#considering that in todays world education like that is so fucking expensive

[fertbutt]

playing fallout new vegas and having to listen to caesar complaining about travelling and getting to study the languages of various communities living in the wasteland and calling it a waste of time while irl the humanities are constantly disregarded and getting a higher education and opportunities to study anthropology hands-on costs tens if not hundreds of thousands of dollars and requires so many connections and he was just getting that FOR FREE from the followers but that wasnt cool enough for him so he decided to use the education he was given to start his little fascist larper group and enslave people

#the followers are so fucking cool man #the way they just take in jerry the punk without needing any money or like references or anything. and can make him an archival assistant #like aside from being anarchists and stuff the way they just openly and freely share as much of their knowledge theyve preserved #thats what makes them so cool to me #considering that in todays world education like that is so fucking expensive #and knowledge is only appreciated when its seen as 'useful' and exploitable like stem studies #i wanna be an anthropologist man #fnv #followers of the apocalypse #fallout new vegas #fallout #caesar fnv #caesar's legion #talking

[hulahoopsoupgroup]

ive ranted about this to my friend like 3 times this week but ill rant again because im just so fed up and angry.

21st century american capitalism is so dismal. we put everything behind a paywall. you cant exist without paying money and you cant go anywhere or do anything without paying.

you have to pay to be born and you have to pay to survive. if you cant pay to survive, you have to pay to die. theres no escaping it.

most jobs in the usa require a college degree, but a lot of people cant afford to go to college. its honestly infuriating that people cant get the jobs they want because the education is so expensive. why do i have to pay tens of thousands of dollars to the government so i can get a job that will probably only barely keep me afloat in todays economy?

why do we pay writers and artists so little when they are one of the most vital parts of society. where would we be without the painters and authors who create beautiful scenes and impactful stories?

weve overcomplicated society so much that you have to jump through so many financial hoops to just, exist. you have to have insurance for everything. everything costs so much. why do i have to pay over 2 dollars for a bottle of water at work? why are the bags of candy 5 dollars?

all of this just makes everyone miserable, no doubt. i had a conversation with 5 other people and all of us have had severe depression/anxiety, had to be medicated, or needed a lot of therapy/not been able to afford it. and im not stigmatizing therapy in any way. if i could afford it, i would absolutely go, but my job doesnt pay much, so even one session would set me back so far regarding money.

the fact that its so normal for 11-13 year olds to start experiencing severe depression is so concerning. its almost like a rite of passage. ask anyone in gen z if they were depressed in middle school and theyll probably say "yeah." thats concerning.

young people's suicide rates have risen over 50% in the past 10 years. 42% of gen z considered suicide in 2021-22. the fact that i know 3 or 4 people (myself included) who have attempted suicide before age 16 or 17 is insane.

we're so depressed about the future and reasonably so. its so bleak. the world is burning, people are killing each other over such trivial things, nobody listens to each other, and the government is just going insane. how badly do you have to screw up to make a 13 year old want to kill themself because they feel like the future is so bleak?

how badly do you have to screw up to prevent so many people from going to college and getting jobs to support themselves?

how badly do you have to screw up to bar people from something as simple as going to the doctor and earning a basic living wage?

and to think that there are still people who think this is fine. there are some people who sit back and say this all makes sense, that it makes sense that you have to pay thousands of dollars for a few stitches in your hand if you have a cooking accident, that you have to insure every last bit of your life, that people killing each other over ideological differences is natural and cant be helped.

america needs to wake the fuck up and get shit done. its destroying its own future. its making the future generation kill itself because of how miserable it is. fucking do better and maybe you wouldnt burn to the ground in a dumpster fire

#rant post #rant #tw sui ideation #tw sui attempt mention #tw mental health #tw mental illness #anti capitalism #everyone is insane :) #american bullshit #gen z culture #gen z shit

[fluffy-critter]

#crosspost #busybee

[spectrumed]

21. making life

Am I disabled? I suppose that I am. Legally, I am disabled. I’ve got the rights of a disabled person. I’m autistic. I struggle to function in what is considered “normal and everyday society.” Struggling to function like the normies? Surely that makes you, by definition, disabled. Still, for whatever reason, I feel like a major impostor if I ever refer to myself as being disabled. No, no, I am fine. Physically, I am not limited. I’ve got my two legs, I’ve got my two arms. Sometimes I feel back pain, but that has mostly to do with being taller than average, being overweight, and struggling to get good sleep at night. It’s not like I've got some chronic pain, something that really impedes me. I get headaches, but it’s not like I’ve got some brain tumour. There’s nothing physically wrong with me. I’m just wrong. As a person, I am wrong. But it’s not as if I am disabled. Right?

I’ve recently been in contact with the Swedish employment agency. The part of the government that seeks to keep people in employment, and if needed, pays out unemployment benefits. I sure have tried to make my way being an artist, building up an income based on freelance work and Patreon, but it’s not going as well as I need it to go. I need some job to pay the bill. Despite working full time as an illustrator and a writer, spending most of my time delivering work to an audience eager to see the things that I produce, I am by all means considered a NEET. “Not in Education, Employment, or Training.” I ought to be grateful for those people who are willing to pay me, and I am, undoubtedly. It’s just that living is expensive, and between taxes and rent, I am not sure what amount I’d need from Patreon before I could start actually monetarily benefiting from the work that I do. We do not live in a world where artists are recognised as labourers. I can’t spend as much time as I do on art and still live without being a parasite on my family. It is looking as if I need to give up on the idea of being a full-time artist, sometime soon.

I’ve got a comic here on Tumblr that has received more than 60,000 notes. That’s quite a lot. At some level, well, actually, at all levels, I feel as if that comic doesn’t belong to me any more. That’s typical. Once something you’ve created goes popular it stops being personal to you. That’s how I felt back when I used to do “animations” for the Yogscast. The first one I did, by far the most low-effort one I did, has over a million views on YouTube. Surely, that’s a lot. It’s actually been over ten years now since it got uploaded, I missed the date. I can’t say that time has flown by. During those ten years I’ve spent suffering depression, getting diagnosed, going to university to study philosophy and art history, watching in horror as Britain voted for Brexit and America voted for Trump, two grandparents dying, and two cousins having children. People who say that time passes by quickly don’t really pay enough attention. Life goes by at a monolithic speed. We’re all just too narcissistic to count the events that don’t directly involve us.

In medieval times, artists were considered to be craftsmen. Today we expect artists to be special, practically gifted by God, meant to produce things that are fundamentally singular, works able to change the course of human history. Blame the likes of Michelangelo, Raphael, and Leonardo for that. The renaissance probably fucked over artists more than most artists are willing to acknowledge. Sure, it’s great for those artists who are already successful, (and by that I mean, artists who are able to feed themselves,) but to the rest of us? Well, we’re not so preoccupied thinking about how history at large will see us. We’re just interested in making a living. And it is by far a lot harder to make a living when society thinks that artists are already a special class of people belonging to some higher shelf of being compared to most people. No, I am not Michelangelo. I am not van Gogh. I am no Kandinsky. But surely I am not some petulant brat simply for stating that there ought to be some level of artistry that is respected while not being earthshakingly revolutionary?

Honestly, my biggest impediment in life is not autism. It is depression. I like to lie to people, telling them that I haven’t felt depressed in years, but actually… I feel depressed most every day. Now, I am taking antidepressants, and they are working. At least when it comes to my anxiety, compared to how it used to manifest itself, it is basically neutered now. Not to say that I don’t still feel anxiety. I still feel more anxiety than the average individual, I am still a profoundly neurotic individual, but these days, my anxiety doesn’t dominate me. I am not now made to be a submissive to GAD, or SAD, or OCD. I am me. Thanks to venlafaxine, I am simply a regular guy, some groovy dude, a man who just happens to be a little bit more anxious than most. Anxiety very much still exists in my life. Anxiety hasn’t been deported, it’s still a sizable portion of my inner mental workings, but it is now controllable. That makes all the difference. Anxiety does not rule me. Anxiety is not my monarch. Anxiety is simply my awkward roommate.

Have I wasted my life? I ought to have spent less time doing art and more time, I dunno, doing plumbing? I guess I have. If I can’t make enough to make a proper living, I guess all that time I spent learning to do art, that time was wasted. I am no artist. I am just a dreamer, someone who thought that I could make my childhood ideals come true. I’ve always wanted to be an artist. Always wanted to do art. I’ve always thought that my creativity could carry me forwards, could be something that would benefit me. But turns out, I fooled myself. I am of no benefit to myself. I am my own impediment. Surely, I am disabled. If only I could find the button on my body that lets me switch to being fully enabled. I heard that if you stick you finger far enough into your navel, you'll hit the reset button.

Perhaps one of the strangest expressions in the Swedish language is “glida in på en räkmacka.” To glide in on a shrimp sandwich. If you’ve glided in on a shrimp sandwich, it means you’ve had it easy. Probably at somebody else’s expense. I can’t explain to you the logic behind the expression, other than simply acknowledging that, yes, all Scandinavians see the world through a lens of seafood. Still, the expression is about something very universal, something that even desert-dwelling nomads who've never even seen a wet crustacean will have some understanding of. That some people just have it easy. And it is not even, as I imagine some people might be thinking, that they’re just lucky to be born into a wealthy family. There are plenty of fuck-ups who comes from wealthy families, let’s not pretend as if being a rich kid is guaranteed to come with a ticket to paradise. But, rather, it simply seems to be the case that for some people, existence is easy. They glide through life, somehow manoeuvring past all those pitfalls that the likes of me, the worriers and the melancholiacs, keep falling into.

What is it that they’ve got? The X-factor? Are they even real? Have I imagined this kind of antagonist just to explain my own sense of frustrations with society? Yeah, probably, but let’s just go with it for now. It is probably true that all people struggle, one way or another, no-one’s life is simple enough to be summed up in a sentence or two. That person everyone thinks must have it made might be suffering terribly from some kind of horrendous affliction. Maybe they’ve got some weird birthmark the shape of a swastika somewhere on their body, and it makes them terrified of entering into a sexual relationship with any person, in fear that their sexual partner may think that they were biologically engineered in some laboratory in Brazil overseen by some crazy ex-Nazi eager to find some way to develop a clone of Hitler. We don’t know the struggles of other people. Still… Some fuckers really do seem to have it real easy. Right?

It has often struck me as remarkable how far you can get in life simply by bullshitting. I am fascinated by individuals who have risen far in their careers on the back of no discernible competency, but rather, they’ve just conned others into thinking that they’re really good at their job. Whatever their job is, most of the time, it is undefined. Dress well, shake hands, and pretend you know what you’re doing. You’re gonna do fine! Don’t worry about it. Most people like to think of themselves as being the sceptical type, generally being good at the whole critically thinking thing, but the truth is that almost all humans are universally naive. We have to be naive, society would collapse if people weren’t willing to take others at their word, it’s how we organise ourselves. Contracts are occasionally signed, but things usually aren’t all that formal. Typically, we like to keep things casual, and that’s a good thing. Imagine the bureaucratic nightmare of a society that refused to sign off on even the smallest little agreement without first requiring a three-week long inquiry to determine if it is worth it. Yes, I’m going to buy a coffee, and I can buy one for you too, but only if you fill in this application form, show me some identification, and give me a urine sample. If we didn’t trust anyone, we’d get nothing done. Believing that others are fundamentally good is necessary for human civilization to properly function. Though, it can be exploited by any old psychopath with a winsome smile.

If I really wanted to have it easy, I should learn to be more smarmy. I should go to one of those cult-like business courses that teaches you to look at other people purely as prey, as common NPCs that you can manipulate as you please. If you do it right, you can get straight ahead in life without ever having to show you’re actually really worth the money you are getting paid. It’s all about learning the right language, learning “neuro-linguistic programming,” that vile pseudo-science aiming to teach you how to take advantage of perfectly friendly people who made the grave mistake of thinking you’re not a conniving little shit. Maybe my biggest mistake was always seeking authenticity, trying to be a genuine person. Sure it’s made it so I am generally quite liked, most people I interact with go away thinking I’m really quite the decent sort. But who cares about being a genuinely good person, when you can instead make enough money to own a Tesla or two?

Though, I think I’m gonna keep on doing what I’ve always been doing. Keep on being me. For as much as I fear that it’s not working out, I still prefer having my soul, than selling it to Satan. I could be making money right now selling NFTs, but, y’know what, I’d rather just not do that. I don’t believe in no heaven, but I still don’t want to go to my grave with a guilty conscience. I’m kinda a nice guy, in that way.

#neurodiversity #neurodivergent #autism #autism spectrum disorder #aspergers #mental health

[rein-ette]

Are you still working on your Commonwealth study? Do you have any thoughts on Arthur's relationships with his colonies apart from Canzuk + US?

Not properly, unfortunately with exams and then work I haven’t had mental/emotional capacity to do real research (and probably won’t for a while 😔). But I have continued to think about and develop certain relationships, and I think I also have old hcs I’ve never shared, so I’ll put those down!

Born into the Empire

Australia

@oumaheroes has already done such great hcs on him idk what I can add, but basically he was a little bit of a rowdy child, always breaking windows and shattering fancy pots, never able to sit still. I think rainbow once mentioned that Ken (short for Kenneth, my name for Aus) was a lot like England as a child in his curiosity and energy, and I wholeheartedly agree. But I think Arthur’s intensity was more inwardly directed, pushing him to pursue and master new talents and learn whatever he could, while Australia is a little more carefree in his love for the outdoors, exploring, jumping around and off things, little wild animals. Unfortunately for him, he was born in a period of the empire when Arthur was very serious about his kids education, and therefore often praised those who studied hard and learned fast, which really just wasn’t Australia’s cup of tea. Australia took this kinda hard and thought he was the “dumb” one in the family that Arthur was always scolding, but in reality Arthur knew and appreciated that Australias interests lay elsewhere — he was just a frustrated, tired, parent who really wanted to give his kids the best while also holding his empire together, two goals that were never going to fit well in the end and would completely exhaust him.

As Australia’s grown older he’s realized a bit of this (not entirely, though) and also that 1) he really did break a lot expensive things and cause general mayhem 2) scolding us Arthur’s way of showing he cares, if he didn’t he wouldn’t have payed attention to him at all 3) despite being a penal colony, he was still one of Arthur’s more “legitimate” children (being white and a boy) and was therefore still incredibly privileged — never having to question, for example, why it was that Arthur was his dad, if it should be this way, or if he had a seat at the family table at all (more on this later).

New Zealand

Zee, from birth, was a clear favourite. Obedient, calm, quietly intelligent, he would also later develop a blistering sense of humour which combined with his appearance made it overwhelmingly clear who’s child he was. If Ken questioned his place in the family because of his poor academic record and others did because of their appearance/race/other complications, Kaelan never had such problems; his siblings called him the “prince.” Zee, however, also had a charm that, like Matthew, endeared him to his siblings and mostly protected him from jealousy, though he certainly still had issues with being called a try hard, daddy’s boy, bossy, arrogant. Certainly as a child Zee was a little prideful and, under that unperturbed demeanour, willful, but he grew out of it by the 20th century and became one of those most trusted by Arthur, second only to Matthew. He’s also always been inseparable from his brother Australia despite their differences, and today they both have one of the healthiest and most amicable relationships with Arthur of any nation, let alone former colonies (family road trips, every summer).

Bermuda

I absolute fell in love with this girl after reading about here, once, in this fic by @shachaai, and after that my mind just ran away with me. For me, her human name given to her by Arthur just has to be Ariel — for the little mermaid reference, yes, symbolizing her connection to the sea and stunning good looks, but also because:

1. Ariel is a biblical name, meaning lion of God. This makes sense to me, because Bermuda began as a Portuguese trade post, so Arthur definitely consulted our resident bad catholic Port before naming her.

2. Ariel used to be boys name. This also makes sense, because I hc Bermuda was and still is a tomboy. Bitch is fierce, takes no prisoners, and has zero filter. Her letters to Arthur, which all the colonies sent so Arthur could keep an eye on things, were full of shit like “I swear to god if the Spanish don’t get out of my waters I might eat one of them,” and “father, I asked you for destroyers two months ago, and yet you sent them to Hong Kong — could you explain this most unusual occurrence, surely it’s not that you forgot”, and “thank you for the harpoon on my birthday, I caught a small shark a couple days ago and have sent you some of its teeth for your collection.” Arthur tolerates this attitude because he’s weak when it comes to girls; he absolutely spoils his daughters (and flushes like a 16 year old when a woman so much as bats her eyelashes at him). Yes, p*ssywhipped Arthur is a hill I will die on.

3. It also suits her because? Ariel? Shakespeare? The Tempest? Bermuda Triangle? Shipwrecks? Daughter-like figure of powerful and vengeful sorcerer? Yeah. And this girl is a fire spirit — she is so lively, snarky, clever. As she’s grown older she’s mellowed out a little, but still: a no shit taken, no fucks given type of gal.

