hips down on him is unholy, it is like you are trying to make him cum in his pants. He is close, so close. His moans turning into desperate high pitched whimpers.

You halt your movements and hover above his lap. Swallowing the noise of disappointment with your mouth on his. Your tongue claiming the entirety of his mouth. You are so filthy and he loves it.

You catch his bottom lip between your teeth, dragging it slightly before gazing up at him with those eyes. You run your hands from his shoulders down his body, painfully slowly.

His head falls back into the pillow as he looks up at the ceiling, fighting the urge to just pull his pants down enough for him to free himself and fuck you senselessly until he is a shaking mess.

He knows better than to do that though. He wants to be good for you. Your good boy.

You pull down his joggers and his underwear and he shivers slightly. You hum in approval and kitten lick the head of his cock.

“Y/n, bunny, please don’t tease me!” He squalls. He thinks maybe he is being punished for his behaviour. It’s the only way to explain the way you stroke him at a leisurely pace.

“Hush, let me appreciate you. M’gonna make you feel good love” You mumble more to yourself than to him.

Before he could protest anymore, he sharply intakes a breath. The way your lips mould around him so deliciously. Taking him down your pretty little throat. How did he get so lucky to find someone that riles him up as much as you do?

His hands reach down to lightly tug your hair, using it as a handle as he guides your head up and down. Your mouth felt so good. It always feels so good.

He simply can’t control the needy whimpers and whines that are released from his throat. The sound doing so much as to turn him on even more. He has to be careful, he doesn’t want to finish like this, not before you anyways. That is just selfish, what man doesn’t let his gorgeous little pet finish before him?

He pulls you off of him, catching you by surprise. His eyes are dark now, as if a switch was flipped. He comes to his senses, his mission to grab back the reigns and take control. He inhibits you wiping the drool from your mouth as he pulls you into him and crashes his lips into yours.

You moan into his mouth and he is sure to swallow every one. He flips you onto your back, lightly pinning your arms in place. You are breathtaking. Just looking at the way your body glistens with sweat in the moonlight. Looks so tempting, so inviting. Like he wants to create a masterpiece with your empty canvas.

He kisses every part of your body, painting a picture with the little marks he leaves in his wake. His mouth hovers over your heat, breathing softly before planting a chaste kiss.

“Oh kitten…you are dripping.” He says with a devilish grin. “Is this all for me?” He asks tilting his head as he now looks up at you. He concludes that your mewling won’t satisfy him with the answer he wants to hear.

He squeezes your thighs roughly, causing you to look down at him. He just looks up at you with those gorgeous black eyes, his smile charming.

“I believe I asked you a question. Is my darling already too fucked out? I haven’t even touched you in the place you so desperately need me yet. Did you have your fun, having the control hm?”

“Yes, yes it’s all for you Min.” You whine attempting to squeeze your thighs together, but he is quicker than you. Spreading them wide his kisses litter just around your centre. His teasing merciless as you writhe beneath him.

“Min please, no more teasing. Need your mouth on me.” You beg, pushing your hips up to meet his face. He moves back, amused by your neediness.

“Well if that’s what my little kitten wants, then it’s what my little kitten should get hm?”

Your body shudders as he goes down on you. Lapping up your juices like a man who has been starved for weeks. He feels your hands in his hair and it turns him on. He can’t help but to rut against the bed to relieve some of the tension. The sounds, the sight, it is all truly so vulgar. Yet he loves nothing more than to please you.

After all, his name does sound prettiest when it is you moaning it in frantic desperation.

He makes you come undone three times and before he could get to four, you had pushed him away. Catching your breath as he knelt beside you and admires you. Admires the way the sweat trickles down the valley of your chest. The marks that colour your skin so deliciously. The way your eyes are closed tightly and your mouth open, no doubt getting a little dry.

He places an open mouthed kiss to your lips, his tongue providing the moisture that was being lost due to your heavy intake of air. He releases your lips and you make a noise of surprise as he opens your legs and situates himself between them, pushing into you slowly.

He has to still himself or else he will quite literally combust. You feel so good wrapped around him. You always feel so good. He opens his eyes to you already staring up at him Your eyes are overflowing with desire and he has to take a mental picture.

“You intoxicate me. How is it I feel such burning passion whenever I am around you?” He starts to move within you, slowly, intimately, as he takes a deep breath. “I belong to you Y/n. I promise that I will never live a day without telling you that.” His strokes get deeper.

You are a babbling mess. He can’t decipher anything you say, so he swallows your attempt with his mouth on yours. It isn’t until he can taste salt that he realises he is crying. So much for keeping the control. He pulls away and places his arms beside your head, his pace still slow and deep.

“Look at me my darling,” He says with a shaky voice. He watches you flutter your eyes open. “Promise, mmh, promise me you will never leave my side.”

“I promise you.” You say, your own voice faltering no doubt being consumed by a ray of emotions. He drops his head into the crook of your neck, his tears now flowing down your neck. He feels your arms tighten around him. One hand on his back, one hand in his hair, stroking softly as you mutter ‘I love you’ over and over again.

He made love to you that night until the sun graced the sky. Never falling short of telling you just how much he adores you.

──・──・・✿ ・・──・──

we were born to die.

It’s been a year now. A year of watching Paul and Vanessa, two months since he brought Dori home. Other than those three main factors in his life now, Minho is still miserable.

Much like the weather this morning as it downpours. He’s learnt to hate the rain since the end of his relationship with you. There isn’t much to like, not anymore.

He walks the same route he always does. His shoes are getting muddy, the path littered in grass clippings collated by the water. It proves to be extremely bothersome to see the grass stick to his shoes. Especially on a day like today, if grass is the thing that sets Minho off into a fit of rage; so help anyone who pisses him off on his way home.

Life is cruel. It will give you one thing you wish to cherish forever, to love until you can’t love no more. Makes you feel found when you were lost for so long. Gives you happiness, makes you feel alive like you can accomplish anything the world throws in your direction.

Then it takes it away. Just like that. The thing you had wished to cherish, perishes. Strips you of your ability to love. When you were finally found, you become lost again. Takes your happiness, makes you feel as if you’re rotting inside like you can’t will yourself to try and overcome the obstacles the world throws in your direction.

Living a life like that is revolting. A life in which you feel your only purpose of being born was to die. Minho laughs bitterly to himself. Born to die. Ironic because no matter what people tell you, that is always going to be the outcome of all life.

As he stands with the flowers in his hand, he isn’t sure whether it’s his tears or the rain. Perhaps both as they start to trickle down the petals and collate in the pistil.

He kneels, unbothered about the grass and mud stains he is to get on the knee caps of his trousers.

Resting the flowers against the polished marble, his fingers journey over the name etched in the stone.

Your name.

His hand falls from the gravestone and situates themselves next to his head that has now pressed itself firmly into the ground. He sobs as he bows over you.

He loves you. He doesn’t think he will ever stop loving you. He can’t, he won’t.

ʚ hope you enjoyed ^.^ you can support me by liking, commenting and reblogging! it is heavily appreciated ᵕ̈ ɞ

i do not permit my work to be translated or reposted in any way, thank you.

© 2023 diddybok

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 12/01/2024

9​来​4s

Season 2

Featured on: THE SILVAGUNNER CHRISTMAS COMEBACK CRISIS ORIGINAL SOUNDTRAXX: vol. 1

Ripped by dante

Uh, so, hi, everyone. I'm going to apologize ahead of time if this post reads a bit more shakily, a bit less structured than what it maybe usually does. I always have a timeline of rips to cover over the week laid out ahead of time, and was really not expecting to cover 9​来​4s as part of it - I thought, naively, that today would just be a day like any other, one more on the pile. I wake up, get dressed, check the SiIvaGunner YouTube feed - and almost collapse onto the floor in shock.

The Christmas Comeback Crisis is back. Ten hours from the point of writing this sentence, the eleventh episode of the main SiIvaGunner storyline will premiere on YouTube.

I don't think I've ever done an effective job of conveying to people just how much the Christmas Comeback Crisis means to me. Sure, rips that I love are one thing, with those you can understand what I'm talking about with just a listen yourself. But the Christmas Comeback Crisis series is so difficult to truly appreciate without the knowledge, the memories and attachment to the channel from having been with it the whole time. To me, it marked the point where all of SiivaGunner's potential as a narrative, all of the loose threads of lore and jokes, all of those feelings of joy and sadness and comradery that flew like sparks throughout Season 1s 9-month run, were distilled into a streamlined narrative. It felt as if a bunch of stray thoughts were finally put to paper, a world envisioned by all of SiIva's viewers finally envisioned with an engrossing conflict and beautiful art. And it felt to me like the team themselves knew just how golden the idea they'd landed on was, as the scope of the storyline quickly expanded from just Christmas of 2016 to eventually enveloping the entirety of Season 2's run.

The final core episode of the Christmas Comeback Crisis released at the tail end of Season 2, on Christmas Day. That is to say, December 25th, 2017. It is currently January 12th 2024 - six years, two weeks, and four days have passed, as the main story of the channel has remained in limbo. When I watched that episode, live on the date of upload, I was still a teenager. I've followed the channel since, still immensely invested, still closely following and paying attention to the lore introduced since - the Side Stories and Haltmann's Archives of Season 3 and Season 4: Episode 1, the King for Another Day Tournament and its fallout across both episodes of Season 4, the many misadventures of Wood Man across Season 5, having seemingly left the Christmas Comeback Crisis canon altogether to explore different worlds where he could have fun with little consequence - only for it all to come crashing down on him in Season 6. After all of that time, all of that buildup, after Season 7 has already been one of the channel's all-around, best-ever years - the cherry on top has landed. Episode 11.

Beyond the lore, the world, the artwork, the storyline, the characters, and the community that's supported it all, what has held the Christmas Comeback Crisis together for me and many others has been the sheer passion present in all those aspects - including, of course, its outstanding soundtrack. I've talked about it before with voiceless, with 時の回廊 ＜ver. CCC＞, with vlEP, and now here - but dante is, genuinely, an *exceptionally* talented musician, possibly my favorite amidst the entire SiIvaGunner team, and he has been completely outdoing himself on the Christmas Comeback Crisis' soundtrack since the day it first began - his music, remixes, arrangement, and overall sound direction has breathed a kind of energy and life into the story that's immersed me in ways I could never have expected.

9​来​4s plays during Episode 8 of the Christmas Comeback Crisis, An Acrimonious Assault - which sort of marked a point of no return for the series. After the 6th episode, Advent of Hell, just barely managed to release during Christmas of 2016, and the 7th episode, Loves the Ladies, released four entire months later due to expressed production issues, it felt like the team had officially realized just how big the project was getting. Yet, despite the woes that the 7th episode had presented, the team pushed on - and the series continued until the end of the year. That energy, that hype and love for the channel, is echoed all throughout 9​来​4s, and it's a feeling I haven't truly felt since that Season that the series once ended during.

At least, that's what I once said. Because now, *we are so fucking back.*

[essayofthoughts]

Tag Nine People You'd Like To Get To Know Better Tag Game

I was tagged by @chamerionwrites over Here. I will be tagging no one, for I am where tag games go to die.

FAVOURITE COLOUR(s): As mentioned in the last tag game I completed (here) it's purple! I wear other colours more frequently, but I have a lot of small purple things around.

FAVOURITE FLAVOUR(s): That's hard. I like savoury and sweet at the same time, I suppose, and I like adding some confit garlic into a toastie because it just... elevates the savoury of the cheese with some extra umami. I like a good chai or a medieval spice mix - cinnamon, allspice, ginger, cloves. In the UK they're so often used specifically at Christmas but they're such a good combo all year round.

FAVOURITE MUSIC: I am... bad, at genres. I like what I like and the music I like tends to be... melodic but textured? It's not just one instrument or type of instrument, I like the roughness of a more metal guitar over the smoothness of a rounded backing beat or melodic synth, and I like more melodic tunes than pure beats - this is why I don't gel with a lot of rap or hip-hop. They can be lyrically very impressive, but I listen to music for music, and I've got to be in the right mood for a spoken word poem over a beat. I also just... don't like Musicals in general. I'm not opposed to songs with stories - one of my most-listened to songs is Aviators' Godhunter which is about someone revered by a god who's waiting to be hunted by the person who's killed the rest of their "godly" kin - but I just don't like musicals in general, so musical songs are more miss than hit for me.

FAVOURITE MOVIE(s): Crimson Peak. Guillermo del Toro's films do not miss, and this is the one that dragged me into the gothic horror/romance pit and made me realise that while I don't like standard "thriller", shock-value horror, I like things that go "Hey, isn't this fucked up? Do you want to see how more fucked up it can get?". Things that are aware of the awfulness and don't revel in it but use it to show you and teach you and help you see.

FAVOURITE BOOK(s): Probably the Several on my trauma reading list, honestly, with right now A Dowry of Blood by ST Gibson being tops. For all of you hyped by @theabigailthorn's "Dracula's Ex Girlfriend" announcement who wants something of that premise while they wait, it's a fantastic look at abusive relationships and is told from the perspective of one of Dracula's brides after she and the others have murdered him. Exceptionally good and crunchily fucked up.

FAVOURITE SERIES(es): I don't know, actually. I don't think I have a singular series I enjoy (Well. I did. But then the author went to shit, so it's kind of tainted now). Or- no actually. The Gotham TV Show. Started as a dull as dishwater police procedural set in Gotham and by the time it gets to multiply resurrecting definitely not the Joker you're not sure how it got there but the tonal shift makes perfect sense somehow. Fantastic style, fantastic cast, why are Nygma and Penguin so perfect as bickering, acrimonious exes.

LAST SONG: When I like I song, I listen to it on loop. It is still:

LAST SERIES: That I actually finished was probably Raven of the Inner Palace which is an extremely good anime! Magical worldbuilding and mystery, slowbuilding relationships and fun court drama. It's like Apothecary Diaries but with more magic, and has a similar style to it's worldbuilding as Mars Red - where that slowly dripfed you information on the vampires and makes a rewatch well worth one's time, this also sets stuff up and lets you start to figure it out as it slips in more lore. Highly recommend it.

LAST MOVIE: As said in the last post - it would be Barbie, last week's film night pick. Was good.

CURRENTLY READING: A book called Old Gods, about Finnish wildlife and folklore. I like folklore a lot, so seeing how folklore affects how people have historically seen the world is really cool!

CURRENTLY WATCHING: The latest dubbed episode of Apothecary Diaries (yes, I watch dub. Sadly, I am bad at paying attention when it's subbed because I like to multitask).

CURRENTLY WORKING ON: Several fic projects. Currently aiming to finish up the Kash backstory fic.

[posyhart]

Introducing...Posy Hart

( mary elizabeth winstead, she/her, cis female ) i’m pretty sure i just ran into posy simmons AKA posy hart! you know them, they’re the 32 year old lead singer of cherry void that’s been here for 12 years. they can be pretty determined, but on the d.l., they’re also destructive. i have their ringtone set as celebrity skin by hole in my cell. next time you’re around manhattan, tell them to give me a call!

D.O.B. May 27, 1972 (a gemini queen)

Born and raised in Springfield Massachussetts, Posy was the only and beloved child of a pretty middle class, fairly comfortable family. Summers she spent at her grandparents' home in Kentucky, a farm house bordering a vast apple orchard so adventure was always around the corner.