4. Speaking of growing up, she’s also become quite the beauty. Shacha, if I’m remembering correctly, described her as dark skinned, wavy-haired, and green eyed and that image has been burned onto the back of my eyelids ever since. Those Iberian genetics really be pulling through for her, that’s for sure. Engport love child if I’ve ever seen one. Definitely one of the prettiest in her family.

Singapore

I’ve already mentioned this to needcake, but I’m not too big a fan of canon Singapore, so this is my oc version. Singapore is fascinating to me because it had only a very small local population before it became a colony (The original settlement had actually been destroyed by the Portuguese about two centuries before the British started building a port there.) So nation-tans like Singapore and Bermuda really are Arthur’s children in the most direct sense of the word. And yet, Singapore is mostly ethnically Chinese, with Malays being the second largest group. Growing up Asian in a white, Victorian era family surely cannot have been easy and more than once Singapore probably wondered if there hadn’t been some mistake. To make up for the constant fear that he wasn’t “really” British, Singapore studied ferociously and had a truly terrifying work ethic. I’m not sure if this is common knowledge outside Asian circles, so I’ll mention that this hc comes from the fact Singapore is well known for having truly exceptional students and some of the most prestigious schools. Singaporeans score highly in literally everything and they have an advantage with good English learning environments, a highly desirable trait in Asia, but these results come from brutally long hours — and its really saying something that they’re known for working hard, considering the studying ethic of students in Korea, Japan, and China aint nothing to sneeze at, either. To me this actually fits really well with Singapore’s upbringing in Arthur’s household, because Arthur himself prizes intelligence and hard work above all else, being a workaholic himself.

As for their relationship, it was probably the best when Singapore was young and peaked in the 1930s with the massive naval base the British built at Singapore, at the time the largest dry dock in the world. Singapore was a well-behaved child, not necessarily introverted but not rowdy either, and all the way into his teenage years he truly admired Arthur and was proud to be a part of the British Empire, despite his lingering unease and insecurities. The British defeat in World War II, however, was a massive turning point. He had worked his ass off to be a good son, a good brother, to contribute to the only family and system he had ever known, and he had thought by the 30s he was finally on his way to becoming a fine adult. And suddenly, the British surrender brings his entire world crashing down. He had followed the rules faithfully thinking it was his destiny, but suddenly it was clear that all rules were made up. Of course, his insecurities exploded. If the empire was a ruse, what the hell was he? A part of the illusion? He couldn’t have a truly Asian identity, because many of the old East Asian nations shunned him for his Western upbringing, and he could not entirely understand their values either. So he was a kid who kinda had to figure out late and very very suddenly who the fuck he was and wanted to be.

And, well, he’s done pretty well for himself, hasn’t he. After having a total crisis and questioning everything, I think Singapore slowly started to realize that just because the British Empire as a political entity didn’t last forever, that didn’t mean that his entire childhood and identity weren’t real. The love he gave to his siblings and the love he got back, the hard work he put in, his bond with Arthur and the safe, happy childhood he had — those memories and feelings didnt have to be diminished by what came after. Essentially, he learned the lesson all nations have to learn, which is that one needs to be able to discern between duties as a nation and feelings as a human being, and to some extent keep them separate to protect both.

Whoooooo ok I’ll stop there because this turned into a dissertation, sorry. Let me know if there are any specifics u want me to elaborate on or anything I missed, but I’ll leave this here for today :)

#hws england #hws Australia #hws new zealand #oc: hws Bermuda #not gonna tag anymore I’m lazy #fun times with the commonwealth #I probably won’t write so much for all of them I just put it there to remind myself #needcake #ask #my hcs

[giorno-plays-piano]

Money, Money, Money Part 1

Pairing: mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader, slight Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: lots of swearing, silly drunk mobs, mentions of alcoholism, parody, Peter is adult, is this a crack fic??

Words: 2578.

Summary: When Steve finds out somebody has stolen their money, Bucky realizes he has to take his ass off the leather couch in his office, finally.

P.S. This is my first attempt to write humor and I’m sorry in advance for everything I’ve written here 😅

_________________

“BITCH, DID I STUTTER WHEN I SAID TO KEEP THAT SAFE CLOSED AT ALL TIMES?”

Allyson massaged her temples softly and let out a groan: if Mr. Rogers continued to yell like that, he would definitely choke soon. This morning he had been pretending to be the death, vengeance and fury, ready to kick the ass of her immediate superior, James Barnes, who acted like he was deaf, unable to pull himself from the couch where he slept after getting drunk as a fish last night. Oh, poor Bucky. Apparently, he fucked things up again if Mr. Rogers stormed into his office like he was getting chased by a 200-pound dog.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, you son of a...” glancing at a pouting man-child with a three-day beard, Steve covered his face with his palm and let out an exasperated sigh, “... respectable woman who would die of shame if she saw you now!”

“Come on, Stevie,” the man yawned, finally moving his huge, muscular body up to sit instead of just laying on the couch since he felt a little guilty Steve was getting all riled up while he just chilled, “why so serious? Yeah, somebody took a bit of cash from the safe, it’s not a big deal.”

Allyson heard everything as if they were speaking right in front of her - Bucky was a real Mr. Cheapo who didn’t want to rent an office with decent walls - and quickly closed her ears, wishing she had taken her earplugs today. Her boss just made a grave mistake, and now both of them were going to pay for it with their eardrums.

“NOT A BIG DEAL? NOT A BIG DEAL, YOU MASSIVE BAG OF DOUCHE?! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MONEY WAS THERE, HUH?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THOSE MONEY WERE FOR?!”

Seriously, she considered getting a new job, but these free daily standup shows were both tiring and so fucking funny she was afraid she might wet her seat.

“Oh my fucking God, Bucky, I swear I’ll kill you, I’ll... no, I have a better idea!” Steve gave his best friend a dirty look. “I’ll call your uncle. Yeah, you know which one. He’ll be sooo happy to take you drunk ass to jail and then give your mama a call. I bet she has a cure for both your attitude and alcoholism.”

“You wouldn’t do that!”

Suddenly realizing the danger he was in, Bucky quickly got up, almost falling to the floor but holding on the leather chair in the very last second. When Steve talked about calling his uncle, a chief of police of the neighboring town where his whole family lived, it meant things were going bad. Real bad.

“Bucky, it was the part we were going to invest into Pierce’s casino. I have to take it to him tomorrow morning. TOMORROW FUCKING MORNING, DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU STINKING DRUNK?”

“I’m drunk but not deaf, Steve!”

“Oh my God, I’m driving you to a rehab, go gather your stuff right now!”

Allyson sighed, getting up and proceeding to choose the most beautiful cup to fill it with fresh coffee: when their conflicts escalated to threats, it meant her boss would soon start to sweet-talk, apologizing to his best friend and promising to sober up and get things right. Every time she felt like Mr. Rogers would really do something to Bucky, the guy used his natural charisma and charm and got away with anything by just reminding Steve how he fought for his best friend in the dark alleys when Rogers was a sick, skinny kid. It worked every damn time.

There they were again, talking about same things with Bucky swearing on his mother’s life that he will find the money and bring it back to Steve. Usually it meant the threats were coming to an end, and soon Mr. Rogers would open the door and come out red as a lobster, breathing heavily as if he just ran a marathon. There he would see her with a cup of nice coffee with cream and two spoons of sugar just like he preferred, gladly accepting it and saying nobody understand him but her. Then Allyson would smile compassionately, listen to his small talk before he went out the office, and wait until her grumpy boss would fall out the room, reeking alcohol, and ask her what the fuck had happened yesterday.

After that in a couple of minutes things would finally settle down, and Allyson would have a chance to give a call to her best friend.

_______________________________

Your day couldn’t start better: you had finally received your Amazon order - hooray to the stupid makeup tools you would use, like, once a year - and even watched your favorite Netflix series with a cup of a fragrant coffee with marshmallows because it was Sunday and you were finally free from both work and cleaning the apartment. It felt so nice to just do absolutely nothing, laying on your couch with a piece of pizza in your hand. Seriously, even a workaholic like you had to do it more often.

Your lazy morning was interrupted by Peter, a sweet college student who was getting into troubles more often than a drunk in a local bar: you seriously considered calling him Harry Potter after you found him half-naked with a scratch on his forehead standing in the corridor of your building and holding a broom. To protect himself from bullies, he said, by the look on his face you could tell it was as good as a magic wand against 6"4 ft tall guys, seriously.

Since he rented an apartment with other unlucky nerds who had zero skills how to survive in this cruel world, you ended up nearly baby-sitting Peter, patching him up after he was getting in a fight and lending him some money time after time when he struggled to pay rent or buy food. His parents were elderly people with income below average, but they still did whatever they could to give him an education, so you decided to give the guy a hand.

Now that baby was standing in front of you, lit up like a Christmas tree, with a bouquet of wonderful pink roses, big box of hand-crafted chocolates and a whole bag of what looked like some very fine food, even a bottle of champagne clinking inside.

"Good morning, Fairy Godmother! I came to bring back what I owe you!" His smile was a mile wide when he looked at your face, happy to the point he couldn't stand still, dancing like those Duracell rabbits in the tv ad.

"You're up early, Cinderella."

You yawned, laughing when you saw the guy pouting at the nickname you gave him - tf he expected for calling you Fairy Godmother?

"Don't stand there, come in."

When he actually handed you the flowers and chocolates, giving you a quick peck on the cheek shyly, you froze, finally realizing he brought all this for you. Wait, what? Where the heck did he get so much money to buy that expensive stuff? You thought he was helping his other neighbor who was planning to finally propose to his girlfriend. Perplexed to the point you nearly missed that peck, you blinked at tomato red Peter.

"Please don't tell me you robbed your 90-year-old paralytic professor."

"Why don't you ask if I robbed a bank?" He pouted again, putting the bag on the floor and getting a hundred dollar banknote out of his old leather wallet. "I actually came to thank you for everything you've done for me. And I didn't rob anyone! I got a real job!"

"Real job?" You eyed him curiously. "But don't you already have a job in delivery?"

"Pfft, you can't call it a job. It was getting one nasty smelling pizza from one place to the other while looking miserable."

You barely held your laugh, leaving the bouquet and chocolates on the side table and rubbing guy's back. Poor Peter, nobody was giving him a hand - while you couldn't question people's decision since the guy wasn't the most reliable one, it was still a shame he wasn't treated decently as if all of them weren't young and careless once.

Wait, but who on Earth gave him such a well-paid job all of a sudden? He must have spent hundreds of dollars on the bouquet, chocolates, food and champagne, not even counting those 100 dollars he owed.

Oh God.

"Please don't tell me you're working for some shady business." You looked at him in horror, your hand flying to your mouth. "Peter, is it Tony's band?!"

"Jesus woman, why would I work for some stupid mob." The guy rolled his eyes, and you sighed in relief, not knowing what to except from this trouble on two skinny legs. “I’m telling you, it’s nothing bad! I just have to keep it a secret before I get a contract. Once I figure it out, I’ll explain everything, I swear!”

“Alright, alright, don’t stress over it, I’m not your Ma.” Smirking, you went to take a square glass vase you hadn’t use in ages, filling it with water to drop the bouquet inside. “Let’s celebrate it, then! Woah, careful there, give me that bottle until you drop it on my clean floor, I’ve been scrubbing it for hours yesterday!”

_______________________

Bucky still felt like Steve was making too much of a big deal out of it: obviously, it was Tony who went to him at night when Bucky was already drunk like a monkey, celebrating the birth of Clint’s daughter. Nobody else had the courage to steal from him, Steve’s right hand, an ex-soldier who had a reputation of a man killing with the first punch. Not that Bucky ever killed anybody, actually being a ex-trumpet in an army band...

Anyway, the man was heading over to Stark’s Tower, a motel where he and all his guys lived when his wife Pepper was out of town. Pepper had definitely been out of town lately since Tony didn’t call: when she was coming back, Steve and Tony were having a two-day truce with nobody getting in a fight because it was making Mrs. Stark upset, and when she was upset, both Steve and Tony didn’t risk getting out of their holes to face this enraged blonde woman who could make anyone wet themselves with one her glance. If there were anyone killing with just one punch in the town, it got to be Pepper.

As he got closer in his Cadillac that looked like it went through fire and water before being sold to Bucky, Barnes stared at the motel suspiciously: it was strangely quiet with everyone hiding inside, not a man guarding the motel’s entrance. What the hell happened? Tony loved showing off, pretending he ruled over the town, and he would definitely act like a king after stealing Steve’s and his money. It was unbelievable Bucky so nobody welcoming him with a smirk.

Hoping he didn’t use all that money for emptying a liquor store, Bucky parked the car and went to the motel, dying to have some beer: one heartless blonde boss of his emptied his fridge.

“Oh, more drinking partners returning to continue the fun, huh?”

Bucky froze immediately, staring at Pepper who stood in the doorway with a face of an iron maiden. Jesus fucking Christ. She returned to the city way before Tony told him, and it was clear she found him not in the condition she expected to. While Bucky considered whether it was better to run, Tony’s head appeared somewhere behind his wife, and Barnes saw Tony was as drunk as him, if not even more. He could see a huge blue mark from Pepper’s heavy hand on Stark’s cheek.

“Who’s that, honey?” The man asked innocently, earning an enraged glance from his wife, and Bucky thought he should have run. “Hi, Buck! Come on in, it’s ok if you didn’t bring beer even if I asked twice.”

Oh. Something was going on. Of course, Bucky could rat the man out immediately, telling Pepper he wasn’t drinking with Tony yesterday’s night, but he wasn’t such a heartless bastard - by the look on Stark’s face Barnes could see his sweet blonde wifey would beat poor Tony to death with her Dior handbag.

“Sorry, I blacked out for a couple of hours in my car.” He mumbled, bowing his head in respect. “Pepper, such a pleasure to see you.”

“Come on in, alcoholic.” Her gaze was heavy, and Bucky shivered a little, carefully leaving his shoes near the door and scurrying away to the coach where Tony sat, nervously biting his fingers. “Well, do you wanna tell me something, huh? How many hookers have you brought here yesterday?”

Glancing to Tony and back to Pepper, Barnes suddenly realized his frenemy had been so drunk he had no hecking idea whether somebody really brought hookers to the motel - it was a total taboo, but once they got drunk they could barely control themselves. Once they literally woke up to a Santa Claus singing Jingle Bells in the tub in the middle of June because Tony missed Christmas.

Of course, Stark would never slip up the night before Pepper was coming back to town, but, apparently, she didn’t stay with her mom for as long as she planned, and Tony was royally fucked.

“I’ve asked you a question.”

And now Bucky was, too, if he didn’t think of something quick. Of course, he could tell her the truth, but it meant losing Tony completely, and Barnes didn’t want that. A real mafioso should have at least one strong enemy, right?

“I’m sorry, Pepper, but I don’t think there were any hookers here last night.” He said, carefully choosing words. “You see, first, Tony never allows us to. Second, we’re good Christians. We would never invite some hookers when we celebrated the birth of Clint’s daughter!”

As he got silent, enjoying the effect his words were having on Pepper, Bucky looked at the man sitting to his right, watching Tony’s eyes watering: it was definitely God himself who sent Barnes his way that morning, saving his from near death. Nothing would work better than this excuse. Clint and all Bucky’s guys were so drunk to the point they barely remembered what had happened, and it would be easy to convince them Tony and his gang came to see Barnes for something and ended up staying with all of them.

Besides, there was a nice bonus Bucky could add to make it work even better.

“By the way, Clint named her Natasha. That’s also the name of your mom, right?”

By the look on Tony’s face the man realized he was ready to sing.

“How did he know my mom’s name?” Pepper eyed Steve’s right hand distrustfully, but he could tell she was less irritated.

“Oh, you know, he and his wife couldn’t choose the name, so we started saying whatever names we knew, and Tony mentioned Natasha.”

For a second Bucky thought Stark was going to kiss him through excess of joy.

When he finally left the motel, getting his pack of beer given him by lovely Pepper who changed the anger to mercy, Tony ran out of the house after him, giving him a pat on the shoulder and whispering quietly, “I own you one, brother.”

Bucky sighed. Stark didn’t take the money.

______________

Tags: @finleyjayne​​ @alexakeyloveloki​​ @helenaeisenhower​​ @villanellevi​​ @hurricanerin​​ @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​ @navegandoaciegas​ @rosalynshields​ @brattycherubwrites​ @sllooney​ @angrythingstarlight​ @lookiamtrying​ @buckysbunny​ @soleil-dor​ @stargazingfangirl18​ @dillybuggg​ @literate-lamb​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @sarge-barnes-sir​ @buckybarnesplumwhore​ @jaysayey​ @megzdoodle​ @gotnofucks​ @lux-ravenwolf​ @iheartsebandchris​ @ximebebx​ @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​ @sourpatchspinster​

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #steve rogers #peter parker #peter parker x reader #winter soldier #mcu #crack fic #mcu fanfiction

[phantaloon]

i really really shouldn't be saying this considering how shit is going on in my country at the moment, but holy shit y'all this is the only media site i trust at this point

basically, my country El Salvador is going through a really really tough political crisis, and it has been going since President Nayib Bukele came into power in June 2019, because, in a few words, he's an arrogant manipulative corrupt megalomaniac who's building a dictatorship

early this year, his party Nuevas Ideas gained control of both the Legislative Assembly and the Judicial Court, so like that one single party is in charge and has a majority of control of the entire state. And sadly, every single politician in that party is only a puppet who follows every single on of Bukele's orders, thus every single thing in my country is controled by what one man says.

What has he done the past two years? Engaged in insanely expensive projects that do not reflect what has been spent (stealing money from the state), made pacts with gangs (which are a huge threat in El Salvador) so that murders are not discovered while the missing persons cases keep growing and growing and growing, encouraged sexist homophobic behaviors and laws, and there are so many things that have happened i honestly can't point out right now because there's one thing going on that i just need to talk about

Bitcoin. If you've heard of bitcoin you'll know it's a currency that could plummet or rise in the blink of an eye, a network where stealing is as easy as a click, where there are no traces of money movements or transactions, it's all around unstable and dangerous

and yet, Bukele passed a law in June/July in which Bitcoin shall become El Salvador's official currency in about a week, despite the fact that we've been perfectly fine having the USAmerica dollar as a currency

Of course, people have realized how much of a problem that is, with Bitcoin, you could be a millionaire today and suddenly your money means nothing in a month, who knows how much you'll have then

Coincidentally, local banks have been experiencing crazy scams and robberies like never in their history, people go to the bank and no sorry you have 5 dollars in your account.

So the government comes, says how dangerous banks are, how your money isn't safe, how unreliable they are, but hey look at this shiny new currency we're gonna give you (don't worry about how you won't know how much money you'll wake up with tomorrow <3)!

So there's activists, trying to educate on how dangerous having Bitcoin as a currency can be

and this happened today

one of if not the biggest anti-bitcoin activist in El Salvador was detained this morning, with no charges, no lawyers, no explanations, just cops waiting for him outside the house he was staying at (not his own) as he went out

at this hour, the government has said HE has been behind the bank robberies, despite ALSO speaking up about how the banks most likely were working with the government to set up the whole bitcoin is better move

so now everyone is scared, because this guy has been speaking against the government since the start of the year, and now they've taken him in under false claims, so the government is now taking in people against it

and now everyone's scared to do it, my family won't let me speak up about everything going on in my country over at twitter, because fuck if they took an adult man with thousands of followers, who has a big media presence, can't they take everyone else who speaks up against them?

so here i am speaking about this on tumblr, because surely the police isn't keeping tabs on tumblr right?? they couldn't??

idk what my point coming here was, perhaps it was to vent about how scared i am of one day everything being controled by Bukele and Nuevas Ideas, maybe i just want the rest of the world to know somehow, maybe i want someone to know I'm scared, idk, but i am scared, because they're gonna start taking out activists now, they're displaying their power, showing how easy it is to just take us if we move against them

i ask nothing of anyone, maybe share if you can, because god knows how the whole bitcoin thing is gonna affect us, and who will go next?? what crime are they gonna accuse everyone else of?? what power move are they gonna do next?

#el salvador #thanks for listening to me rambling about something no one cares about #also sorry this is unnecessarily long #I'm really just very fucking scared #current news

[gloryofluv]

Order Up! (Coffee Shop AU) Chapter 5

Well, I guess Alex is going through the motions. I am really starting to love how well-rounded this is getting. Flirty fics are fun, but they always need heart and perseverance!

Chapter

1 - 2- 3 - 4

Fuck. Why did she do that? Alex wanted to toss her phone but knew she couldn’t afford a new one yet. Memories. Social media keeps track even if you don’t. She was bundled on the ground of the bathroom she just cleaned and sobbed.

All she wanted to do was look at this real estate agent that Lucifer texted her. She glanced down at the picture of her and her mother while she was getting dressed for prom. Would she be upset that she was thinking of selling their home? Would she be proud? She felt so fucking alone.

There was a knock at the bathroom door, and she stuttered on a breath. Fucking get it together, girl. She wiped her face and nodded. “I’ll be out momentarily,” she said in a cheery tone.

Breathe. Stand up. Bitch, buck the fuck up, you’re at work. Alex listened to her inner dialog, turned on the water to the sink, cleaned her hands and face, and fixed her makeup. After she was satisfied, she picked up her tool tote and walked to the door with a plastered smile.

Solomon was on the other side of the door. “Hey, Alex,” he said with a curl to his lips.

“Hey, Sol, how are you doing?” she asked.

“Not horribly. I’m a bit stuck on this formula, but it’s bound to come to me,” he voiced while walking in step with her.

She rocked her head and shifted at the entrance to the counter. “Let me just go put this away and clock out. We can chat a minute after I’m off the clock.”

He rocked his head and leaned on the wall nearby. “Want to take a walk with me?”

She tilted her head and hummed. “Maybe.”

“Good, I’ll order, and we’ll head to the park.”

“Oh, good, we’re taking a walk to the park?”

Alex glanced over to see Satan wander over with his tea and pastry bag. “Oh, hey, Satan. I didn’t see you there.”

He tilted his head and gestured to his messenger bag. “I was grading pages.”

Solomon crossed his arms before touching his chin with his fingers. “You want to join us?”

Satan rocked his head. “A little fresh air would be great.”

“Okay, let me just go finish up,” Alex smiled and walked to the back of the shop. Well, it was quite the variation, but after how interesting her Sunday had been, it wouldn’t be a bad thing. She turned to the computer after putting the tote away and clocked out. Shaking out her body and taking off her apron and hat, she rolled her neck.

There was something to be said about the smears on her uniform. Alex stripped off her overshirt and straightened her purple tank top, and pulled out her ponytail. After checking her face in the mirror and reapplying a few touches on her eyeliner and lip gloss, she was ready.

Better. Alex smiled and collected her bag before marching to the front again. Solomon and Satan seemed to be in a discussion about the book in Satan’s hand. Their hand gestures only confirmed the estimation as Alex walked over to collect her drink.

“Hey, babes,” Jess hummed. “Do you think you could do me a favor and take my Friday shift, and I’ll take your Saturday one. It's closing, and I have a date.”

Alex rocked her head. “Yeah, I can. You never ask me to trade, so they must be pretty hot,” she teased.

Jess smirked and rocked her head. “Yeah, Mr. Macchiato, who comes in the evenings.”

“Nice, well, I hope you have tons of fun. Text Jordan and let him know, alright?”

Jess beamed and blew a kiss. “You’re a lifesaver for my social life, hun.”

Alex waved and met up with the two intellectuals holding their beverages. “I’m just saying that Dickens wasn’t as extraordinary as we make him out to be,” Solomon huffed.

“Oh, no, we’re on about Charles again?”

Satan laughed and shook his head as they walked out the door. “Just Solomon’s primary dagger.”

“Solomon, do you just enjoy debating?” Alex asked.

Solomon smiled and shifted his head from side to side. “Occasionally, but so does Satan, so we have a mutual understanding never to take it to blows.”

“I think the Brontë sisters are probably a staple for every woman,” Alex added to the conversation.

“And men,” Satan nodded.

“Very true, but we need to selectively decide what mannerisms are dated in order to value the interpretation,” Solomon voiced.

Alex smirked and raised her hand to her chest. “'Do you think I am an automaton? — a machine without feelings? And can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong! — I have as much soul as you — and full as much heart!'” She paused after the quote and laughed. “Imagine declaring equality to a man who was higher in rank and stature than you in that time. The dated behavior is only setting.”

Satan let out a stream of hearty laughter. “Oh, Alex, I would have loved to have you in my class today. There was a sexist animal who was definitely in need of a strong female to set him straight.”

“My little Jane isn’t very plain,” Solomon chuckled and waved his hand.

“No, she isn’t,” Alex laughed before sipping her iced tea.

“I was referring to you,” Solomon hummed.

Alex smirked at him and shrugged. “I do pretty well, I suppose.”

Satan cleared his throat, drawing Alex’s attention to her left. “So, you realized that half your customers are my brothers.”

Alex rocked her head. “Yes, I was informed of that by Belphegor in a rather creative way.”

“I heard,” Satan laughed. “We all live together.”

“So I’ve heard,” she smiled.

“Interesting dynamic,” Solomon voiced. “All seven of them together.”

“They also throw some ridiculous parties,” Alex said and then waved her free hand in a circle. “From what I’ve heard.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I know you live across the street,” Satan snorted with a smug smile. “I’ve known longer than Lucifer.”

Alex gasped as they walked on the sideway in the park. “What?”

Satan chuckled and rocked his head. “Yes, I knew from Jordan. I was the one to buy his motorcycle.”

She shrieked and gasped. “Oh! That’s why I’ve seen it around the cafe.”

Satan wagged his eyebrows. “So yes, I’ve known for about four months. He pulled it out of your garage and brought it over. When I asked why he moved, he told me about your circumstance and why he was torn, but family comes first.”

“It does,” Alex smiled. “His mother was great to me when my parents died. She practically lived with me for the first six months. Then Jordan moved in, and he got me a job at the cafe. He’s always been like my big brother. So when his dad got injured at work and couldn’t work, I told him to move home to help.”

“How did you both meet?” Solomon questioned.

“Oh, that’s a funny story, actually. So, in middle school, he was a grade above me, and I was super shy. He saw me being harassed by some asshole. He stepped in and smoothed the situation. I was so shocked he was able to do so without violence. Jordan took me to the bathroom, cleaned me up, and told me that the only bitches in our life are the beautiful bitches we can be, so I needed to learn to walk like it. From then on, he just started pulling me into his antics,” she explained and laughed while shaking her head.

“You were shy?” Satan questioned.

Alex stopped drinking her tea and nodded. “I actually am in general. I took his advice to heart. I’m friendly and enjoy people, but I don’t have very many people I consider close with.”

“Is this why you aren’t dating anyone?” Solomon questioned.

Alex narrowed her eyes at him and smirked. “Yes.”

“Liar,” Solomon smiled.

“Wait, I really find this fascinating. You aren’t close to any family?” Satan asked.

Alex shrugged and hummed. “My aunts and uncles all live in different parts of the country. I was an only child, and now that my parents aren’t here, the only people I see are Jordan and his parents. Jordan’s sister left for a university across the country two years ago. I see them probably once a month.”

“You live alone? Like no one ever comes to knock on your door or calls your phone?” Satan questioned with a scowl.

“Well, I won’t be living there much longer,” Alex sighed. “I have to sell the place, so I’ll have to clear it out in the next couple of weeks. The financial officer, my parents, left in charge, said that the funds wouldn’t cover the expenses this next year, so it would be a good idea for me to sell.”

“Hm,” Solomon murmured. “I could help.”

“No,” Alex shook her head. “It’s time. I don’t need handouts, Sol. I appreciate it, but no.”

“Why do you feel like you have to do everything alone?” Satan asked as they rounded the outside of the park.

Alex breathed and shook her head. “It’s such a long story.”

“Your parents?” Solomon voiced.

This analysis was cathartic in a way, and Alex felt this heavyweight being pulled from her shoulders. “Well, yes and no. I was telling my mother before she passed that I was thinking of taking a year off to go with my boyfriend at the time to travel the world. She was so supportive, even though it would put my education in jeopardy. When they died, he bailed with some other girl, so I kind of just stopped relying on others.”

Satan tutted and exhaled. “To be an idiot teenager who couldn’t handle grief. I’m sorry you had to go through that, especially at such a young age.”

Alex smiled and shrugged as they made their way back to the cafe. “I’m pretty good. I have a degree. I’ll have a decent nest egg to pay for my schooling for an even better education and my best friend. I’m doing pretty well.”

“I have an intrigue before we conclude our adventure into your life,” Solomon hummed.

Alex tilted her head as she grinned at him. “What’s that?”

“You are strong without someone, but it makes it so much richer to share your heart with others,” Solomon declared.

“Says the man who has done his fair share of that,” Satan snorted.

Solomon rolled his eyes. “Satan, don’t cast stones in glass houses.”

“You have been married three times now,” Satan snorted.

News. Alex raised her eyebrows. “Three times? Aren’t you like barely forty?”

“I resent that,” Solomon scowled. “No, I am not. However, marriage and love are difficult measurements in a formula very few understand. I’m difficult.”

“I actually like that about you,” Alex laughed.

Satan scowled as they stopped at the sidewalk near the cafe. “You enjoy that he’s difficult, but you won’t text me?” he questioned with a sly smile.

She puffed and pulled his phone from his bag’s pocket. It was sticking out and available. Alex then went to his keypad, dialed her number, and pressed the call. Her phone soon rang, and she hung up.

“Now, you have my number. Stop trying to make me do all the work, you pushy professor,” she snorted and handed his phone back.

Satan was grinning as he pocketed his phone. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Solomon handed her his phone, and she groaned but did the same exact thing. “If you both call me all the time, I will block your number,” she teased.

“If you need any help with your house, please tell me,” Solomon nodded. “I am quite organized.”

“I will,” Alex smiled.

Solomon tossed his cup in the trash and smiled before walking to his car. Alex watched him wave and climb inside before driving off in the silver vehicle. Satan shifted and tilted his head when she turned back to him.

“Did you want to have dinner with me tonight? I’ll cook,” Satan offered.

“Just because we’re temporarily neighbors does not mean I’m a booty call, understood?” Alex questioned.

Satan snorted and straightened his shirt. “You’re far too interesting to blow on a booty call, Alex.”

“Just had to make it clear. I would take your offer for dinner, but I’m actually exhausted. Diavolo came in for a coffee tasting, and I hosted it. Since then, I’ve just been drained.”

Satan rocked his head. “Well, I’ll ask tomorrow then,” he smiled and shrugged. “You’ll eventually say yes,” he chuckled and walked over to the motorcycle.

Alex smiled and observed as he slid on his helmet, waved, and climbed on the bike. Bad boy, professor. Pretty sexy. That tickled her to no end. He pulled out with a roaring shift of gears and headed in the same direction she needed to go. Home. Even if it was just for now.

@rsmrymnt-tea @otome-scribbles

#om! fanfic #obey me fandom #obey me fanfiction #obey me humor #obey me au #coffee shop au #hurt/comfort #om! lucifer #om! mammon #om! leviathan #om! satan #om! asmodeus #om! beelzebub #om! belphegor #om! solomon #om! simeon #om! luke #om! diavolo #om! barbatos #om! brothers

[closedmadness]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊

summary: jughead always chose betty over you despite being best friends with you much longer. you made an effort, did everything for him, gave him your everything. but still, it wasn’t enough. you wanted him to choose you, but he never did; your first love ended in a painful heartbreak — and as if the universe is giving you another chance, you met a new boy with raven hair and a serpent tattoo on his neck

pairings: jughead jones x male reader, sweet pea x male reader

warnings → angst・fucking angst・suicide attempt・shitty mother・verbal abuse・self-harm・swearing・alcohol・maybe a little tiniest bit of a fluff (idk there might be none)・sweet pea being a sweetie

a/n: part two is up!!

veronica, kevin and archie looked at you in pity and sadness as you watched betty and jughead chatting together across the room. it was cheryl’s party and each people were spending their night joyful, jamming along the blasting music that played in the background, the only person who didn’t seem to be enjoying this night was you.

you can’t when you’re watching the love of your life gaze lovingly at the love of his life.

the three of your friends were well aware of your feelings for the beanie-wearing boy and always tried to convince you to confess to him, but you always resisted. it was no point in confessing to him when his heart is already taken by the blonde beauty.

“(y/n/n)... don’t stare at them, you’re only going to hurt yourself.” veronica told you softly, placing her hand above yours. “i can’t watch you be so sad over them anymore.” she said with a sad look on her face.

you turned towards her and covered your aching heart. “i’m not sad over them, ronnie. why would i be? jughead is in love with betty and he’s happy being in love.” you smiled, but it came out forced.

veronica sighed, shaking her head. kevin placed his hand on your shoulder, “(y/n), everyone can see the way you look at them. the only people who doesn’t see it are betty and jughead.” you just shrugged at him in return and looked down at the alcohol you were holding.

Betty and Jughead weren’t together, but they were in love with each other. Everyone can see it and even when it was painful for you, you saw it too. Their eyes literally lights up when the others entered the room, they make googly love eyes towards each other, and Jughead literally does everything for Betty.