Academically Posy was strong, but the more she grew up the more she clashed with her disciplinarian mother, who had ideas for what she should do and what sort of career path she wanted Posy to go down. She had high aspirations for her only daughter: lawyer, politician, judge. Posy meanwhile, just wanted to write, or start a band, or do something creative.

She enrolled in The City College of New York, but as soon as her feet hit Manhattan pavement, she knew that wasn't where she was meant to be. Before her first year was out, she decided to put all those college fees to different uses and dropped out (much to the dismay of her parents).

A string of working minimum wage jobs followed while she figured out what she wanted to do, and with whom. Her roommate's brother was in a band, a very loud one that would play the Bowery on the weekends. Posy made up her mind in between crowd surfing and getting beer spilled all over her: she was going to start a fucking band.

Saving up for her first guitar was a slog, everything else was a breeze. She advertised in the local music papers for a drummer and a bassist, and before long, Cherry Void was born. A second guitarist would join a year later, once they started playing shows.

The two guy, two girl band was an instant hit, with Posy's penned songs about heartbreak, angst, and everything in between hitting the radio and making big waves. By 1994, they had released their debut album, Carry Yourself, and it was big in the rock and grunge/alt scene. Posy Hart (self styled, catchy last name) was on magazine covers, posters and newsstands.

By the mid 90's, she was one half of rock's most famous couple. She met Russell Vile of socially conscious, rap-metal band Rage Against the Machine Annihilator and the two had a torrid, on and off love affair.

Spur of the moment, they got married in Vegas by a Prince impersonator and the rest was history. They had a daughter, Gracie Jane, born in 1998.

As hated as she is loved, Posy is a controversial figure in rock. She says what's on her mind, has never been afraid to call out her male peers, and has often been labelled a bitch, difficult, or just plain psycho.

Of course, a growing substance abuse problem didn't help matters, or the fact she went on a drunken vitriol-filled tirade aimed at Britney Spears at the 2000 MTV Video Music Awards.

Then everything went sideways and hit a wall in 2001, when Cherry Vile's drummer Matt was found dead of an overdose. Posy's ever whirling world of sex, drugs, and rock and roll hit a wall, as did her marriage with Russell, the band, and everything else.

Character inspirations: Hole/Courtney Love, Jane Lane, Brody Dalle, Fleabag

CURRENTLY:

Cherry Void is on a much-needed hiatus, her and Russell are divorced (acrimoniously, but still coparenting), and Posy is just trying to make it to 2 weeks sober. Easier said than done, when everybody needs her all of the time. Really she's just trying to get Gracie to school on time.

possible connections: (aka just feel free to assume the following, if you want)

fans of cherry vile / fans of Posy

haters! (yes plsss)

plug/dealer

friends (bonus if they're connected to the music scene in any way)

unlikely friends

hookup/ONS

Gracie's nanny

exes (must discuss or plot beforehand!)

[settledwounds]

❝ EVERYBODY IS A BOOK OF BLOOD. WHEREVER WE'RE OPENED, WE'RE RED. ❞

 ⸻. ᚠᚱᛟᛗ  ⸻  logan lerman. cis man. he/him. ⸻  i saw EASTON JAMES around COLONY HOUSE, you know? the  29 years old that was driving from BROOKLYN, NEW YORK  when they saw the tree on the road. EASTON has been here for TWO DAYS and I think they were A FOURTH YEAR MEDICAL STUDENT before they got stuck in the town. with the way things are now, they are now struggling to maintain a sense of normalcy and  seek a way out without losing themselves or dying.  lets hope you at least survive the night.  ⸻

GENERAL   information.  ⸻

full   name easton nathaniel james

nickname(s)  easton

age   twenty-nine

gender   identity  cis man

orientation    bisexual

place   of   birth   baltimore, maryland

date   of   birth     may 2nd, 1994

former   occupation medical student at nyu

3   positive traits  dauntless, incisive and steadfast

3   negative traits  acrimonious, persistent and volatile

moral alignment  lawful neutral

faceclaim  logan lerman

TOWN   information.  ⸻

current   residency   colony house

current   occupation doctor

BIOGRAPHY   your   character's   background.  (TW: death, medical explanations) ⸻

Easton hoped he would move through this life without incident, without anything that would shake up his whole world, but nobody gets what they really want.

Easton's world was mundane, ordinary even. The son of two Polish immigrants with a younger brother never screamed unique for him. He was just one of many in school as a child. His parents did the best they could, but they would often work long hours. Thankfully, he had his younger brother Ezra in his life to make the days less ordinary.

Despite the pressure he felt from the outside, Ezra always seemed to take his stress away effortlessly. While Easton felt lost in the universe, Ezra always seemed sure of himself. That's what was the worst about his accident. At fourteen years old, Ezra not only insisted on becoming involved in school sports but demanded it in hopes to integrate himself more. Eventually their parents caved and he was able to start playing football for their high school, excelling in it almost immediately.

It wouldn't be much longer until Ezra experienced the last blow, literally. A usual game, just like the others before, that ended up with his brother facing up on the turf. As a precaution they went to the hospital, but was diagnosed with nothing more than a simple head injury and sent home without further testing. Days later, in the middle of the school day an ambulance arrived to take the younger James brother to the hospital.

It was an undiagnosed traumatic brain injury from the blow to his head. If it had been caught early enough, Ezra would have been fine, but without a CT scan to diagnose the injury, his brain was left to bleed and the pressure caused him to seize and lose consciousness. Ezra never woke up after that. At sixteen years old, Easton became an only child.

The hospital took his parents aside, offered them a measly 500,000 that went as quickly as it came, to avoid a lawsuit and without knowing anything else, they accepted. It didn't matter what payout the James family received, it didn't take away their loss. Easton couldn't understand what had happened, that he lost his brother from a stupid mistake. After that, Easton was done living a life of uncertainty.

He became obsessed with his brother's case, even if it would never bring back his brother he learned the mistake they had made and he enraged. The system failed them and he would do anything to make sure that wouldn't happen again.

Studying for the rest of his high school years, he rose academically to make sure that he could get into the best school, the best programs so that he could become a doctor that would be more diligent than those who treated his brother. His parents watched their oldest go from a soft young boy to a toughened man. He had gotten into the University of Maryland without trouble and dedicated all his time and studies to prepare for medical school.

All that hard work paid off and he accepted a position at the NYU medical school. Vindication was within reach and even if time passed, Easton never forgot about Ezra and what happened. He had seen numerous cases in school of those with a head injury, each one of them correctly diagnosed and they left the school with their lives which was never offered to Ezra.

Easton was about ready to graduate, but his best friend suggested a road trip to upstate New York for one last celebration of fun before they all went their separate ways with their residencies. However, a fallen tree would derail their plans.

Through the woods, Easton lost his friend and managed to be discovered by people who helped him and took him to a place that he was safe. He felt like he was losing his brother again when they told him that there was no way out of this place he had stumbled upon and now he faces the same pain he felt all those years ago.

Now, he's been hearing his brother's voice at night and slowly he's going mad.

[hislopchino]

What I’ve learnt: Angus Deayton

By Fiona Lensvelt

From The Times, 27th April 2019

The actor, comedian and TV host Angus Deayton, 63, presented the panel show Have I Got News for You, until he was dismissed in 2002 after tabloid allegations about his personal life. His career, which has spanned radio, television and film, began with Radio Active, which has been revived to mark its 40th anniversary. He has a son, Isaac, with his former partner Lise Mayer, and lives in north London.

When you start appearing on television, your life changes irrevocably. For me that came quite late in life, in my mid-thirties. I had spent most of my time on the radio or touring. Then Have I Got News for You began. I remember thinking, “Oh, this must be what it’s like to be very good-looking.” Everyone sits up and takes notice. People will either pat you on the back or tell you how appalling you are.