Meanwhile, everyone sees the way you gaze after him longingly. Veronica, Archie and Kevin were always the witness of you doing everything for Jughead despite being unappreciated. They saw how you helped Jughead dress up for Betty, how you gave him advices to impress her, how you always asked him to hang out with you only to get rejected because he was going to hang out with Betty. They witnessed every moment of your heartbreak; it hurts them how you care selflessly for Jughead but he doesn't see it.

“(Y/n), you gotta stop this.” Archie said softly, trying to talk some sense into you. “You're just killing yourself. You try to impress him, hang out with him, help him with everything, but he doesn't even give you any attention, yet you're still trying.”

“Why do you still try?” Kevin was next to ask, his tone as soft as Archie's.

You sighed, licking your lips and avoiding eye contact with them. “I guess there's just still a part of me that hopes he will notice me someday. That he will choose me. All these efforts, this– this sacrifices? I'm only doing it because I have a hope that he will.” You looked up from the floor to them and was met with three disapproving looks.

“(Y/n/n)...” Veronica starts, her voice soft as well, but had a firm tone in it. “How much do you have to get hurt for you to finally realize that he won't notice you?”

It was harsh, but true. That is the reality and Veronica is just trying to snap you out of your stupidity. But you can't. You loved Jughead too much, it was almost impossible for you to let go of him. You couldn't give up — he was your long time crush, probably since middle school. Everything about him made you love him even more, and even when there wasn't a day he didn't gawk at Betty, you still believe that there's a chance for you.

You were blinded by your love for him. Everyone could tell and they had to witness every time how you destroy yourself by trying to get Jughead to notice you. It was killing them, but they knew it killed you more than it did to them.

“(Y/n), don't you not remember the day he turned you down to hang out with Betty?” Kevin asked.

You approached Jughead who was sitting alone on the corner of the cafeteria, hiding two movie tickets in your pocket, excitement radiating off of you. “Hey, Jug!” You greeted him cheerfully, sitting down beside him and slinging your arm around his shoulder.

“Hey, (Y/n).” He greeted you back, not even glancing up at you as he typed on his laptop about a new novel he was writing.

You brushed it off as a usual thing to happen, since Jughead often ignored people when he was writing his new novel. “So, Jug. I was thinking movie night today. How do you feel about it?” You said with joy.

However, Jughead didn't seem to be interested as he continued to type away on his laptop. “Uh, I can't. I have to finish this.” He rejected, eyes buried on the screen.

You frowned. It's been quite long since you two hang out and Jughead never rejected a offer to watch a movie. “But you can finish it anyday.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “I can't. Sorry.” Clearly, his apology wasn't genuine by the tone in his voice. Your frown deepened, but didn't say anything and just stood up to walk away from him.

Later that night, you asked Kevin to watch a movie with you instead because you didn't want to waste the ticket. It was pretty expensive, considering you wanted to impress Jughead, and the fact that you didn't get to watch it with him made you sulk slightly. Kevin was there to cheer you up, though. The two of you were going to head over at Pop's when Kevin abruptly stopped after seeing something behind the glass windows of the diner.

He caught your arm before you could go close to the diner and pointed at the two people inside. “Isn't that...?” He trailed off and your eyes went to search for what he was talking about, then saw Jughead with Betty on one of the booth, smiling at each other.

You felt your heart ache as soon as they filled your vision. “He- he told me he have to finish his novel today...”

Kevin frowned. “And he went to hang out with Betty? What the hell?”

You took a deep breath after the flashback ended, looking at Kevin slowly. “I remember it, Kev. But still...” You looked down again.

Veronica sighed, “Do you also remember when you had a family problem? And he didn't even want to listen?” A frown appeared on your lips at that.

He didn't want to listen, and he said it was because others have problems too and that he can't help you. But after that, he went on helping Betty with her problems and Veronica had to comfort you the whole night for two reasons; one because of your shitty mother and two because Jughead was being unfair. However, even after that, you went back to doing everything for him being the little love-blind person that you are. That was the exact day when Veronica realized how much you love Jughead, and how much he was wasting you.

You drink the alcohol from the plastic cup, trying hard to erase the memory from your mind.

Everything you did for Jughead was because you love him, and you were starting to wonder why he hasn’t look at you yet. Whenever he needed you, you were there. But when you needed him, he was nowhere to be seen and is hanging out with Betty. In all honesty, it’s getting exhausting — hoping endlessly for him to notice you, doing everything to help him with his problems, giving him your everything, you were willing to give him everything.

Yet here you are, still alone and broken.

He doesn’t even look at you. He’s just too focused on Betty that you were sure he doesn’t care about you anymore. The destiny was being cruel; preventing you from being with the boy you love and instead giving him someone to love, so he wouldn’t dare end up with you.

It hurts. It damn hurts. And you don’t understand why you’re still in love with him and is willing to give him everything despite knowing he wouldn’t give you back what you gave him, specially his heart. He would be giving his heart to Betty and not to you, even after all your efforts and sacrifices.

“I just want him to love me back.” You muttered quietly, watching as Betty and Jughead stared lovingly into each other’s eyes.

It was too quiet, but your three friends managed to hear it. They heard it. Your wish, your desperate wish. And there was nothing they can do but to look down, knowing whatever words they say to comfort you won’t change Jughead’s feelings for Betty.

And deep down, you knew that fact even when it felt like someone stabbed your heart with a knife repeatedly.

“You little shit!” Your mother shouts, hitting you across the face.

Your cheek stings at where she slapped you, but you barely flinched at her sudden outburst and just stood there facing the floor. “This is the only score you’ve got? 92 out of 100? What kind of shit is this!?” She yelled angrily, crumpling your test result. “I’m paying for your education, (Y/n), and this is how you repay me? By getting a half assed score when it could have been a perfect 100!?”

She was totally furious about a fucking test result. Ridiculous, really. This started happening when your father left after he couldn’t deal with your mother’s drug addict behavior. He was a southside serpent and surely he could’ve handled her, but he chose to leave instead. Without even trying to take you with him.

It’s funny how cruel this world can be to you.

“I’m sorry, I will do better next time.” You apologized, still not meeting her gaze. It is easy for you to hit her and fight back, but you didn’t because she’s your mother. You still respected her in any way.

She scoffed, “Next time? I can’t even count how many times you told me you’ll be better next time, but came back with a fucking shitty result.” She spat with distaste in her tone.

You frowned, scrunching your eyebrows together and looked up at her. “Why do you hate me so much? I’m your son.”

“You’re not my son.” She snapped, making you flinch at how harsh her words are. “You were just an accident. You understand that? A fucking accident between me and your father that we never planned to happen. The worst part is, you grew up looking like your father. That face reminds me of him and makes me wish I never had you.” The pure hatred in her face was enough to make you believe her.

You swallowed, feeling tears welling up in your eyes and looked down, trying to hide it from her.

“What, are you gonna cry?” She said mockingly. “Of course. You’re gonna cry like a little cry baby that you always were. A pathetic, weak piece of shit that I’m absolutely ashamed to call my son.” She grabbed the jingle jangle on the table and glared at you like you were the worst thing that ever happened to your life. “I never wanted you, and never will.” With that, she walked out of the house to be a drug addict that she always was.

After she was gone from the house, you broke into tears and finally let them stream down your face, falling on your knees as your face twisted in complete pain and anguish.

Everything hurt; your heart, your chest, your whole body. It’s like the emotional and mental pain shifted into physical pain even when you weren’t being abused physically. The feeling of worthlessness appearing in both your heart and mind, as well as emptiness, sadness, pain and anguish.

Your cries were the cries of help, desperately wanting someone to show up and stop your pain for the better. But life wasn’t that easy. There was no one to stop it; not even Jughead, who used to always be with you and cared for you deeply.

Now, he was gone. He don’t care about you anymore. All he cares about was Betty and Betty only.

Tears continued to run down your cheeks, soaking your shirt as you sobbed violently, unable to contain yourself. “W-why...?” The void question came out from your lips between sobs, asking the universe why they were being cruel to you.

Though, it’s not like the universe or destiny will answer you.

It feels like you were being killed from the inside, like all the pain you experienced in your life are molding together and attacking you all at once. Everything hurt, and you were exhausted mentally, emotionally and spiritually. You just want to be happy and be with the love of your life. That was enough. That is enough. But then, life doesn’t let you be happy even for once.

You stumbled towards the bathroom, feeling the urge to hurt yourself to deal with the emotional pain. Opening the cabinet, you saw few blades laying there and took it out, setting it down on the sink.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and witnessed how much of a mess you are right now. Your eyes red and puffy from crying, tears were still streaming down your cheeks that had a red mark because of your mother’s slap, the look in your face practically screaming exhaustion. Your hair was a mess from you constantly running your hands through them while you were crying in the living room.

Your gaze returned to the blazes above the sink and takes it without even hesitating, moving up the sleeves to reveal your arms that was littered with scars of different sizes. Some were small, some were big, some were deep, some were not, but they were all old scars. Self-harm scars. You brought the blade down to your left wrist, beginning to run the blade slowly, watching as it cut through your skin and causing blood to come out. A relieved sigh leaves your lips — self-harming was never been a healthy way to deal with problems, but it made you relieved every time you do it. You feel like the emotional pain was leaving your body through the cuts that you made. There wasn’t any physical pain, but you were sure it will sting when you take a shower.

By the time you were satisfied, there were many cuts covering both of your wrists. Blood oozed out from the cuts that you found satisfying. If your mother was a drug addict, then maybe you’re a self-harm addict. This was your only way of escaping the pain.

You washed the blood away with water while ignoring the stinging pain it gave you before moving back to the living room and grabbing your phone, immediately entering your room afterwards. The tears already stopped by now thankfully.

You laid on the bed and unlocked your phone, only for it to ring right after. It was Jughead and a dark feeling spreads in your chest when you read his name on your phone screen, almost like something was going to go wrong if you answered it. Nonetheless, you pressed the answer button just in case it was emergency — a decision that you will regret sooner.

“(Y/n)!” Jughead’s excited voice called from the other line, making you smile.

“Hey, Jug.” You cleared your throat to regain control of your voice as it came out hoarse. “What’s up? Why do you sound excited?” You asked curiously.

There was a chuckle of joy before he spoke, “Guess what? I asked Betty if she will be my girlfriend and she said yes!”

You froze. Mind unable to process what he said as you stared at the ceiling blankly. In that moment, you heard your heart shatter in million pieces. The pain wasn’t even an ache anymore; it was more than that. His announcement just destroyed your heart completely.

Why is this happening to me? You thought, feeling the tears well up in your eyes again. It was surprising, really. With the amount of tears you cried earlier, you didn’t know there was still tears left to cry.

“(Y/n)? You there?” Jughead’s worried voice snapped you out of your misery.

You breathe out, “Yeah... yeah, I am. Lucky for you, Jug. Congratulations.” You swallowed as you felt like suffocating. “Uh... I’m sorry, I have to go.” The call ended as soon as you said that, not giving him any time to argue or protest.

Without a second thought, you grabbed your jacket and stormed out of the house, leaving your phone behind.

Maybe you were foolish.

Maybe you were an idiot to believe he would look at you the same way he looked at Betty if you tried enough.

Maybe... you were stupid for giving your everything to him until you were left with none. That’s exactly the reason why you felt empty right now anyway.

It was totally your fault. Veronica, Archie and Kevin warned you, told you to give up, but you didn’t. It was your fault. Everything just hurts and now you were sure Betty is the only one who has Jughead’s heart. There was nothing you can do about it.

Accept it, idiot. You thought to yourself.

Standing above the bridge that divided the Southside and the Northside, you looked at the river below. It was beautiful at night, the sound of water calming you. No one was in sight, which was pretty dangerous in your situation.

I could just jump and never come back. You thought as you looked at the river and leaned on the railings.

It will be easy. You just need to jump and drown. That way, you could finally end your miserable life. This excrusiating pain will stop for the better and you will be free from your drug addict mother. Everything will be okay if you just jumped. Your friends might be sad after your death, but they will get over it quickly. Veronica has Archie, Archie has Veronica, Kevin has Joaquin, Jughead has Betty. They will be okay.

You jumped slightly to sit on the railings and turned to the river, still contemplating your life. Nothing was good in it anyway.

Your mother was a drug addict who didn’t want you in her life, who never wanted you.

Your father left you long ago.

Jughead didn’t care about you but Betty.

Your three friends? They have each other.

Nothing will change even if you jump. There will be nothing to regret. It’s just an easy task.

“What are you doing here?” A deep voice suddenly asked, causing you to jump slightly startled. He chuckled at your reaction.

You glanced at him and turned back to the river, far away look in your eyes. “Contemplating my life.”

Panic flashed in the raven haired boy's expression, “Woah, woah, woah. Get away from there.” He ushered and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you away from the railings easily before spinning you around to face him. “What the hell are you really doing?”

You looked up, annoyed that he even thought he had the right to stop you, and widened your eyes when you came across a handsome face that you’ve never seen in your neighbourhood. “Oh, uhm...” You struggled to say it out loud, pushing yourself off of him upon noticing the close distance. “I was just admiring the river.”

He raised his brows; even though you were hiding it well, he could still see that you're lying. Definitely wasn't just admiring the river. “Well, you looked like you were about to jump. Is everything good?”

You sighed, going back to lean on the railings again and he quickly went beside you. “Everything is a mess.” You answered, having a far away look once again.

“Care to elaborate?” He asked and stared at your face. It was dark, but he could still make out the shape of your face and notice how good-looking you are.

“Well, a short summary of my life — my mom and dad had sex and accidentally had me. Mom became a drug addict, dad tried to be patient for her but eventually gave up and left. He didn't want to deal with her anymore and instead left me to deal with her.” A bitter chuckle left your lips. “Growing up, mom continued to verbally abuse me because she couldn't stand the thought of dad leaving us. So, I turned to my friends. Then, I fell in love with my best friend since middle school. I was blinded by my love for him and did everything for him when I clearly knew he's in love with a girl, hoping that one day he'll love me back. And an hour ago, he called to tell me he and the love of his life are now together, so there's that.” You shrugged trying to act nonchalant.

His face dropped at your story, almost as if feeling the pain you've gone through everyday. He knew you were trying not to cry by how your shoulders trembled, your lips pursed in a thin line to keep any sound from coming out. “Let it out.” He said, his hand going over to pat your back.

You shook your head, “I- I can't. I don't- I don't want to be weak.”

His brows furrowed. Who the hell teaches their child crying means weak? “Hey, crying doesn't make you weak. It makes you strong. Bottling those things up will only makes things worst, so you have to let it all out to make you feel better. Cry as many times as you want, I don't care.”

Those words were enough for the tears to come out as you let out a sob, breaking down for the second time this day in front of a boy that you don't even know.

However, he don't seem to mind as he patted your back gently and shift his body closer to you to give you comfort. He didn't get too close that you'll feel unconfortable, but maintained a slight distance from you. You cried like that for a while, letting out all your pain.

“Uh, thanks.” You said after your break down finished. “Your presence comforted me a lot.”

He flashed you a smile, “No problem. The name's Sweet Pea.” He said and extended his hand.

You raised your brows, a smirk of amusement appearing on your face. “That's a strangely cute name. I'm (Y/n) (L/n).”

“Yeah, don't mention it.” He says, shaking his head and you chuckled.

“Hey, don't be embarrassed. I like your name.”

“I like your name better.” He smirked. “So, what are you going to do now?”

You sighed heavily. “Nothing. I’m just gonna try to be happy for them. And if you’re asking about my mother, I don’t know. I just don’t want to go home yet.” You said and wrapped your arms around yourself in a comforting manner.

He hummed, “You wanna come to my place? I can let you stay in.”

Your brows raised in surprise as you looked at him, expecting him to be joking. “Are you serious? You shouldn’t be asking a stranger to come to your place. And I’m a northsider.”

He rolled his eyes, “I can’t let you go home when I know you have a shitty mother even when you’re a northsider.”

A smile slowly appeared on your lips and a look of gratitude flashed on your face. “Thank you, Sweet Pea. I appreciate it.” He smirked and nodded his head, before gesturing for you to follow him and you obliged as you didn’t see any reason to reject his offer.

Sweet Pea seems like a tough guy, but he’s a kind person. You knew that the moment he stopped you from jumping that bridge knowing you’re a northsider. A lot of people in the southside didn’t like northsiders, because they’re just a bunch of jocks who judges a person without getting to know them.

Looking at the southside serpents jacket he wore, you strangely felt safer than usual. You didn’t know whether it’s because he’s with you or the fact that you’re in the southside territory. There was something about this place that you couldn’t help but feel like home more than your own house.

The two of you reached a trailer and he twisted the doorknob, already knowing his door is unlocked. “You don’t lock your door?” You asked out of the blue.

He chuckles, “I do. My friends are here.” You just nodded quietly at his response. He opened the door and you could hear his friends laughing from inside the trailer as you both entered, the laughter stopping as soon as they realized you and Sweet Pea were in.

There were two of them — a girl with a pink hair and a boy with a flannel. Curiosity appeared on their faces upon seeing your presence, though they knew you’re not from the southside after seeing the ‘RH’ on your jacket — you weren’t a Bulldog, but you had a jacket that had the Riverdale High patch.

“Was taking a walk and saw him contemplating his life. He’s gonna stay here for tonight.” Sweet Pea informed them casually, going over to the kitchen to get for something to drink.

Their eyes widened as they looked at you, before scrumbling to get up. “You, uh... you okay?” The boy wearing a flannel asked.

You nods, “Yeah, uhm, I’m not really right now. But I think I will be.” You smiled in reassurance.

“Wait, hold on.” The pink haired girl said as she caught the sight of your red cheek. “What happened to your face?” She asked, pointing at it. You winced when her finger touched and she quickly pulled it away.

Sweet Pea came back with a beer and a first aid kit, sitting down on the couch. He noticed the redness of your cheek way back then and knew something probably happened that you didn’t tell him.

“C’mon, Sweets will treat it.” Fangs said, grabbing your wrist in the process and you hissed in pain as his hand gripped where you self-harmed earlier. He let go instantly and looked at you with wide, confused eyes.

You cleared your throat, gently holding your wrist with the other hand. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” You tried brushing it away, but Sweet Pea didn’t let it slip.

He walked towards you and gently grabbed your hand as he looked at you silently asking for permission. You don’t want him to see your scars, but for some reason, you didn’t pry away his hands or shoved him away. You just looked down at the floor, unable to keep your eye contact with him. He took that as a permission to roll up your sleeve and once he did, a gasp came out form Fangs and Toni while Sweet Pea froze in shock seeing the many scars littered on your wrist.

“(Y/n), what the fuck?” He muttered in devastation.

He can’t imagine what you’ve gone through that you got to the point to harming yourself. The scars were new, but there were some that seemed old that made him realize you’ve been suffering for long until now. The fact that no one didn’t even try to help you or notice the state you were in broke his heart. However, he knew you were more broken than he could ever be, so he didn’t dare ask why you did it.

He just pulled you towards the couch as Fangs and Toni guided you by placing one of their hands on your back. You sat on the couch, letting Sweet Pea start with his mission to treat your swollen cheek and the many lines of scars on your wrist.

They don’t know you, nor the life you had in the northside, but they didn’t have to hear your entire life story to know it was an awful one. If it wasn’t awful, you wouldn’t have any self-harm scars or wouldn’t even try to jump from a bridge.

“You don’t really have to do this, Sweet Pea.” You said after a while of silence.

“He has to.” Toni spoke for him as he dabbed the cotton pads on the alcohol.

“Yeah, you might get infection if your wrist isn’t bondaged.” Fangs chimed in.

You shrugged, “I don’t really think so. If I showed up to school with a bondage around my wrist, my friends will think something bad happened.”

Sweet Pea gave you a look, “Might I remind you that something bad was about to happen earlier if I didn’t stop you.” He deadpanned, making you wince. “If you think you don’t deserve being helped, then just think I’m doing this for me.”

“No, seriously — why are you helping a northsider? I thought you guys hated us?” You asked, looking up at Sweet Pea then at Toni and Fangs. Though, a hiss of pain immediately escaped your lips after Sweet Pea proceeded to clean your scars with the cutton pads drenched in alcohol.

Their expression softened. “Well, you obviously need help and we aren’t that heartless to not help anyone who’s in need of.” Toni replied softly.

Your heart warmed up at her words. At least they care about you despite only knowing you few seconds ago. It was still new to you though; you were never cared for, your mother always did drugs, you had your friends but they didn’t care about you as much as you wanted them to, Jughead has forgotten about you ever since he started to hang out with Betty. So everything that’s happening right now was pretty much a new experience. Why Sweet Pea cares was a complete mystery to you. You’re close to strangers after all — you don’t know a single thing about him and he don’t know a single thing about you.

Sweet Pea glanced at you from the scars on your wrist, seeing you deep in thought. He returned his gaze to your wrist as he ask, “What you got in your mind?”

Your eyes glanced at him for a split second. “Just wondering how can you care for me this much. I mean, we’re strangers and there’s nothing much about me that is worth caring for.”

He snapped his gaze to you. It was barely above a whisper, but he heard it clearly. “Why do you even think you’re not worth caring for?” He asked, stopping his movement and meeting your eyes, searching for an answer.

You looked away from him, free hand going down to fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “That’s what my mom think about me.” You muttered.

The three serpents felt their heart shatter. How a parent could be so cruel to teach their child they’re not worth caring for? They could see the way how her words affected you; you think everyone thinks of you that way just because your mother does. And they were certain that your mother taught you so many wrong things, digged so many false and cruel words in your mind that her words are the only things you can believe.

Sweet Pea gripped your hand while Toni and Fangs scooted closer to you, their faces contorted in anger at your mother for being so cruel to you.

“(Y/n), don’t ever believe what your mother says about you. Whatever she says, you’re worth caring for. Everyone is.” Sweet Pea said firmly, gripping your hands and making you look at him. “It doesn’t matter what she says. You shouldn’t believe everything she tells you just because she’s your mother. You understand me? You’re worth caring for.”

You stared into his eyes and nodded, “Maybe... Maybe if I didn’t have a mother like her, I would’ve been happy. Or if I still had my father.”

Curiosity shines in Fangs’s eyes as he tilted his head slightly to look at you. “Do you remember your father’s name? Don’t you wanna know if he’s still alive?” He pushed over.

“Fangs.” Sweet Pea warned, eyes glaring at him.

“What? He could take him back, so his shitty mom couldn’t touch him ever again.” Fangs proves his point and the raven haired boy sighed at his friend, proceeding to treat your scars.

“I still remember his name and face, but I doubt he’ll take me back in.” You shrugged, pursing your lips into a thin line. And then, a realization hit you that you’re in the southside and that the people around you are members of the southside serpents your father was in.

“Well, what’s his name?” Toni asked.

“(F/n) (L/n).”

“What?”

“My father is (F/n) (L/n).” You repeated, looking up at them now.

Sweet Pea abruptly stopped his movement and looked at you with wide eyes as so did Toni and Fangs.

“(Y/n)...” Sweet Pea calls your name after a few moments of silence.

“Yeah?”

“Your dad is our Serpent King.”

© prettymadness — all rights reserved. do not repost or translate without my permission. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

#x male reader #male reader #x reader #imagines #sweet pea imagine #riverdale imagine #sweet pea x reader #riverdale sweet pea #sweet pea #riverdale fluff #fluff #jordan connor #jordan connor imagine #jordan connor x reader #sweet pea x y/n #sweet pea x male reader #jughead jones #jughead x y/n #angst #riverdale #archie andrews #betty cooper #veronica lodge #kevin keller #fangs fogarty #toni topaz #southside serpents #fanfic #pretty madness works #sweet madness

[hermannsthumb]

From horny twitter: Hermann writes a very very detailed review of a vibrator online

not sfw below cut!!!!!!!!!!! 

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

Now, usually, Newt doesn’t mess around when he’s on the clock, because that’d be very unprofessional of him and that’s totally not who he is, but he’s in a little bit of a rut with his current project and could use the distraction. Online shopping is his favorite go-to distraction these days: he can lose himself in size charts and color options and hunts for coupon codes and forget, even for a few minutes, that the end of the world is accelerating towards them at an intimidating rate. Plus, he can write off half his shit as work-related expenses. Win-win. Though maybe not this particular search.

Newt has a pretty reliable arsenal of sex toys he’s used on rotation since he packed up and shipped across the world for the PPDC, but the ten-year warranty vibe he’s used since PhD #3 (and his favorite of the bunch) finally crapped out on him last week after a historically intense fight with Hermann got him historically wound up. Eleven years ain’t bad. After testing out a different charger, poking around in the wiring, and even going so far as to zap it a few times with some sorta-stolen drift tech to see if it stirred any life back into it, he finally decided it was time to just mourn, move on, and buy a new one. (Even if, unfortunately, his particular favorite model was discontinued when the company’s factory was destroyed in a kaiju attack and they never quite managed to recover. More casualties of the war.)

The sex toy market is truthfully booming during the apocalypse. It makes sense, Newt guesses—anything for a distraction. Personally, for Newt, orgasms tend to dampen his own existential dread, even if it’s just for a few minutes. He scrolls idly through a few Top Ten For 2023 listicles on various sex magazine websites to see if anything jumps out at him (some of the recommended toys are dildos he already has, and vibes that are a little beyond his k-sci paycheck), just hoping for something to jump out at him. Apparently he missed out on a limited-edition run of jaeger and kaiju-themed vibes and dildos that came out in early January, which he’s honestly a little pissed about—he’s the top expert on kaiju biology, god damn it! Didn’t anyone want to consult with him about their hypothetical junk? Accuracy matters.

“It’s all off,” Newt mutters grumpily as he examines a 360 view of one of the kaiju dildos. Trespasser. “It’s not even the right color. Fucking amateurs. Did they even try?”

“What are you doing?” Hermann says.

Newt slams his laptop shut. Hermann decided to cut his lunch break short today, apparently. “Shopping,” he says.

“You sounded awfully angry about something, is all,” Hermann says. He clacks over to his half of the lab and shrugs off his big parka, then pauses. “Do you need to...talk about it?”

“No,” Newt says.

Hermann breathes out in obvious relief. “Good,” he says.

He takes his usual spot at his chalkboard and resumes his calculating. Newt re-opens his laptop and scrolls away from Trespasser before he can make himself angry over anatomical inaccuracies again. The jaeger vibes from the collection are pretty cool, actually; the designs are a lot cleaner, and their artistic license is a lot more forgivable. The highest-rated of the set is one obviously (but not enough to invoke copyright infringement, if that can even exist for a jaeger) modeled off of Coyote Tango, with like, a million different settings, and an astronomical cost to match. Newt eyes it enviously. He could be shoving that up his ass right now if he’d just signed up for a stupid email list last year.

He follows the link to Amazon to read through some of the reviews enviously, too. Life-changing; best money ever spent; warranty lasts a lifetime. Ten stars across the board. Sold out, obviously. No idea when it’ll be back in stock. He could get the Striker Eureka model for twice the original cost as when it came out, if he wanted, but the idea of constantly having to associate the twenty-something punk Hansen kid with his intimate affairs makes him shudder.

A nine-star review for the Coyote Tango model from someone named MathLover69 is the only one to make Newt really pause, on account of how absolutely insane it is.

I saved quite a few paychecks to purchase this vibrator, and though the cost is steep, I must say it is absolutely worth it. As opposed to my normal vibrator (here another vibe is linked, and Newt’s eyebrows jump at that price, too), which has only five settings, an admittedly bulky body, and average battery life, the CT2023 has a generous ten, a sleeker design, and charges fully in a matter of minutes. The orgasms I have experienced while using it are higher in quality (and more numerous) than any resulting previously from masturbation, though I have not tried beyond setting six yet. It also works wonders for stress relief. (I have an incredibly irritating colleague, and nothing calms me down so much as a quick round with the CT2023 after a spat with him.)

The body is versatile enough to be either inserted into one’s—

Newt feels heat rise to his cheeks in spite of himself, and he skims the second paragraph of MathLover69’s review to get the gist of it—that there are, uh, plenty of ways to utilize the vibe, that it’s discreet and small enough to wear to work (if you were inclined to do so, as MathLover69 implies he might’ve been) and that when combined with the Yamarashi dildo, the pleasurable experience increased tenfold. Talk about oversharing. Jeez.

My only complaint would be that the design is a poor approximation of the real Coyote Tango, and for that I’ve docked a star. I would recommend this product.

“This guy is a total nut,” Newt says to himself.

“Hm?” Hermann says.

Newt considers the implications of showing Hermann the vibrator listing: Hermann will know he was shopping for sex toys, Hermann will know he was shopping for kaiju and jaeger-themed sex toys, Hermann will know he was shopping for kaiju and jaeger-themed sex toys during working hours a mere ten feet away from him. Embarrassing, but on the other hand, MathLover69’s review is too funny to not share with someone else. “Hey, Hermann,” Newt says, angling his laptop towards Hermann. “Look. Who comments shit like this?”

Hermann descends his ladder carefully and inches up behind Newt’s shoulder, squinting at his laptop screen. He immediately turns bright red. Newt must’ve offended his Victorian sensibilities with the mere suggestion of self-abuse. “Oh,” he says. “Er.”

“Way TMI,” Newt says. “Listen to this line. ‘With the Yamarashi toy inserted into one’s mouth, and the CT2023 inserted up one’s—'”

“Well, how else is one meant to review a masturbatory aid?” Hermann snaps, surprising Newt. He looks oddly flustered. “Details can be—er—helpful. Can’t they?”

“Sure, dude,” Newt snorts. “Except they’re obviously just screwing with people. They literally have a 69 in their username.” He taps at the MathLover69, and doesn’t mention—on behalf of Hermann’s delicate mathematician feelings—that the MathLover part is obviously meant as a joke too.

“Well,” Hermann says. “Perhaps it’s just his—er, their birthdate.”

Newt turns around to stare at Hermann, taking in his red cheeks, his red ears, and the gaze he’s fixed steadily on his shoes. It’s all Newt can do to not to gape at him. “Hermann, you’re kidding,” he says. “Right?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Hermann says.

“You didn’t,” Newt says.

“I,” Hermann stammers. “Well—”

“I didn’t even know you—”

“That I what?” Hermann says.

Newt gives a half-shrug. Hermann doesn’t seem the type to engage in any sort of vice, let alone this kind. And especially not with the type of sex toys he apparently gravitates towards. (If Newt was a little bolder, and had a little less shame and care for hygiene, he might ask to check out the Yamarashi, because anatomical inaccuracies aside, wow that sounds awesome.) “I mean, you know,” Newt says. “You’re kinda you. No offense.”

Hermann takes offense. “I am human,” he says. “I am allowed to masturbate, Newton, and I was merely attempting to educate other customers about the—product—with my thoroughness.” He adds, awkwardly, “My review was voted very helpful, as you can see.”

“Okay,” Newt says with a grin. “I get it. Sorry.”

Hermann marches back over to his side of the lab with a scowl. Newt waits until he’s sure Hermann’s not watching him, and is too distracted by muttering angrily under his breath, to bookmark MathLover69’s page of reviews.

It turns out (as Newt revisits the page later that night, in the privacy of his bunk) Hermann buys and reviews a truly staggering amount of dildos and sex toys, and on top of that, has absolutely zero filter behind the wall of anonymity. It’s to the extent that some of his reviews read like goddamn sexts.

It took me three occasions to successfully work myself up to taking in the entire length…

My orgasm was so pleasurable I alarmed my colleague with the noise I made, who believed me to have injured myself…

The highest vibration setting is a bit of a disappointment…

These are excellent for double penetration…

It also turns out Hermann is a veritable sex fiend. Or at least a masturbation fiend. Judging by his reviews alone, Hermann’s purchased more than a dozen different toys in the past three years alone. That’s four a year. One every three months. That’s not even including buttplugs, which (according to other reviews) he sometimes just wears into the lab (“work”) for the hell of it, which Newt isn’t even going to think about right now. How the hell has Hermann kept this much of his life under wraps? When the hell does he have time to jerk off as much as he apparently does? No wonder they never seem to have any fucking funding; all of Hermann’s paychecks are funneled directly into his—well.

Newt recalls the faux-injury incident Hermann mentioned in a comment with mild embarrassment. No wonder Hermann had been so weird and flushed when he opened his door, and made excuses to say bye to him so quickly—Newt just caught him (oh, boy) immediately following the best orgasm of his life. Well, mild embarrassment, and a little more than mild arousal. What Newt would’ve given to have been there five minutes earlier, to watch Hermann in the act of the best orgasm of his life, to maybe even be the one to cause it…

What Newt would give to use Hermann’s fancy-shmancy vibrator on him, or literally anything from his giant masturbatory arsenal. Or even just watch him use it on himself. Hermann’s just so damned buttoned-up and uptight—it’s all about the contradictions. Juxtapositions. Newt unzips his jeans and sticks his hand down his boxers. “Stupid Hermann,” he moans, as he begins to bring himself off to the image of Hermann with that stupid kaiju dildo down his throat and that stupid jaeger vibe up his ass. Negotiator of peace between the two? Stupid joke, stupid Hermann. Or maybe he’s picturing Hermann showing up to the lab, all plugged up and loose from using a different vibe on himself that morning. Or maybe Hermann pushing two dildos into himself at once. How the hell can he even manage that? Ass his size— “Oh, goddamn it,” Newt moans again, and comes all over his hand.

Whatever. It’s not like Hermann’s ever going to find out about this.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous #not sfw ////

[shyneanon]

And the fic I started about a week ago with a MF one-shot continues! It’s now called The Boss’s Daughter and it’s up on AO3. 