You have to give people the benefit of the doubt. [When the scandal broke in 2002], it felt like an out-of-body experience. I remember thinking, ‘This isn’t actually me. I’m looking down on someone else’s life.’ It was traumatic. How do you cope with something like that? You go from day to day, relying on friends to carry you through. It would be nice to say I’ve learnt to trust people less, but I’m not sure you can go through life like that. You’d end up a hermit.

It would be odd if Boris Johnson became the leader of our country. I remember Boris as a guest on Have I Got News for You and it always struck me as weird that he put on this buffoon act when he was clearly an intelligent man and probably quite cut-throat, too. You’d think, why is he rolling his eyes and scratching his head and talking about “old boy”? It seemed like an act. It was a very successful act.

You can tell a lot about someone by how they behave on the football pitch. It’s the same when people get behind the wheel of a car – nice people turn into raving fascists. I love football more than anything in the world, apart from my son. I would say I am overcompetitive. Incidentally, I’ve played football with Boris – he came onto the pitch in a bobble hat and immediately rugby-tackled one of the opposition.

If you both have the will for a split to be amicable, it will be. After Lise and I broke up, we remained friends. We live close to one another; we both look after Isaac; we go to our house in Italy as a family. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t if neither of us has acted badly towards the other. There was no acrimony.

Luck and fortunate breaks got me where I am today. I spent three years at Oxford thinking I was probably going to be a TEFL teacher. I had barely set foot on a stage. Then in my final year I met Richard Curtis, who invited me to join the Oxford Revue comedy group. Our show led straight to a radio series.

Acting is a test of nerves and memory. Can you remember the lines and deliver them as you’ve done in rehearsals? With presenting, you’ve got to appear unruffled when you’re thinking, “What the hell am I supposed to do now?” I remember Terry Wogan saying he used to do three chat shows a week – walking on stage was like walking into his living room. It shouldn’t be like that: you should have some nerves, otherwise you don’t perform at your best.

I don’t smoke, but apart from that, I have all the bad habits. Drinking is chief among them, probably. But it is a social vice and with a meal, it can be delightful.

Life keeps getting better. I came to the realisation recently that I’ve enjoyed every decade better than the one before. I’m in my sixties; my son is almost an adult. My living situation is much less fraught and I am happier in my own skin. I’m working but not working so much that it’s getting in the way, and I’m able to lead a comfortable life.

Radio Active is currently touring nationally and will be at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe (socomedy.co.uk/artist/radio-active)

[snoffyy]

Do you think we'll be seeing a Calidity update anytime soon? I'm so fliippin obsessed with it, I've read and reread it like 3 or 4 times now!

AHHHHHHHH thank you so much ;-;

I wish I could say there will be an update in the immediate future, but it's probably not feasible. I've just started a long placement, so there's currently quite a lot on my plate. Fingers crossed I do get more time to write once I've properly settled in, and I'm definitely aiming to get a chapter out next month if all goes well.

In the meantime, here's a sneak peak for the next chapter ;)

One morning, when the sky was barely tainted with light, stars fading into barely-there twinkles, Zhao found himself leaning against the railings on one of the Jasmine Dragon’s balconies. Zuko had snuck out of the house in the middle of the night again, and Zhao, who had been on the boundary between wake and sleep, had watched him go, slipping out of the window like a wraith.

The prince still wasn’t back, but it didn’t stop another, different, prince from approaching him cautiously, a tray of steaming tea balanced in steady hands like an offering.

“May I talk to you?” Iroh asked, placing the tray on the wide handrail between them.

Zhao gave a hum of assent but made no move to take the proffered cup of tea.

“I’d like to…” Iroh trailed off, seemingly trying to find his voice. “I’d like to ask you something.”

Well, that was a first.

“Sure,” Zhao said dully.

Iroh solemnly looked out over the city, which was beginning to wake with the bustling workers starting their day.

“What does being in rut feel like, if it is not too personal a question?”

Of all the questions Zhao had anticipated, imagined, even, he’d never had thought that this would be the question Iroh would ask. Still, he thought it over, mulling the words carefully in his mouth before he set them free. For this was the first time Iroh had ever asked him about something so deeply personal to him as a classified, to all alphas that had ever gone through a rut.

“It feels,” Zhao began slowly. “First, it starts with fire. Just… spreading from your chest. It robs you of your own will, but not so much that you can claim you weren’t in your right mind. Your body is your own, but your mind fluctuates between yours and the rut’s. You want to fight. You want to rest. You want to be alone. You want to be with a mate. It’s hard to say what your mind wants when it’s warring with your body all the damn time.”

“Is that the same feeling,” Iroh said carefully. “As when you’ve induced rut?”

“To a lesser extent, yes,” Zhao replied, now taking the cup of tea. He sniffed it carefully. Oolong.

Iroh let out a long sigh. “Ba Sing Se was an oversight on my part.”

At once, whatever amiable mood Zhao had evaporated in an instant.

Zhao’s lip curled in disgust. “An oversight? Are you fucking kidding me? An oversight? Is that really what you’re calling it?”

He’s suffered through so much utter bullshit in his life that now, to have such a tragic incident, something that had shaken the entire world of classifieds, be bequeathed the claim of ‘oversight’… it almost nauseated him.

“I am an alpha,” Zhao said thinly. “I very well could have been used for your own gains. You didn’t have to make them induce rut. You didn’t have to force them into that state. You… you were the one who made the call. You were the one who made the decision. It was in your hands! It was their blood on your hands!”

With every acrimonious word that spewed from Zhao’s mouth, Iroh’s head bowed lower and lower. What could the old general possibly be thinking? Repentance was no lenient mistress. And with such heft of his crimes weighing him down, it would be easier to feign ignorance than to face the music.

“At so many points in my life, I’d have given everything to be ‘normal.’” Zhao whispered, curling his hands tighter around the teacup. “When I speak, people stare at my fangs. When I go into rut, I’m treated as an animal. And you know what’s even better? I’m a bender. That’s just another thing I can be used for.”

There had been a time when he had prided himself on being an alpha and a bender. When he had been naïve and thought that it meant that it afforded him higher status. But it all came to a head the moment Jeong Jeong had looked upon him in disgust when it was revealed that he had killed a fellow alpha in a farce of an Agni Kai.

Where was the pride he had when it was tainted by derision and disapproval? Where did it all go? Here, in Ba Sing Se, what little pride he had was whittled to splinters. For what pride could be born from being one of the Avatar’s lackeys, being the uncle of a bunch of mixed breed brats, and an admiral that was likely presumed dead at this point?

“It doesn’t have to be that way anymore,” Iroh implored. “Zhao, I want to make things right. Atonement is not easy, but I am willing to learn.”

“And how will you do that?” Zhao scoffed. “You are saying you are willing to learn our ways?”

Iroh lifted his chin. “I would be. But I am not the only one who has blood on my hands.”

Zhao rankled. “What are you implying?”

“I would warn you not to be a hypocrite,” Iroh stated flatly, eyes hard. Dragon of the West indeed. Somehow, Zhao was no longer as intimidated by the man’s indomitable reputation.

They stared each other down, coming to a standstill.

Instinct, as it always did, peeled Zhao’s lips back, baring his fangs. “Is this truly about Ba Sing Se? Or is this about Zuko?”

Iroh’s guarded expression did not falter. “Could it not be both?”

“Maybe,” Zhao said slowly, working his jaw, “maybe you should stop trying to play the mastermind.”

[news-of-the-day]

1/4/23

My sincerest apologies for my long absence; life is just very busy at times. My new year’s resolution is to be more consistent with this. I obviously can’t write everything I’ve missed, but I’ll try to make longer paragraphs to describe context.