I’ll continue to post it here but you can go to AO3 to subscribe or kudos or comment or whatever you’d like. It also just might be easier for people to read the whole thing there, since these chapters are long and the whole work will be in one place. Anyway, enjoy!

---

Your father was an unforgiving man.

As kind as he was to you and your mother, when he went to work, he became a different person. He did not tolerate failure, he did not tolerate deceit, and he did not tolerate disrespect. It was no wonder that he had become one of the richest and most powerful mob bosses in the city. People feared him.

And thus, they feared you.

He called you Princess for a reason. You were very much his princess. And there was no mobster in the city who didn’t know the consequences of making a wrong move around you. If he saw a man as a threat against his daughter-- whether physically, emotionally, or otherwise-- that man was as good as dead. And your father’s definition of a threat was a bit loose. He was a very jealous man. Every gangster knew that.

Well, Sans hadn’t, until Papyrus had gone on a tirade about it at him.

Truth be told, it hadn’t really scared Sans much at all. It was difficult to scare him-- though whether that was because he was tough or stupid, he wasn’t sure. Though it did make him view your encounter through a new lens. When he’d spoken with you, he’d had no idea you were such… forbidden fruit.

Unfortunately for Papyrus, whose… suggestion… was reasonable, telling Sans that you were a literal danger to him had only made you more desirable to him. It was that thrill that causes even the best of people to date partners who are bad for them: The feeling of playing with fire, of doing something despite knowing it was bad for you. You were so pretty, and you had been so much fun, but if he’d known all of this before, the spark of electricity he’d felt at being close to you would’ve felt like a thousand-volt shock. To think that he had held someone virtually unattainable-- had gone so far as to kiss your neck and the corner of your lips-- and come out of it alive?

Hell, now he just wanted to do it again.

Since he had nothing better to do with his time (well, he did, he just liked not doing what he was supposed to be doing), he’d eventually asked some of his men how much anyone even knew about you, if you were so heavily protected. Surprisingly, quite a bit, because your father liked to talk about you a lot. According to him, you were very intelligent. That didn’t surprise Sans at all, it had been pretty obvious. Well, sort of. It had been this look behind your eyes. Like you were always observing things, assessing them. No doubt you were unused to being hit on and yet you had remained cool and collected.

Heh. Maybe you’d make for a good mob boss yourself.

Your father even claimed that you helped with the business sometimes. The record-keeping and number-crunching, anyway. He didn’t like telling you exactly what your beloved daddy was doing during business hours.

It was funny how many small details had stuck with Sans’ men (and probably many others). You were just such an enigma that any information your father threw out was like a piece of a very large puzzle. You liked dancing, although you’d never actually been out dancing before. Papa was too worried about boys hitting on you. You did go out sometimes, with some friend of yours, but only during the day, and only to high-end spaces where the chances of a guy trying to put moves on you were low. An odd detail: You liked little chocolates, particularly the ones with cherry filling. Sans could vividly picture you gently biting into one, the filling as red as those soft lips. Dangerous lips that spelled death for anyone who dared to come near them.

You were just so off-limits that all you did was rile Sans up when he thought about you.

His mind raced with What ifs. What if he had just taken the opportunity to kiss you right there? What if you had agreed to his offer to show you how he could get around without being seen? What if he had been able to bring you somewhere private… and take away that innocence your father had worked so painstakingly hard to preserve?

Heheh. You would’ve been calling out “Daddy,” but you wouldn’t have meant--

“I heard that guy Acerbi is after her.”

“Acerbi? Don Acerbi?”

“No, you idiot, his son.”

Sans was snapped out of his incredibly racy daydream. “Huh? Who?”

Vinnie answered his question. “Adolfo Acerbi, Boss. The Acerbi family’s territory is right around--”

“I don’t care about that, whaddaya mean he’s after her?”

Don answered that. “Y’know, he wants to marry her. She’s an only child, so if he married ‘er, once her dad croaked he’d end up being the heir to their whole business.”

“Fuck, you serious?”

“Yeah. And for now it’d unite the families ‘n such. All that mafia stuff.”

Sans felt a surge of jealousy, even though he knew it was unwarranted. You didn’t belong to him-- well, you didn’t belong to anyone, you were your own person, even if your father wanted you to be his. Still, Sans wasn’t your boyfriend, he had no real right to feel jealous over you. Especially not the level of jealousy he was feeling right now.

But the objective truth couldn’t change the way he felt.

“Hey, Boss,” said Vinnie. “Didn’tcha say you were gonna talk with someone today?”

He was startled out of his thoughts again and checked his watch. “Oh, shit.” He got up. At least he wouldn’t be late. “Thanks, Vinnie.”

“Oh, uh, no problem, Boss.”

--

“Was he nice?” asked Mindy.

“Of course,” you told her. “He was in front of my dad.”

The two of you were sitting in a small but very expensive cafe and deli, immaculately clean and filled with people in nice dress. It was always nice to be with her, for a multitude of reasons. Firstly, she was your friend. You simply enjoyed her company.

Secondly, the cat monster was your window to the outside world.

While she was wealthy-- most monsters were after having left the Underground-- Mindy didn’t know where your father actually got his money. She was a civilian. Unlike you, she’d gone to college, and she’d been on dates with lots of boys. Ironically, despite being a monster, she knew a certain kind of freedom you’d never known. Mindy actually got around quite a bit, though you didn’t mind that. It was part of what made her interesting. She was wild, so she had a lot of fun stories.

At the moment, though, you were the one telling her a story, about the “nice young man” you’d met at the party. Adolfo Acerbi. Italian, obviously. Your parents had taken quite a liking to him, and you could understand why: He seemed well-educated, he was polite, and he had only said the sweetest of things to you.

You hated him already.

It was all fake. You could tell. He did a good job of hiding it from your parents but it was fairly obvious to you what was going on. You had no brothers. If he could just weasel his way into your father’s favor and wed you, then he could sit atop an empire made of two families’ blood, greed and arrogance. And you would be stuck right there with him. It was a no from you, but unlike Mindy, you didn’t really have any say in the matter. Mafia princesses were called princesses for a reason.

But you couldn’t tell Mindy all of that. She didn’t know where your family got their money. So all you said was, “He just wants my dad’s money.”

“Aw, honey, maybe you’re just being paranoid.” Mindy smiled at you. “Love exists, you know.”

You snorted. “I know that. It’s just… he’s sweet, but… too sweet? Too romantic.”

“Mmm, like he rehearsed it or something?”

“Yeah.”

“Ugh, those boys are the worst.” She shrugged. “Oh well. You don’t have to date him if you don’t want to.”

If only.

You considered telling her about the encounter with Sans and Papyrus-- she’d be bound to find it entertaining-- but you had the feeling that if you did she would just keep teasing you about Sans. Besides, she didn’t need to know anything about mobsters who didn’t really have anything to do with you. Your father didn’t do business with the skeleton brothers, as far as you knew, and chances were you would never speak with them again. Sans wasn’t worth mentioning.

But fate is a cruel mistress, and no sooner had you dismissed any thoughts of Sans than a large shape emerged in your periphery. Near the doorway. The shape was unmistakable.

Sans had been fun. Too fun. As much as you wanted someone in the underbelly of society to make you smile, you didn’t need it. If you had fun, you would forget just how bad your world was, and you would quit wanting to leave. You didn’t need to speak to him any more.

“What are you doing?” asked Mindy.

You realized you had ducked down and held up your menu in hopes of hiding your face. You wanted to relax, but you really didn’t need to talk to him anymore. “Nothing,” you said, though you knew she wouldn’t believe you.

“Oh my God, is it him?” She started to look around unabashedly.

“N-- no, it’s not Acerbi.”

“Not Acerbi-- Wait, is there somebody else? Is that why you don’t like Acerbi?” Her lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Oooooh, there’s a boy you haven’t told me about.”

“No, it’s not like that!” you said. But you couldn’t explain, it had everything to do with your world, and she couldn’t know about your world.

“Oh my, are you blushing?”

“What? No.” Your face didn’t even feel warm.

“Don’t lie to me, I can see it. Your face is so red.”

Well, now your face was warm. Mindy beamed. Thanks a lot, Mindy.

“Hey there, dollface. Fancy seein’ you here.”

… Fuck.

You lowered the menu. You didn’t have to look for him; Sans’ shape on your left blocked out everything else nearby. You tried to ignore the burning on your face and smiled politely. “Hello, Mr. Sans.”

“Hey, sweetheart, I toldja last night, ya can call me Sans.”

You saw Mindy’s eyes widen. Last night, no she’s getting the wrong impression, no no Mindy it’s not like that I didn’t have sex with him I didn’t I don’t even know how we would do that I just met him at a party--

You forced your mind to stop racing. “Right. Sans. Is there anything you need?”

“Just to talk to you, doll.” He winked. His smile was so genuine, so goofy despite the sharp teeth. You felt the corners of your mouth turning up and bit the insides of your cheeks to keep yourself from smiling any more. You’re just making this worse, jackass….

His voice lowered:

“What’s with the red face? Happy to see me?”

You tried to ignore your face getting hotter. “M… My friend here was embarrassing me about something.” Good, a distraction. You gestured to Mindy. “Um, Sans, this is my good friend Mindy. Mindy, this is Sans, my… um…”

Sans raised a brow. “Aww. Tellin’ me we ain’t friends?”

Oh my God, did he learn anything from last night?

“... friend,” you finished. “My friend, Sans.”

Mindy wasn’t buying it even though it was the truth. “Oh, of course. Your friend.” She wiggled her eyebrows. Still, she gave Sans a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, sweetheart.” His grin widened. “You look like the cat’s pajamas.” A wink. “Absolutely purrfect.”

Before you could stop yourself, you snorted, which only made Sans look more enthusiastic. You tried to hide your face again.

Mindy raised her eyebrows at him. “Oh my, aren’t you a charmer?”

He tipped the brim of his hat. “Sure, to the women I want.” His eyelights looked over at you and he winked.

You glared at him, openly this time. You are such a moron. You could literally die. For doing this. You couldn’t defend him forever.

His smile became slightly nervous. Finally, he was getting the message. Why did he have to be so thick? And funny?

“So,” said Mindy, “why are you here? You’re not stalking my friend, are you? Stalking isn’t romantic, you know.”

He chuckled. “Nah. I can’t actually talk fer too long, I’m here tah meet a, uh… business associate.”

Mindy smiled incredulously. “Business associate? What are you, part of the mob?”

You forced yourself to snicker at that, as if the idea was ridiculous. Sans blinked, looking mildly surprised-- he’d probably expected Mindy to know. Thankfully, he recovered quickly. “I wish. It’d be more exciting.” He turned back to you. “I also wanted to give you an offer.”

He nodded in the direction of the doorway and you squinted at him. You weren’t going to leave with him. Was he that stupid?

“I jus’ wanna talk over there.”

You raised an eyebrow, and felt your thumb fiddling with your menu. You didn’t need to speak with him… but you were curious. So you got up and followed him, still inside, by the door.

He dug around in his pocket. “Last night was nice.”

“Which part?” you asked coldly.

“All of it, babe, yer fun to talk to.” He pulled out his wallet and started going through it. “I was thinkin’ I’d like to talk to ya again, if ya ever want.”

He found what he was looking for and held up what was clearly a fake business card for whatever civilian job he claimed to have. He held it out to you.

“If ya ever need anythin’... like, y’know, company… jus’ give me or Paps a call, huh?” He shrugged. “Well, maybe not Paps. But me.” He flashed those shark-like teeth at you.

You just stared. What on Earth was his problem? He could easily go flirt with someone whose father wouldn’t have him shot for it.

“C’mon, babe, you were fun. I don’t meet a lotta fun people.” He held it out further. “Please?”

His pleading smile was seemed so genuine.

Whatever. You smiled politely, taking the card. “Thanks. I’ll keep your offer in mind.”

Judging from the look on his face, he could tell you didn’t mean it. He seemed… disappointed.

You felt disappointed too. Good.

He tipped the brim of his hat again. “Anyway, I’ll let you two ladies keep talking. It was nice seein’ you again.”

“Nice seeing you,” you said.

When you made your way back to the table and sat down, Mindy folded her arms. “So. Mister Sans, huh?”

“It’s not like that,” you said.

“‘Sure, to the women I want,’” she said, doing her best impression of Sans’ deep, smooth voice. She then raised her eyebrows at you as if daring you to offer an explanation.

“We met at the same party where I met Adolfo,” you said. “He flirted with me, and I turned him down.” You left out the part where you let him hold you and… kiss you. The spot at the corner of your lip that he’d kissed suddenly felt tingly. It had probably been the most rebellious thing you’d ever done, despite how much you hated the lifestyle you’d been born into.

“You what?” Mindy said, almost slamming her hands down on the table in outrage. “Why?”

“Because I don’t like him. He’s probably the dumbest person I’ve ever met.”

“Ouch,” she said. “Harsh.”  She sighed in mock disappointment. “What a shame. His name is so short. Easy to moan.”

You felt a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. “Why don’t you just go sleep with him if you find him so appealing?”

“Nuh-uh. I smell a budding romance.” She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “An intelligent girl, wooed by an unlikely man. I don’t want to get in the way of that.”

“That will never happen in a million--”

“Ooh, ooh, before I forget to tell you! Next weekend this… club I know…” She gave you a wink. You knew what that meant-- a speakeasy. “... is having a swing night. You told me you’ve never gone dancing before. We should go!”

You felt your heart sink, the previous conversation instantly forgotten. You shook your head. “My parents wouldn’t let me.” Too many boys.

“Then sneak out. Easy fix.”

“N… No.”

She sighed in exasperation. “Just ask, OK? Please?”

You nodded. “... OK.”

“Thank you.” She looked at the card in your hand. “What’s that?”

“Oh, just some stupid card he gave me with his number.” You turned it over in your hand.

“Mmmm, his number. You gonna keep it?”

“I already said I don’t like him, why would I keep his number?”

You grabbed your purse. Trying not to make eye contact with Mindy, you tilted the bag towards you so that she wouldn’t see the small pistol inside, and tucked the card into a pocket inside the purse. You tried to seem nonchalant about it, but when you looked at Mindy again she was wearing a massive, smug grin on her face.

“I’m going to throw it away when I get home,” you told her.

“Riiiight.” She took a sip of her water. “Of course.”

“I am,” you insisted. You just didn’t want to toss it anywhere. But you told yourself you were going to throw it away.

You didn’t.

#fanfiction #self-insert #reader-insert #sans x reader #sans/reader #mafiafell #mf sans #mafiafell sans #fanfic

[butterbeeryuta]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐮𝐲

teacher!sicheng x single parent!reader | 2.9 k

summary: the moment a new teacher becomes your 6-year old son’s homeroom teacher, the more he talks about this infamous ‘Mr. Dong.’ Who the fuck is this Mr. Dong, and most importantly, why is your son calling him dad?

warnings: cursing, reader is not really in their best state 

note: a few chinese terms are used throughout the oneshot. i think most of you will get it, but to be on the safe side: mama means mum, and baba means dad. 

Mother knows best. Mother knows best. Mother knows best. That’s what you thought at least. Having to raise your own child after your ex-boyfriend left you because he couldn’t take the idea of him being a father, that’s when you decided to raise your son independently and to make him smart and learn sympathy. That obviously meant having to work twice as hard to ensure he goes to a good school with quality education, and to also have bread and butter on the table, as well as to pay for the unnecessarily expensive rent in Beijing. And of course, gender inequality and misogyny is still a thing— so that’s great. You were just glad your son, Weimin, is just a naturally happy and curious boy. At times he can ask too many question to a point where you just want to pull your own hair out, but it also means that his brain is functioning and will most likely have a natural attraction towards learning. Or so you hope.

‘Weimin, we’ve got to go to school, let’s go!’ You shouted for your son who was probably deciding which type of pencils to bring to school. You were definitely not the reason to why he has become overly organised at the age of 6. Please note the sarcasm.

And there he was, running towards you with his bright orange backpack with his jet black hair neatly fixed—thanks to you— smiling widely at his mother. Weimin’s smile was similar to the way he used to smile, his dimple exactly on the same spot as him. You had a beautiful kid, and he had the warmest heart for a 6-year old. But he also looked so much like him, and you weren’t exactly sure how you felt about it.

He hurt you. He said he’ll always be by your side. He said no matter what happens to you, he’ll be there to catch you and hold you. He lied. He fucking lied.

‘Māmī let’s go to school, I arranged all of pencils by height in my pencil case this morning!’ Snapping out of your thoughts, your boy was looking up at you, his small hands wrapping three of your fingers in his, pulling you towards the door. Following your son immediately, you tried to shake your thoughts off about him, knowing it is not the best for your mental health, and definitely not for your kid.

‘Y-you’re pregnant?’ Yixing asks, eyes wider than usual. Well of course you got pregnant, you two were drunk off your asses, and had sex without protection, and he came inside you.