Every two years, the House needs to vote on the Speaker. Generally both parties choose their candidate ahead of time, and whichever candidate whose party has the majority will win. This time around there have been several issues. Historically these candidates have run unopposed but since 2011 a handful of candidates will receive one or two votes. Considering the Republicans have a slim majority right now, they basically need every single vote to assure their favored candidate, Kevin McCarthy, will win. It's just that there are about twenty Republicans from the Freedom Caucus who aren't voting for him, even after Trump said to vote for McCarthy. There's been five rounds of voting over the course of two days and still no Speaker. Unfortunately the House can't start business until this gets resolved.

The Ukrainian momentum has slowed down significantly and fighting is mostly at a standstill. Russia has launched many missiles at cities during the holidays, particularly Kiev, and the Ukraine also launched an attack that killed dozens of soldiers at a vocational college.

After rare protests, China lifted COVID restrictions. Immediately afterward cases started rising. Many people in China did not get vaccinations, partly because the just-rescinded zero-COVID policy meant it wasn't necessary. China isn't publishing data, so it's unknown exactly how many people are sick but the general consensus is hospitals are currently overwhelmed, much like how other parts of the world experienced in 2020.

Last month, Peruvian President Castillo announced he was declaring a national emergency and dissolving parliament. Castillo had a very acrimonious relationship with parliament, and it was starting its third impeachment vote on him. Parliament ignored him and, probably because they were now angry at him for this announcement, overwhelmingly voted in favor of impeaching him and his vice-president, Boluarte, was sworn in as the new president. Castillo immediately headed to the Mexican embassy for asylum, was but detained en route. Although it seems most Peruvians condemn Castillo's actions, protests have broken out around the country, with many dying.

The EU fined Meta, Facebook's parent company, €390M for violating privacy laws regarding targeted ads.

A man named Trevor Bickford attacked police officers in Times Square on New Year's Eve with a short sword. The charges laid out say he recently became involved with radicalized Islam and specifically went out to attack officers.

1) Politico 2) NYT, BBC 3) BBC 4) BBC 5) AP 6) NYT

[saccharinexvenom]

" this is who we are ; a product of war . "

; pinterest | wanted dynamics | wanted connections ;

aesthetics.

drowning your struggles in whiskey bubbles. scraped knees and bleeding knuckles. the distant sound of combat. the feeling of rot: slowly destroying you from the inside. the death of a hero. the endless need to find salvation.

basics.

full name. zephyr danvers nicknames. zeph, phyr gender. male pronouns. he/him sexuality. find out age. thirty-two date birth. 1st november zodiac sign. scorpio traits. assertive, acrimonious current location. new york city occupation. getaway driver for the society, mechanic

appearance.

face claim. aaron taylor johnson voice claim. garrett hedlund in mojave height. 6'1 piercings. hoop & stud in his left lobe tattoos. quite an extensive amount, mostly done before jail ; some done within other distinguishing features. he has scars from road rash on his right shoulder blade, a scar from a knife just on his lower stomach on the left side ; a couple more scars from being a reckless teen ; scar from where he'd been shot in the army style. it depends. while he's on a job, he's either dressed up in all black or a costume to fit in ( i.e. security guard, chauffer, etc. ) ; if he's not on a job, he's more casual, more relaxed with what he wears

biography.

you had come into this world silent. the doctors had feared for the worst. but one smack, and you had released all that anger already etched upon your lungs. you had been born of it. and you had been born into it. the very epitome of the word.

many had always made the claim. ' oh, i wish i had been born in a small town '. but none had ever known the true struggles of it. of everyone knowing your name. of everyone knowing your mama and your daddy. how the population of those around your age had been so slim, that you had been bused to the next nearest town. to a school that everyone knew everyone. and secrets were the quickest thing to hit the salons and barbershops. there had been nothing for you. but oh, how you had tried to fight against that implication.

wires had always been so easy to cross. a pair of pliers in your back pocket, and you could gain access to any car that sat within your field of vision. barely big enough to see over the steering wheel. it hadn't mattered when you went tearing down a dusty street. when you'd crashed through the jenkins' farm fence and nearly tore through their entire livestock. trouble had been your middle name, but what had they expected for you to do ? there hadn't even been a mall, let alone a strip mall in your town.

there had been nothing for you. no college scholarship. no community college where you could get something, anything that may have propelled you into a better future. so you had settled. for the only type of life a guy like you could have been given. the army. your daddy had done it. and so had his daddy. and all the men that had seemingly come before you. their medals and flags still covered the mantle in your family home.

discipline had been what you needed. so said your teachers, the ladies down at the hair salon ; hell, even the mailman had quipped it when you'd decided to steal his truck. and the army had done just that. taught you what you should have learned from an early age. for a spell. before you'd found yourself within the ring. as blood dripped from your knuckles. from the cut above your eye. from the split lip, the blood spat onto the ground between you and your opponent. the army had a strict ' no brawling ' policy. and yet, you found yourself within one nearly every night. because what else were you to do when the war had only ever been in your bones.

honorably discharged ; that's what the papers read when the bullet had torn through your abdomen. you had nearly died for your country and what had that gotten you ? a set of papers that meant nothing and the right to say that you'd fought. that you'd been ' one of the good ol' boys '. there had been no future within the army beyond that. no future anywhere, given that you had no college degree. no official skills that would see you through the workforce. and so, you'd done what you had always been good at: stealing.

there had been money in cars. from the suburban mom car to the wicked little sportscar. anything that ran and anything that had good bones could be hotwired. and taken to the nearest chop shop for some extra dollars in your pocket. the business had been good. but it could have been better. and oh, how the fucked up man in the sky had decided to answer your prayers. when one aspen lynch came into your life. smart, captivating ; and just what you had needed all along.

bonnie and clyde. clyde and bonnie. so many others had claimed that story to fit them. to be exactly as they had been. but none others could ever truly claim it. not as you and her had been. she the brains, you the brawn. no bank, jewelry store or the like could stand in your way. you had the manpower. the brute strength from all those years within the military. you had the training. the sharp eye and the willpower to pull the trigger when necessary. none had been able to get in your way. and you had been willing to do the unthinkable for her. for your love. until the unthinkable had landed you in handcuffs.

twenty five years to life had been on the docket. the courts screaming for life, for the death penalty. but the evidence had been circumstantial at best. and you had some big shot lawyer on your side. some asshole that had wanted to use your story to make a name for himself. ' look at me, i'm the guy that got zephyr danvers off death row. the notorious new age clyde barrow. ' what a crock of shit, but you had sat by while the man had spewed legal bullshit to the jury. something about small town kid. something about army veteran. shot in the line of duty, served his country and the people that now decided his fate. it was all so fucking good. and it had taken everything in you to not smirk. to not look over at the prosecution and see in their eyes that you were about to escape death. again.

after days of evidence and witnesses. after days of deliberation. the gavel had been struck. no death penalty, but you had been sentenced to far too many years behind bars. a mild sentence. but the gratification came in the knowledge that the courts had only been able to get you. that she had been able to walk away from it all. to see and taste the freedom that would not be yours. or so you had thought. for surely the courts would have found a way to keep you behind bars. that life as you had known it would be broken down to the small box that would be your new home.

yet, new evidence had come to light. and good behavior had found you once more within a deliberation room. sat before a deciding panel on whether you should see the light of day once more. stipulations had been made, of the possibility of your freedom. something about how you would never be given a license. something about how you would be marked as a felon for the entirety of your life. that last one had been spoken with a sneer from some uptight bitch. but you had only sat in silence, looked on as if you reeked of being the man that begged for forgiveness.

you had barely been out before the wires had been crossed. before you had sat within the driver seat of some fancy fucking car. and before you had found yourself on the radar of the society. who had seen your skills behind the wheel. had watched the ease in which you maneuvered the car away from those flashing blue and red lights. it had been an offer you really hadn't been able to refuse. given your record, given what the public knew all too well about you. the society had been willing to offer you something good, something discreet. and you had sworn your life to them, much the same as you had done when you'd been eighteen years old.

[ravenspeakrp]

Welcome to Raven’s Peak, Amber, we’re excited to have you. Grayson Elijah Smith (Regé-Jean Page, Werewolf) has been accepted. Please be sure to stop by the CHECKLIST for the follow list, tags to track, and other reminders.

OUT OF CHARACTER

NAME: Amber PRONOUNS: She/Her AGE: 30+ TIMEZONE: CST

IN CHARACTER

FULL NAME: Grayson Elijah Smith SPECIES: Werewolf AGE: 35 DATE OF BIRTH: March 14 GENDER IDENTITY: Male NEIGHBORHOOD: Downtown OCCUPATION: History Professor WORKPLACE: Ravenlock University POSITIVE TRAITS: Honorable, Leader, Reliable NEGATIVE TRAITS: Detached, Cynical, Acrimonious LENGTH OF TIME IN RAVEN’S PEAK: Most of his life outside the military FACE CLAIM: Regé-Jean Page

BIOGRAPHY

TRIGGER WARNING: PTSD TW, Injury TW, Blood TW, Bomb TW, Amputee TW, War TW, Body Image TW

For generations, the Smith family have been the proud protectors of Raven’s Peak. A legacy that lives on to his current generation of Smith children.

Grayson Elijah came into this world not prepared for the legacy of his family to be placed on his shoulders. Despite having an older sister and brother, the third child of the Smith family was raised the same as his older siblings with a strict regimen at home. Even as a baby, ferberized him using the technique for him to learn to self soothe and cry it out. As he got older, a number of chores were placed upon him, which included waking up early to make up his bed, tidy up his room, and help his mother prepare breakfast along with his other siblings.

In high school, Grayson maintained his 4.0 grade average which many would find to be a great accomplishment, but for his family it was just part of their high expectations. During his time in school, he was the pitcher for the baseball team and running back for the football team and even created a few records that have yet to be beaten to this day at the school.

As he got older, it became abundantly clear military service was expected from him. Grayson wanted to go to college first, but the weight of his family’s dedication to the armed forces moved him into the direction of joining the Marines soon after graduation, following his sister and other family members.

After basic training, he received an assignment only a few hours from Raven’s Peak where on the weekends he would come home to visit his family. It was during this time he met a woman and fell in love with her. The two after dating only a year, eloped causing some friction between the family and him.

Life in the military fared easy for the Smith son, he was used to a strict regimen and was in the best shape of his life and had a beautiful wife on his arm. In fact, he started college while in the military working on a Bachelor’s in History until he was called to the war. It was his first tour in the war zone and there was some excitement for the young man. A way to show his father that he was worthy of the Smith name.

Several months in the desert passed, things were steady for the most part. At least until his unit was called to transfer materials across to another base. Everything appeared safe, he was leading the Hummer across a dirt road armed, one gun strapped around him and other weapons to maintain the safety of everyone there.

All he remembered was a loud ringing in his ears and his head pounding, when he managed to open his eyes a cloud of dust was everywhere and he could hardly hear anything from the ringing. Lying on his back, it took several moments for him to realize what happened and as he lay there in shock he could feel his body starting to go cold and eventually blacked out.

Grayson woke up in a hospital several hours later, he looked around and saw several bandages on his arms that blood was leaking through and he still had a pounding head. As his senses started to come back, he hesitantly lifted the light blanket from his body to see part of his right leg missing causing him to fall back and quietly cry.

Soon afterwards, he was sent to a hospital in the US and then to a rehabilitation clinic where he had to learn to walk with a prosthetic and try to regain some movement in his right arm where he received nerve damage from the blast.

Eventually, his wife and he came to Raven’s Peak where he pursued higher education eventually receiving his Doctorate in History. However, during all this time studying he became isolated refusing to allow people in and causing friction within his marriage. Refusing to go to therapy or open up led to his wife filing for a separation and eventually a divorce.

Now, he teaches at Ravenlock University known as one of the toughest professors in the school and keeps people at bay not wanting anyone to feel sorry for him.

EXTRAS

FILLING CONNECTION: Yes - Neylani Smith & Isaiah Smith’s third sibling/brother

[talenlee]

Vox Maxima Story Spotlight 5 — Into the Tambow

What follows here is a discussion of what, if I had the means and writer tools to make my Custom Magic set have proper story spotlight material, it’d look like this, it’d be built out of this. This is basically about story mechanics underlying a game system, and I want to present it to you so you can have a handle on what it looks like when I’m trying to explain game narratives for the presentation of conventional narratives.

And here we have the conclusion of the previous story arc – the end of the Vox Maxima – and then a new thing… after that.

Buckle up!

Vox Maxima is a custom magic set created by Talen Lee. It’s composed of 187 cards, with 71 commons, 60 uncommons, 41 rares, and 15 mythic rares. Vox Decima is a custom Magic: The Gathering set, with at least one card spoiled a day, on Cohost, Kind.Social, and the r/custommagic subreddit.

WOTC Employees: This post in full presents unsolicited custom Magic: The Gathering card designs, which I understand current employee practices forbid you from looking at unsolicited. You shouldn’t be here!

Goals

This is the conclusion, the ‘gasp, to be continued in‘ moment of the Vox Maxima story. It’s meant to show the problems present in the world are building to a peak, that the time away from the imperial heart has brought with it a new push from the Emperor. Basically, now they stand at the edge of the empire, with all the knowledge of what the Emperor is really built on, with the billion murdered, and the realisation that even if they know what happened, they don’t know why, or what it means.

Express the Verge’s character:

Show that the Verge has managed to construct a civilisation, separate from the Empire, that does not need rulers or kings. People are egalitarian and share because they want to. People are willing to ask for more because they need more, or are afraid or anxious, and others understand that and are okay with providing help and safety when they need it.

Show that the Verge live not in ruins but in a deliberately changed environment; their cities are no longer consuming magical power and the like, they are not making things more dense, but spreading out and sharing and making things across the whole range.

Emphasise the importance of the Tambow river.

Prepare the group to splinter once more, leaving behind Elise as she heads back to the heart of the Empire with Cazas. The nature of this separation from Niamh can be acrimonious or hopeful – Niamh is after all, not a ‘real’ princess, meaning they can make a case for leaving her behind.

Primrose, Kraivh IV and Niamh have to dive into the dreams of the Tambow, and in so doing, emerge in the Ghostlands that mark the start of the next story.

Characters

The Tambow is a nice place. It’s a place where people share an ideology and hold to a cultural norm that accepts people’s strengths and weaknesses. It’s not ‘nature red in tooth and claw’ – it’s a respectful place that recognises the way things are, and appreciates them.

Torun is the eye-level brawling goon that joins the group as they arrive. She sees the group interfacing with imperial guards that are pushing at the edges of the Verge and wants to get involved to fight, because she loves the fighting and hates the empire. For obvious reasons. Torun travels with the group, who assume she’s a dumb barbarian, and while she’s definitely rough, she’s happy to explain how the Verge degrew their society, and stopped doing things that hurt the world. She travels with the group along the river, but can’t volunteer suggestions for what to do – she doesn’t even understand their quest.

Rue is one of the mystics that live along the river. She is happy to speak to the travellers about their situation, but has no interest in the Emperor. She instead extols the idea of living their lives the way they want to live them. Why care about their quest? Does it matter to them? If it does, how do they want it to end? They should act in the way that the world should work the way they want it to.