‘Yes Yixing, for the nth time, I am pregnant! We can’t do anything about it, we have to tell our parents and—‘

‘Abort the baby.’ What?

‘E-excuse me? You don’t have the right to tell me what to do with the baby, it’s in my body’ you retorted, not clearly understanding why your boyfriend would say that. You were thinking of keeping the baby; sure the two of you were young, but it wasn’t that you had no money or such to raise the baby. Your parents and friends may be surprised, and maybe disappointed, but you knew that your real friends will support you no matter what, and so will Yixing.

‘You don’t understand ________, taking care of a baby is a huge responsibility. We’re just 21 years old, what do we know about parenting? And what will our parents say? They’ll also force you to abort the kid, and it’ll just take a toll on your mentality, do you want to go through that?’

‘Y-you always said y-you’ll have my back Yixing…’

‘That’s because a baby wasn’t on the pla—’

‘Earth to _______?’ What?

It was your colleague, Kyulkyung. She looked concerned and confused, but mostly concerned. ‘Babe, I think you’re doing it again’ she says, leaning against your table.

‘I don’t know why I just can’t stop thinking about it, but I swear I’m fine. Is there anything you want me to do?’ You ask, avoiding the subject. She was going to the say the exact same thing as before: go get psychiatric help. You don’t undermine psychiatrists or anything, they’re amazing and do help people get better. But you didn’t think that yours was that big of an issue. It happened 6 years ago; sure your mind naturally goes back to the scene, but it’s not like it affects your life with your son is affected because of it.

‘_______, why is it hard to ask for help? If it’s because nobody will take care of Weimin, I’ll do it.’

‘Kyulkyung you hate children’

‘Yes, but I can learn to love them starting with your adorable, lovely, sweet, intelligent Weimi—‘

‘Kyulkyung you called children mini monsters that rips its way out of a vagina to contaminate the world’

‘—and way to ruin the mood. But seriously, it happened 6 years ago and if you’re still spacing out like this and stopping you from doing shit, it won’t harm going for help’ she says, looking directly at your eyes. You could tell she meant every word, and that she actually cares for your wellbeing. You sighed at her, resting your back flat against the office chair.

‘Exactly, it happened 6 years ago. I don’t want to bother them with something that happened 6 years ago. They’ll ask questions which I can’t even remember because I was too busy being sad and pissed, but I’m raising my son pretty well now. He is happy and healthy. So, did you need me for something or were you here to persuade me for the 4th time this month?’ You asked, looking up at her face. She took a deep breath, knowing that you weren’t going to give in anytime soon.

‘Okay fine, I’ll try again next week. But someone named Mr. Dee called, and wants you to come to school because your ‘happy and healthy’ son keeps calling his homeroom teacher dad and it’s been happening for 2 weeks.’ What the fuck—

The last thing you wanted to do today was to be in the principal’s office with your son playing in the back, his new homeroom teacher, and the principal to talk about your worst nightmare— daddy issues. Weimin did ask where his father was when he was 4, and you just laid out the truth on him that, ‘baba is not coming back because he decided to go somewhere else.’ A 6-year old wouldn’t be able to understand how shit people can be and just go against their word. So yes, he went somewhere.

‘Ms. _________, as you would’ve known Mr. Dong is your son’s new homeroom teacher, and he has been called ‘baba’ many times for the past 2 weeks,’ Mr. Dee, the old balding guy in front of you explains, pointing his stubby fingers towards the rather young good-looking man standing on the side of the room. You gave him a small nod, unsure of how exactly to approach the fact that your son is calling this random hottie ‘baba.’ And no, you will not admit that you just used the H-word to describe a teacher you’ve never met before. The man on the side cleared his throat, uncrossing his arms.

‘Good afternoon Ms. ________, I am Mr. Dong, and I am your son’s homeroom teacher’

‘Yes, we got that clear thank you.’ What did your son see in him?

‘Uh, yes. It’s completely normal for kids to accidentally call their teacher ‘baba’ or ‘mama,’ but this has been happening for a period of 2 weeks, and I was wondering if there are some problems that are happening at home? I know it is not my right to interfere in family matters as a teacher, but Weimin is just a young boy and correcting him to calling me Mr. Dong is taking longer than expected’ he says, talking to you in the calmest tone you’ve ever heard coming for a man. Then again, he just said something about your home life. It wasn’t as if Mr. Dee didn’t know your circumstances, and he did looked quite a bit surprised once the teacher guy began talking. Such a fucking waste for a pretty face.

‘Mr. Dong, actually—‘ you interrupted him before he could continue. If you were about to tell your personal circumstances to this newbie, might as well do it from your own mouth. ‘It’s okay Principal Dee, I can explain to my son’s homeroom teacher—‘

‘Māmī I rearranged my pencils by the height of the erasers at the butt of the pencil!’ Your son shouted from the back in nothing but excitement, only to earn a chuckle from the man you are about to inform.

‘Good job Weimin, and don’t say butt ever again please, it’s a very ugly word.’

‘Okay!’

‘Anyways, I am a single mother who got impregnated by a trashy man so yes, he grew up without a father Mr. Dong.’ Every word you said only made his eyes wider and wider. God did you love seeing that whenever you explained your story to someone who has no idea of who you are. ‘I am sorry that my kid has been calling you “baba,” so don’t worry, I’ll tell him to stop once we’re both at home and ensure that he’ll call you Mr. Dong from tomorrow onwards. Will that be alright Mr. Dong?’

‘I-I’m so sorry Ms. _________ I d-didn’t know, I sincerely ap-poligise. And yes, anytime is fine.’ And it was just apologies after apologies from both the principal and Mr. Dong. Well, that’s over with the adults, and now it’s time for your kid.

Weimin usually stays in the daycare service provided by the school until you were done with work which is about 6 in the afternoon. Well 5:30 pm actually, but you needed a good amount of time to yourself too because it’s not easy being a working single mother. You wanted nothing but happiness for your kid. He likes going to school, he enjoys playing with the toy Genie you got him for his 4th birthday, and he also likes organising writing materials in whatever order he is thinking of. Though, you do blame yourself for the last one considering how strict you were with making sure everything is organised wherever you walk. One thing you could not understand was Weimin calling his new teacher ‘baba.’

Your son knew his father went somewhere, and it wasn’t a lie. You also had no pictures of that man around your apartment, and even if you did, Yixing looked nothing like that teacher guy. Sitting on the couch, you see your boy taking out his diary, reading the assignments he has due tomorrow, as if he really can when he’s just in the first grade. And there goes that smile— it looked exactly like him.

‘That’s because a baby wasn’t on the plan _________. You’re not thinking straight, and I’m sorry but if you’re going to keep that thing, I can’t help you.’ Everything was going too fast, you couldn’t understand anything. Why was he so against you? Why did he lie to you about having your back at all times? Why does he have to be like this now?

‘B-but Yixing, let’s t-talk out for a bit. A baby isn’t a bad idea, and  we can work this out. T-trust me on this, I have the funds, a-and—‘

‘We’re done _________. I’m sorry.’  Even after 6 years, those 5 words stuck with you as you and your child grow older. You knew you needed help. You knew you needed it.

You couldn’t do it. You didn’t him to talk about his father problem. Is he being bullied in school since he has no dad? Is father’s day coming up? Why didn’t you come up with this earlier when you were called in by the school? Why are you always so slow with everything _________?

You picked up your phone, texting Kyulkyung to watch over your son for a bit, despite knowing that she absolutely hates children. But hey, she called your son lovely— that deserves a bit of trust. You needed fresh air. You needed to be alone and think properly without hurting your son. You were already hurt enough, and your boy doesn’t deserve to be hurt.

Lights reflected against the river, creating a gorgeous blend of yellows, pinks, and blues dancing to the soft ripples caused by the wind. There’s just a naturally calming vibe with rivers; the soft breeze, the slow movements of the water— it’s a shame that rivers are continuously being polluted.

‘Ms. ______?’ What the fuck?

It was Dong Sicheng. Or perhaps your son’s ‘baba.’ He was a handsome man, and the lights shining gently on his skin definitely did not help increase your expected annoyance and hatred towards this man. Was he following you?

‘Mr. Dong, or I guess my husband since my son calls you “baba.” What are the odds to see you on this fine evening…’ you sarcastically answered, leaning your forearms against the metal rail. You only earned a chuckle from him, his footsteps coming closer to you, eventually mimicking your current position.

‘I come here for a daily walk. Teaching primary students isn’t really easy, and it doesn’t hurt to have some fresh air. And if I may, what brings you here on this fine evening?’ He asks, imitating the exact tone of your response earlier.

‘Just thinking about what I did wrong raising my son… this just never happened before’ you quietly said, shortly followed by a laugh coming from you. You weren’t sure why you were laughing; you know it wasn’t an appropriate time to laugh considering how his face dropped as soon as you opened your mouth.

‘You didn’t do anything wrong, Weimin is a great kid. It’s my fault.’ Well this better be good. ‘It was my first day, and I asked the kids to draw the people they looked up the most. And just like any kid, I expected them to draw their parents, but Weimin only drew you—‘

‘As expected,’

‘—well yes, now I understand. So I asked him where his dad was, and he told me that he’s not at home. For some stupid ass reason, I thought Weimin meant that he goes to work so he doesn’t get see his dad as often so—‘

‘That is one fucking stupid reason, damn Mr. Dong, I expected better from you.’

‘Let’s have another time to talk about how shit of a person I am another time, and I’ll make sure to bring receipts for proof. Anyway, I didn’t want him to feel left out in the class since everyone, and literally everyone, drew both parents. Well, except one kid. She drew a polar bear, and I do not know why. Anyway, before anything could happen, he suggested that you know…’

‘That you could be his paternal figure in the picture, and you let him do it.’ Sicheng nodded at you as you finished his sentence, which only made you inhaled sharply. You barely know this man, and you feel that you need to tell him everything.

‘Zhang Yixing. That dirty son of a bitch left me once I got pregnant as 21, which is young I know but, there are younger mothers—‘

‘Not the point Ms. _______—‘

‘Shut the fuck up Sicheng, and stop the last name basis thing we’re not under school conditions for fuck’s sake. The only reason I didn’t want to do an abortion is because I have an ovulation disorder. I was too scared to tell anyone before that I had it because I didn’t want whoever my partner is to leave me because well, it’s not easy for me to get pregnant. And I also didn’t want to abort the baby because what if I never will have the chance again. I wanted to experience what it’s like to be a mother, and I did get that opportunity. Just not under the best circumstances,’ you said, your voice going lower and lower as you explained your story. There were medication to increase your fertility, but you didn’t know much before even if you were 21 that time. You were thinking of too many things then, you weren’t sure what you were doing for the most part.

‘I-I’m so sorry that happened to you… ________. I do not know what you are going through, but I can tell you do work very hard and want nothing but love for your son. You’re a great mother, and your hard work pays off. I do hope though that once Weimin is older, you have the courage to tell him the truth even if it will break his heart. Weimin is a happy and bright kid, though I am not sure how he so organised at such a young age, but so far, he grew up well. As his homeroom teacher, I just want you to know as a parent tha— are you crying?’ Yes I am, what else will you call heavy ass tears rolling off my face?

’N-no.’ Well that was a fail in trying to keep your voice stable.

He grabbed your shoulders, turning you to face him as he adjusts to your height. His warm brown eyes meeting yours; it was as if everything around you stopped. What the flipping fuck is happening.

‘You’re a great mother _______. Weimin is more than lucky to have you,’ Sicheng whispers as you tried to control your tears. Maybe, just maybe, you do not mind your son calling Sicheng baba anymore.

a/n: THIS BECAME MUCH MORE ANGSTY THAN I THOUGHT WEEEEEEEEE

#wayv #dong sicheng #sicheng #winwin #winwin x reader #winwin x you #oneshot #qian kun #kun #hendery #wong kunhang #xiaojun #xiao dejun #ten #chittaphon leechaiyapornkul #liu yangyang #yangyang #lucas #wong yukhei #nct #nct u #nct 127 #nct dream #fluff #angst #slight crack #single parent au

[thinking-in-symbols]

Quinquennial Life Assessment

So, it’s been a few years.  When I was 19 I posted a sort of “roadmap” for the evolution of my life on this blog.  Today I thought I’d revisit that.  I want to take a look back and see what progress I’ve made, and then in a separate post I want to turn to the future, think about how my vision for it has changed, and consider how I can reincorporate these goals into that vision.

This is the list of things I wanted to get done in varying time frames.  I’ve crossed off the things I’ve done to get a sense of my progress:

1 year:

At 19, my hopes were to accomplish the following things by age 20:

- Joined, and consistently participated in, at least 2 campus organizations that suit my interests, at least 1 of which should be competitive in nature - well, I joined the ISO and KVRX, my college radio station!  Neither of those were competitive, but in retrospect I don’t really care about that :-)

- Made concrete plans to study abroad - Nope, unfortunately I never did this.  I’m not quite sure I regret that, all things considered - I traded that experience for other things.  I did make plans to spend a few months abroad of my own accord, and I would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren’t for that meddling global pandemic.  But as it stands I haven’t done this.

- Learned C++ and python to proficiency - Hm.  “Proficient” is a relative term.  But I think I have a tendency to downplay my skills, so in the interest of counteracting that I’m going to count myself as “proficient” in these languages.  I think that’s fair.

- Gone on at least a several day road trip with at least 1 friend - I’ve gone on several trips with @meeshbug​, my very lovely girlfriend and best friend in the world :-)

- Decided on a concentration beyond the extremely vague umbrella of “computer science” - Unfortunately as far as my education is concerned I never really did this.  If anything my interests have *broadened* rather than becoming more focused.  More on this later...

- Made meaningful, ongoing contributions to an open-source project - You know what?  I’ve published the source of everything I’ve ever made, and I’ve gotten to the point where I can make stuff that’s not trivial.  So I’m giving myself credit for this one.

- Learned to cook enough meals to eat in most days and not get sick of my own food - I wish.  I’ve learned to cook a fair amount of stuff but I still get way too depressed and lethargic to apply that consistently.  Whether I consider myself to have achieved this honestly depends on the month.

- Learned to keep my living area clean - I’m much better at this than I was at 19, but at 19 I could barely clear a path to walk across my room.  So there’s more work to do.  More on these last two later.

- Gotten a pet - Meesh and I have a dog named Courage (after the dog of cowardly fame) and a cat named Jax!

2 years:

- Independently written a piece of software to completion and deployed it publicly - I’ve always pretty bad at actually seeing projects through to completion, but I do have a few full, independent projects under my belt at this point.  I’ve built a simple game engine, a pathtracer, plugins for games I like, and some other stuff.

- purchased and begun regularly using some basic amateur radio equipment - Ah man.  I got my license but I still haven’t gotten any equipment.  I guess I have to get on that...

- purchased and begun experimenting with some basic music recording equipment - This one I’ve done, but I haven’t done as much experimenting as I’d like.

- hosted a party - I did this for my 21st birthday and it’s one of my favorite memories!  Honestly this was probably the last time I had all my really close friends in one place.  I’m actually getting kind of emotional about that.

- done some kind of hallucinogen - I have now done this.  I definitely did get something out of it, albeit not what I expected.  This is something I actually only did pretty recently and it’s still having a pretty profound effect.  Maybe I’ll write a separate post about this.

- Gone camping with friends - Despite my best efforts, this hasn’t happened yet.  Pretty fucked up.

3 years:

- learned to play another instrument besides the piano (guitar?) - I don’t feel comfortable crossing this one off quite yet, but I went ahead and bought myself some guitar equipment and have been messing around with it lately :-) I think I’m going to have to bite the bullet and pay for lessons if I’m serious about this, which I am.

- Written and recorded a song - Damn, I can’t believe it’s been 5 years and I haven’t even done this.

- Met a group of people I can play music with - nope

- Owned a leather jacket.  I can’t believe I’ve still never even owned a leather jacket - I’ve done this and wore it frankly too much.  Kinda cringe.

- Worked as a professional software developer - Yep!  Worked as a software developer for a retail company for a couple years.  I’m actually not working as a software developer right now, though; I’m working in a sort of adjacent position.  More on this later.

- Participated in research related to my field - That’s pretty ambitious.  Not sure I’ll ever do this, unfortunately.  But we’ll see.

- Been to a film festival - Oh shit, I totally forgot about having written this.  That’s a cool idea.  I should do this, it’s not like it’s hard (well, at least in principle.  I guess covid kind of changes the situation).

- Gotten a dog - Courage is one of those, I think, although he might also be part rat.

- collected 50 records - Lol, my dumb ass really thought I was going to buy $1,000 worth of records on college money.  No, I haven’t done this, but I’m on my way there.

- Purchased a desktop computer - Well, my dad gave me his old desktop.  That’s not really a purchase but I think it counts.