Luminur is a old werebear, who lives in a mixed form. He should be an opportunity to talk about how the Verge is not a vision of a place where you have two be two things at once – that all things are part of a flow, an ongoing, permanently changing dance between things that already exist. Luminur also probably should summon something dreadful from the river to fight Imperial forces. Luminur is a summoner, and always summons things in pairs.

Scene

At this point the story has been built up in a way you can escalate.

With his daughters out of the house, and therefore away from attention, the emperor has been setting up some good old fashioned purges and establishing his territory broader and more brutally. To the Verge, he has sent Rudel III – who is, like Jatku, a resurrected Vampire, a reconstructed version of the philosopher Rudel. Basically, the emperor has sent the person who should most want to protect the Verge to burn it back. Rudel III is accompanied by Gwynn XI, another strange undead who uses portals to protect themselves from the battlefield.

This is a sign of what harm the empire is doing to its edges. Where the dead fall they can be turned to more of the Empire’s skeletal armies, which then strip the land of resources and send them back. The Princesses see what’s happening, and flee to pursue the mystery of the Lost Decade up the river, looking for Rudel’s laboratory. Rudel III continues raging through the space, and chases them, while both fight or escape from various monsters of the Verge.

There’s a lot of room for a chase here; Rudel and Gwynn are persistent threats that chase, they experience more of the Verge, and move on from place to place.

At some point on this narrative, the group splits;

Jatku II may stay back to fight with Rudel and Gwynn.

Cazas II and Elise head back into the Imperial heart, and whether they do so amicably or angrily is part of the mystery

Primrose, Kraivh IV, and Niamh, either desperate and lost, or with the blessing of their sisters, meet with a tambow mystic – not a legendary character, as described, they explicitly explain that they are just one of many…

And fall into the Ghostlands, the realm where the Lost Decade happens. From there, the story of Vox Maxima ends, and then it’s the beginning of…

Decima Vex is a custom magic set created by Talen Lee. It’s composed of 187 cards, with 71 commons, 60 uncommons, 41 rares, and 15 mythic rares. Decima Vex is a custom Magic: The Gathering set, with at least one card spoiled a day, on Cohost, Kind.Social, and the r/custommagic subreddit.

WOTC Employees: This post in full presents unsolicited custom Magic: The Gathering card designs, which I understand current employee practices forbid you from looking at unsolicited. You shouldn’t be here!

Niamh wakes up, after falling through the world. She sits up, and finds herself in a new, haunted place – where the Tambow mystic referred to as the ghost lands. She fell in with Kraivh IV and Primrose, but cannot find Primrose. Instead, surrounded by a looming fen, a forest with long fronds and thick mists, she is approached by an inquisitive, blue-haired, big-eyed and friendly fey figure with a tail and an eager voice and willingness to talk that calls themself Pip.

And here is where Decima Vex starts.

Decima Vex is set in a haunted world called the Ghostlands where there are strange signs of a terrible, cataclysmic event. A torn little shred of land surrounded by rolling mists, populated by hungering ghosts, it is about the size of a small country, with multiple different factions trying to find ways to survive and cope with the extremely damaged, eerie world in which they are trapped.

Decima Vex is a three-colour set focusing on five factions, with each colour represented. They are:

The Gwynn Combine (white-blue-green), a coalition of researchers who sought access to alternate dimensions to escape the Necrocalypse and in so doing, united their order of knights and researchers with the courts of the fair folk. Their keyword mechanic is Convoke.

The Ynvei Machination (red-blue-black), the grand conspiracy manipulating all events from behind the shadows – even outside of the Ghostlands – at the direction of the Emperor’s lost wife, Ynvei. Their keyword mechanic is Foretell.

The Volja Horde (black-red-green), the last remnants of a fairytale kingdom plagued by a nightmare dragon and its cursed, undead king. Their keyword mechanic is Eternalize.

The Cazas Dawn (white-black-green), a cathedral-building church of sunworshippers trapped in a world where the sun is a ghost of its own, a cursed eye they call the Saun. Their keyword mechanic is Exalted.

The Trezi Stand (white-blue-red), technologists and magitechnicians who seemingly spent generations building amazing synthetic structures that rival the Iacon with a tiny fragment of the power and support. Their keyword mechanic is Reconfigure.

The other themes of the Vox Maxima continue! There is more Eminence, Goad, Double-Faced cards, and Sagas.

There are also tokens!

Treasure tokens

A 2/2 Faerie creature token that’s all colours

A 4/4 Zombie creature token

and a 0/0 Legendary creature token named Morn with the rules text “Morn gets +2/+2 for each time you’ve cast your commander from the command zone this game.”

The symbol is a moon blossoming in a flower, and… yeah. That’s that. Same links and sources on the same sources as before!

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[swldx]

BBC 0429 25 Apr 2024

12095Khz 0358 25 APR 2024 - BBC (UNITED KINGDOM) in ENGLISH from TALATA VOLONONDRY. SINPO = 55344. English, dead carrier s/on @0358z with ID@0359z pips and Newsday preview. @0401z World News anchored by Chris Berrow. The leader of the US House of Representatives was heckled in a tense visit to Columbia University as protests against the war in Gaza continue to spread across US campuses.Republican House Speaker Mike Johnson said Columbia officials had lost control of the situation. In Texas and California, police confronted campus protesters and made dozens of arrests. Pope Francis continues to be in contact, every day, with the Catholic community at Gaza’s Church of the Holy Family, that is currently offering shelter to some 700 Palestinians who have lost their homes in the current war between Hamas and Israel. A formal ceremony to install Haiti's transitional ruling council will be held early Thursday, the prime minister's office said, as the violence-wracked nation moves to form an interim government. The event will be held at the prime minister's office, known as Villa d'Accueil, in the Musseau neighborhood of the capital, instead of the presidential palace which is still under attack from gangs. Venezuelan opposition candidate Edmundo Gonzalez said on Wednesday he is committed to carrying out a transition that will allow exiled people to return to the country and political prisoners to be freed. Though Maduro's government agreed to a prisoner swap deal with the U.S. in December, freeing dozens of Venezuelans as well as some Americans, opposition members and activists recently have been detained for what supporters say are unfounded reasons. U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken on Thursday called on China to provide a level playing field for American businesses as he began a visit aimed at resolving a raft of contentious issues that could jeopardise the newly repaired relationship. Blinken's trip is the latest high-level contact between the two nations that, along with working groups on issues from global trade to military communication, have tempered the public acrimony that drove relations to historic lows early last year. Ukraine for the first time has begun using long-range ballistic missiles provided secretly by the United States, bombing a Russian military airfield in Crimea last week and Russian forces in another occupied area overnight, American officials said Wednesday. Long sought by Ukrainian leaders, the new missiles give Ukraine nearly double the striking distance, up to 300 kilometers (190 miles), that it had with the mid-range version of the weapon that it received from the U.S. last October. Russia on Wednesday vetoed a U.S.-drafted United Nations Security Council resolution that called on countries to prevent an arms race in outer space, a move that prompted the United States to question if Moscow was hiding something. The vote came after Washington accused Moscow of developing a anti-satellite nuclear weapon to put in space, an allegation that Russia has denied. Russian President Vladimir Putin has said that Moscow was against putting nuclear weapons in space. Australian police have arrested seven teenagers as part of a wave of counter-terrorism raids across Sydney, claiming it was "likely" the youths may have been plotting an attack. The suspects are believed to share a "religiously motivated violent extremist ideology", say police. The raids are linked to last week's stabbing of an Assyrian bishop, which police declared a "terrorist act". Police say the offenders were "juveniles" aged from 15 to 17. @0405z "Newsday" begins. 250ft unterminated BoG antenna pointed E/W w/MFJ-1020C active antenna (used as a preamplifier/preselector), Etón e1XM. 250kW, beamAz 315°, bearing 63° . Received at Plymouth, MN, United States, 15359KM from transmitter at Talata Volonondry. Local time: 2258.

[mariacallous]

A board member of Trump Media & Technology Group, which owns Truth Social, has been accused of hacking one of the executives who helped bring the firm public as part of a corporate coup attempt, according to a lawsuit filed in the Southern District of Florida.

Trump Media became a publicly traded company last month when it merged with Digital World Acquisition Corp (DWAC), a special purpose acquisition company. DWAC was first led by Patrick Orlando, one of the original architects of the deal to take Truth Social public. Orlando was fired in March 2023, after that deal was delayed, and replaced immediately by Eric Swider. That ouster is the focus of the lawsuit, which was filed in March of this year by a company Orlando controls called Benessere Investment Group.

In its lawsuit, Benessere claims that Swider, who served as DWAC CEO from March 2023 to March 2024 and currently sits on Trump Media’s board of directors, plotted a “coup d'état” in order to oust Orlando as the CEO of DWAC. Benessere alleges that “defendants and other co-conspirators stole access to Plaintiffs’ computer systems and files and used the stolen information to attack Benessere and ARC II managing member, Patrick Orlando,” as part of an “audacious scheme to seize control of and enlarge their holdings in a publicly-traded company poised to merge with Trump Media & Technology Group Corp.” ARC II refers to ARC Global Investments II, a fund organized by Orlando which provided financing for the deal to take Truth Social public.

This lawsuit is the latest development in the legal acrimony among some original employees of the various companies associated with Truth Social, the people who have managed to stick around, and former president Donald Trump himself. Even before Trump’s Truth Social officially launched in early 2022, DWAC was beset by investigative probes, insider trading, and petty infighting. The company, which began trading publicly last month, is valued at more than $5 billion despite reporting just over $4 million in revenue in 2023. This wildly inflated valuation hangs over some of the recent lawsuits, as early employees of the company stand to make millions of dollars if they manage to hold on to their shares.

The lawsuit claims that after Orlando’s dismissal as CEO, Swider enlisted Orlando’s former personal assistant, Alexander Cano, to improperly gain access to a protected electronic storage account at Box.com tied to Benessere and ARC II that held Orlando’s confidential files, Mailchimp login information, and DocuSign accounts. Cano had access to the accounts in his capacity as Orlando’s assistant and continued to have access despite no longer being Orlando’s assistant or working at Benessere, the suit says.

“At some point during 2023, months after Cano had left Benessere, Orlando learned that he had been locked out of the Box Account and that Cano had seized total control of the Box Account as the administrator,” the suit alleges. “Cano without authorization accessed files, including, without limitation, files containing all information with regard to all investors as well as all financial and other confidential information not only of ARC II but also of Benessere.” The suit alleged that Cano then gave the “stolen information” to Swider.

Then, according to the Florida suit, Swider used Orlando’s stolen Mailchimp account credentials and listserv to send an email to ARC II investors in the Truth Social deal on March 5, attacking Orlando’s management of ARC II and DWAC, and his involvement in a separate lawsuit filed against DWAC the previous month.

“Mr. Orlando’s leadership has guided our common interests with DWAC directly into the arms of the SEC, the DOJ, lengthy delays and costly investigations,” Swider wrote. “By filing this lawsuit against DWAC, Mr. Orlando is destroying the value that may be realized upon consummation of the business combination by the Company and its members.”

Swider then invited fellow investors to join him on a series of Zoom calls to “understand our risk exposure based on leadership that continues to march us down a path of mis-information, hidden information, and self dealing.” In the same email cited in court documents, Swider added, “I am not disparaging Patrick. I am sure he is an amazing Human being, Honest, hard working. Looking out for your best interest. He is good looking. He is cool. I like him. Nothing in this email is meant to be defamatory. He has been great as a leader. Patrick- you are Awesome!!”

In the Florida lawsuit, Benessere alleges that Swider tried to take control of the two companies involved in funding the Truth Social Deal. “And to gain control of ARC II and complete his takeover of the entire DWAC enterprise, Swider sought to obtain confidential information about ARC II and its investors, which information was held by Benessere in a protected electronic storage account at Box.com,” the lawsuit alleges.

Benessere says in its lawsuit that it has paid $6,000 to a computer forensics expert to investigate the alleged hack, and that Swider and Cano haven’t relinquished access to the Box account.

Cano is also named as a defendant in the lawsuit. The suit claims that Swider “promised” Cano the role of DWAC president and “outsized” compensation following Cano’s participation in accessing Orlando’s Box account. Cano eventually did become president of DWAC. When asked for comment, Cano referred WIRED to Eric Swider.

In an interview with WIRED, Swider denied all of the allegations in the lawsuit and said that publicly available documents filed with the Securities and Exchange Commission contradict many of its claims. Swider said that he never hired Cano as his assistant and that Orlando had voted in favor of the compensation that Cano received.

“I just think he's never let go [of] the fact that I replaced him,” Swider tells WIRED. “I don't know why it offends him so bad.”

Benessere Investment Group’s lawsuit marks what appears to be a bitter falling out between Orlando and Swider, who were business partners for years. Swider was formerly a director at Benessere, according to his LinkedIn profile.

In addition to this suit and Orlando's separate suit in Delaware, in which ARC II is contending that it should receive more stock as part of the Truth Social deal, there are several other lawsuits associated with the nascent company. Early Trump Media employees Wes Moss and Andy Litinsky recently sued the company in Delaware court, saying the company was diluting its shares. Shortly after, Trump Media countersued Moss and Litinsky in Florida court, alleging that their poor management delayed the deal.

Orlando is also currently facing yet another lawsuit brought by DWAC. That suit, which was filed in March, claims that Orlando intentionally delayed the Truth Social deal and, as a result, should have his shares reduced.

Benessere Group and Orlando didn’t respond to a request for comment. Swider, Cano, and Renatus Advisors, Swider’s advisory company that is also named as a defendant, have yet to respond to the lawsuit in court.

[crimechannels]

By • Olalekan Fagbade Former Minister; President Tinubu achieved in few days what Buhari govt couldn’t do in years Former Aviation minister, Femi Fani-Kayode, has claimed that President Bola Ahmed Tinubu has achieved in 100 days what the Muhammadu Buhari administration could not attempt in many years. It was under the administration of former President Buhari that the United Arab Emirates, UAE, had a diplomatic row with Nigeria which resulted in the imposition of visa ban on Nigerians and suspension of flights to the west African nation. The situation has remained that way since October 2022. However, as DAILY POST reported earlier, the presidency announced on Monday that Tinubu and the President of the United Arab Emirates, Mohamed bin Zayed Al Nahyan, in Abu Dhabi, finalized a historic agreement, which has resulted in the immediate cessation of the visa ban placed on Nigerian travellers. And Fani-Kayode, a former chieftain of the Peoples Democratic Party, PDP, now a member of the All Progressives Congress, APC, noted that the current administration has in just a few days done what the immediate past government could not do in many years. “In the last few days our President has placed Nigeria back at the center-stage of international affairs where she rightly belongs. “After a fantastic outing in India at the G20 summit which has attracted billions of dollars in investment to our country and where he rightly told world leaders that they cannot do without Nigeria, he went to the UAE and not only ensured that the visa ban on Nigerians was lifted but also ensured a resolution to the trapped Emirati funds at Central Bank and the issue of flight routes and air travel between our two countries. All these achievements in a matter of a few days. “These are things that the previous administration could not achieve in years of protracted and oftentimes acrimonious negotiations. “I am truly proud of our President and, under his watch, Nigeria is clearly on the rise again. “Not only has he restored our confidence and hope but he has also proved to the world that Great Nigeria, the Giant of Africa, has come alive again. Glory be to God.”