5 years:

- Begun accepting freelance development gigs - haven’t gotten here yet and I’m not totally sure this is a direction I want to go in my career.  Freelancing has its own stressors as I’ve come to learn from others.  No career path is sunshine and roses and I’m trying to internalize this fact.

- Participated in a student film - Nope.  I don’t even know why I wrote this down to be honest.

- Gotten laid by solving a 5x5 Rubik’s Cube in front of a girl because surely that’s gonna have to work on someone eventually, otherwise I wasted a lot of time - These are getting weird.  Surely I didn’t really expect this to happen, right?  Well, either way I now have a long-term girlfriend, so I don’t - wait, Meesh has seen me solve a Rubik’s cube and she saw it before we started dating.  So actually I’m going to give myself credit for it.  I’m the one who makes the rules here.

- Fleshed out my political opinions - Yes, I now know everything about politics and can answer 100% of questions on political issues.  Just kidding.  But I know where I stand.

- Participated in a protest or some other kind of political event - Done!  Went to a few protests as part of the ISO, participated in lots of their events, and attended some protests with friends as well.

- Studied abroad - Nope :-/

- Learned a language other than Spanish - I took a semester of French!  But I don’t quite want to give myself credit for this one because I really would like to learn a different language to something resembling fluency.

- Run a marathon - Lmao.  I am in much worse shape now than I was when I wrote this post, and even at that time I could probably do like 7 miles if I really pushed myself.  How sad.

- Gone hiking outside of texas - This is weird because I’d literally already done this when I wrote this post.  But I’ve done it more since then, so hey!

- Been out of the country with a friend - This I had also already done.  I guess the point is to have done it without “adult supervision” or whatever.  I haven’t done this since writing this list so I guess I have to leave it uncrossed.

10 years:

- Lived with a girl for an extended period of time - Meesh 🥰

- Spent at least 6 months living on the road in an RV, preferably with a dog and a girl - God, I am so close to being able to do this.  I don’t want it to be an RV anymore - those things are expensive.  But a van?  Still pricey, but doable, especially if I’m willing to sacrifice some comfort.  This has actually been front-of-mind for a while.  I’ll let you know when I get the balls to pull the trigger.

- Started making Real Money - Well, yep, I have gotten to that point.  I do have other thoughts on this, though.  Money is weird, man.

- Lived in a long-term living space outside of Texas (i.e. not including RV time) - How long is long-term?  Three months?  If so, I’ve done this by living in Boston with Meesh for a few months after she went there for law school.  However, I anticipate staying there much longer in the near future, so I’ll wait on this crossing this one off.

- Written a book about something, idk - Not yet.  I’m halfway to the deadline on this one and I have some ideas, but ideas aren’t worth all that much, especially to me, who rarely sees them through.  We’ll see where this goes.  It’s not exactly a priority and historically I struggle to get even my priorities done.  It might make more sense to replace this with recording a concept or narrative album, for which I also have ideas that I happen to take more seriously.

- Learned to solve a 6x6 Rubik’s Cube - nope

- Gotten laid by solving a 6x6 Rubik’s Cube - nope

- Lived in an apartment where I pay all the rent - Yes!  :-))) We love independence

- Earned an advanced degree (this one’s iffy) - This hasn’t happened, and whether it will ever happen is something I’ve been thinking a lot about.  I sort of decided half-way through college that I would be totally burned out on school by the time I graduated.  But in retrospect it takes way less time to burn out on work than it does to burn out on school, and grad degrees are a different kind of thing.  So it’s worth revisiting.’

- Given a best man speech (Sam, this means you have to get married within the next 10 years.  Good luck out there.) - Holy shit, Sam, you maniac, you actually did it!  Sam got married back in 2019 and I gave his best man speech! It’s another one of my favorite memories :-) 

- Gone on a cruise with someone I’m dating - Hmm, not yet.  I’ve gone on cool trips, but none on a boat.  Maybe that’s something to aim for after the pandemic passes :-)

Retrospective:

1yr: Completed: 5/9

More than half isn’t bad!  I’m not gonna worry too much about whether I got these things done within their assigned “time-frame”.  I’m a procrastinator in my heart and I don’t see any reason to put that kind of pressure on myself.  The point is, they got done.  That’s enough for me.

The things I did best in in this category were academic things, and things to do with relationships.  I’m proud of the academic achievements, I really feel like doing them has increased my belief in myself and my sense that I’m good at the thing I’ve spent the last four years studying.  And of course, I am so happy to be in a loving, fulfilling relationship that brings so many good things into my life.  I almost feel like the things I accomplished sort of fell into my lap - of course I’m gonna do programming stuff as a programming student, and getting pets / going on road trips are things I did as a result of my relationship with Meesh.  I don’t say that to downplay the accomplishments, but I do think it’s worth noting.

The things I haven’t done are more to do with personal development, which is disappointing.  I would like to be able to say, 5 years down the road, that I’ve done the personal development I expected to do in just a single year, but maybe that’s a lot to expect.  These are problems I’ve dealt with my whole life.  I think what this means is that I can’t expect everything to fall into my lap.  Those things are going to take real concerted effort to change.  I’m not quite sure how to go about that, though.

2yrs: Completed: 4/6

Two-thirds!  Even better!

Lots of these are one-time accomplishments, not so much long-term commitments to personal development.  The good news is, I did them, and I think those resulted in some development in their own right :-)

Again, though, the things I didn’t do so well are the things that require long-term, concerted effort.  For instance, while I crossed off the one about experimenting with music, it’s really only the initial investment that I’ve really done at this point.  It remains to be seen whether I’ll be able to follow through on the commitment to actually experiment and learn.

3yrs: Completed: 4/10

This category also follows the same pattern I’ve noticed with the last two.  The other thing I’m noticing is that so, so much of my effort over the past few years has been going towards developing a very particular skill: programming / computer science.  Music and art are so important to me, but I’ve done very little real development in those areas.  I mean, I’ve done some.  But not as much as I would have hoped for half a decade.

5yrs: Completed: 4/10

This is getting a little more fun because less of my goals have to do explicitly with my degree.  I’m starting to think beyond college, which is good, because the stage of life I’m in right now requires me to start thinking about the kind of life I want to build now that I’m done with school.  Also, I’m at the deadline for this one right now!  So this is a particularly interesting category because it really shows where I thought I’d be by this time.

The goals I accomplished in this timeframe are, again, mostly things I’ve done through my relationship, but politics also feature pretty prominently on this part of the list.  I spent a lot of time reading and researching political issues during college and really did look for ways to participate.  I honestly made politics a pretty big part of my identity over the last 5 years, and I think it will stay that way forever, but I’ve gotten to the point where I think I need to devote less of my mental energy to knowing more.  I know what I need to know.  It’s time to think about other things.

10yrs: Completed: 4/11 (and counting!)

There’s some career stuff in this section that I’ve been able to do, which is good news.  I’ve always been scared about entering the working world.  All things told, it’s gone more smoothly than it could have.  But I also have lots of lingering doubts about what I want to do in the long term.  So one of the most pressing goals I should aim for is to resolve those doubts.

Ultimately, I have a lot of time left, and I’m not even done with this time frame, so I’m not gonna spend much time dissecting the things I haven’t done.  What I’ll do instead is say that while I didn’t do everything on this list, I feel proud of the things I have accomplished.  I said when I first wrote this list that it’s sometimes hard for me to feel that my life is moving in any particular direction, and I’m still feeling like that five years later, to be honest.  But looking back on these things has helped me see that I actually am making progress in my life.  Not in all the ways I want to, but that’s OK.  There’s still time.

In the next couple days I want to come back to this and reorganize this list into an updated set of goals, for the same time frames.  Maybe that will help me think through exactly what it is I want out of the next five-ten years, with the benefit of having analyzed the things that I did and didn’t do well over the previous five.

[thechildoflightning]

Forecast

Title: Forecast

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: Remile

Word Count: 3217

~~~

Summary: 

An average fall morning with Remile, ft. depression fog, broke college students buying expensive coffee, teeny tiny pumpkins, emotional distress, and succulents (not in that order). 

For the lovely @illogicallyinclined’s hockey au.

Warnings: Depression, Seasonal Affective Disorder

[ao3 link]

~~~

Forecast

Remy had mixed feelings about October and the approaching holidays and seasons. 

On one hand- October meant Halloween which meant seasonal drinks like Pumpkin Spice. It also meant that decorations went up and he and Emile would get a bunch of those ittie bittie pumpkins to put literally everywhere in their apartment. Emile would light his candles and the apartment would smell like falling leaves, and apples, and pumpkin pie. He loved it. 

On the other hand- October brought the beginnings of Remy’s seasonal affective disorder- which he had just nicknamed “The Big Sad.” Seasonal depression adding onto his regular depression was just another weight on his back, until it became an almost struggle to just be at a decent mood level. He hated it

This year had hit him hard.

He wasn’t even sure why.

So here he was, lying on the bed he shared with Emile, blinking up at the ceiling and trying to convince himself to just… get up.

He could. He knew he could. 

It was always the mornings too. The mornings were a bit harder than everything else because now he had the whole day looming ahead of him and it just seemed so long and forbidding.

Over the years, Remy had counteracted this with a routine. If mornings were always going to be hard for him, might as well give him something to get up for, right? So he had collected succulents over the past few years, slowly decorating the apartment. He’d check them all every morning, fingers gliding over their leaves carefully to take note of growth, decay, light damage, shade damage, soil dryness, and much more.

Had he really expected to learn this much about succulents? No. But he had. And he loved it. 

Most importantly, it gave him a reason to get up.

He would then make himself breakfast, and Emile some too if he was around, before heading to classes, work, practice, or whatever he had that day.

The routine kept him moving, kept him active, kept him from not sitting in bed all day long. 

These days, it generally wasn’t even a struggle. But he woke up on the third day of October with a weight in his bones and the faint smell of ginger and cinnamon in the air.

His alarm had gone off twice now. The second one was his safety. His “okay, you’re having a rough day, here’s a few extra minutes, but then you need to get up alarm.” 

He hadn’t gotten up.

Nope. Instead, he was blinking lazily up at the ceiling, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes and a heavy weight settled across his chest. Fuck depression. Fuck SAD.

This was, of course, when the door opened.

“Remy!” his roommate? friend? boyfriend? partner’s voice cheered as he entered the apartment, “Guess what! The cafeteria put up little pumpkins today and I remembered we hadn’t gone out and gotten any yet and we don’t have weights or Zumba today, and you don’t work until later so we totally have time to-”

Emile cut himself off as he realized that the kitchen area (that was more than a kitchenette but less than an actual kitchen) did not actually contain the person he was attempting to rant to.

Remy would give him to the count of three. 

Sure enough, right as Remy ticked the final number off in his head, the door to their room (which had technically started as Remy’s but was now really both of theirs) was pushed open by Emile.

“Rem?” the voice called.

He couldn't quite make his vocal cords work, but he could shift slightly under the bed covers.

Seconds later the light in the room was flickering on and Emile’s warm gaze met Remy’s cold one.

“Oh,” Emile said, taking in the situation, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Remy replied meekly.

Emile sighed at the reply. But it wasn’t one of those sighs of frustration or annoyance. It was one of those small sighs that was just a breath of air. A reassurance. Emile always sighed like that. Remy thought it was maybe a stupid thing to love, but he loved it nonetheless.

Emile walked forward and settled on the edge of the bed, extending an arm with the palm face up. 

A knot grew in Remy’s throat, even as he extended his own hand to grasp Emile’s.

“You’re usually up by now,” Emile offered.

“I know,” he said.

“What are you at?”

Remy sighed. This sigh wasn’t like Emile’s nor was it one of frustration. No, it was a sigh representative of the crushing weight of everything in the world building up and accumulating, dragging Remy down with it.

“Big SAD’s at like a six or seven? It’s, it’s not so bad. Just used to it being a lot better now. This year hit hard,” Remy confided.

Emile nodded and rubbed his thumb soothingly against the back of Remy’s hand.

“I need to get up,” Remy said.

“You usually check on your plants,” Emile said. It was his way of agreeing, his way of encouraging and supporting Remy on days like this without providing pressure. Holding his hand and grounding him, reminding him he wasn’t alone. Talking about his plants and their needs, reminding him he had a routine. That getting up seemed impossible, but it wasn’t.

Remy groaned loudly before dropping Emile’s hand and rolling to the side of the bed. He let his weight carry himself over the edge, caught him just before he fell, and stood.

He made it out of bed. That was something.

(Emile’s soft laughter at his behavior was also quite the reward).

As Emile continued to giggle, the faint outline of a smile graced Remy’s face. He rushed forward and lifted Emile up, twirling him once before setting him down and giving his hair a soft kiss. He released Emile, and then started for the day.

“Plants first,” Remy said, “Then breakfast. Sound good?”

“I can help with breakfast,” Emile offered.

“No,” Remy insisted immediately, “No I always make breakfast, it’s okay.”

Emile shrugged, but relented without further argument.

Remy moved to the windowsill that contained his plants, and began to check the first one’s leaves. Emile stood right next to him, not quite in his way, but close to it.

“Maybe I should get some plants. Maybe some flowers that can grow indoors.”

“Em, honey, you don’t have the time.”

Em pouted, sweater paws folding over his chest, but didn’t protest Remy’s claim. Remy laughed at the sight and moved to the next plant.

The fog of depression still settled in his brain, but now that he was up and talking and moving, it seemed to be lifting a bit more. It was settling back to be manageable once more, instead of overwhelming. He could deal with that.

“Remy! This one has flowers!” Emile suddenly exclaimed, from further down the windowsill, which considering the windowsills length, was just a few more inches down.

Remy pulled his attention away from the current succulent he was inspecting, and directed it towards the plant Emile had been pointing out.

Sure enough, just in between two thick green nubs, a long green stem with tiny blooming white flowers appeared. Remy smiled at the sight and Emile tucked into his side.

“It’s pretty,” Emile claimed.

“Mmhmm, yeah,” Remy agreed, hooking his head over Emile’s own, and holding him there for a minute. He wasn’t really quite tall enough to do such, so he had to stand on his tiptoes and raise his chin a bit, but it was so worth it.

They stood there together a bit, peering at the little white flowers, before moving onward with their day.

~

During breakfast, Emile re-explained what he had started to that morning when he had first entered the apartment. 

He told Remy about how the main dining hall now had the tiny baby pumpkins up in it and how they absolutely had to get some for the apartment themselves. He was practically begging, coming up with a billion and one reasons that they should get them, as if Remy didn’t love them just as much.

After breakfast, they cleaned up, and Remy showered and dressed, before heading out to get said pumpkins. Emile had been right, it was hard to find substantial time when they were both free to do things together, and Thursday mornings happened to be one of the few times. They still didn’t have a lot of time, but it was something.

They were walking in the direction of the grocery story when Emile came to a complete halt. Remy blinked and tried to figure out what had happened.

Just a minute ago Emile had been talking about one of his classes. Remy had been trying to listen, really he had, but the fog in his brain had started to pick up again, making each step a little bit harder and listening to even mindless chatter almost impossible

It also meant that if Emile had given any warning or explanation for stopping, Remy had completely missed it.

“Emile?” he asked.

“Let’s get coffee,” he said, gesturing to the Starbucks in front of them.

Okay, that wasn’t fair. Emile knew he was going to say yes.

“Coffee’s expensive,” he mentioned. They were broke college students which was why it was completely unfair of Emile to say they were getting coffee because of course Remy was going to say yes but they couldn’t keep buying the stuff if they wanted to have food for meals and tiny pumpkins.

“Yeah, but I know you love the seasonal drinks. My treat,” was Emile’s response.

“Emile, I’m literally the one with the discount.”

And the one with the father that was more than willing to fund Remy’s coffee addiction three times over but he was trying to adult himself with minimal support from parents. Minimal support meaning yes please pay for my education and part of rent that is very appreciated but also I should probably learn how to feed and clothe myself I’ll let you know if I’m failing at that and then you can swoop in and save me.

“Okay. Then your discount, my money. Mostly my treat.”

Emile’s defense was weak at best but it didn’t really take much to convince Remy in the first place. Plus, he had that blinding smile on his face that just made Remy melt.

“Okay,” he agreed, “Okay. Coffee. But we can’t make it a habit.”

Emile shrugged, nodded, and pulled him towards the door.

“We won’t,” he promised, “Just today. Special occasion.”

Remy grinned lightly. Emile was always saying stuff like that, calling mundane things special or important. Remy pretended to hate it, but somehow, whenever Emile did it, it really did make whatever event just a little bit magical.

“And what, pray tell, is so special,” he drawled, dropping his arm onto Emile’s shoulder.

Emile shrugged and moved forward to get in line, Remy trailing afterwards, leaning his weight against him just to piss him off. (It didn’t seem to be working as Emile just sorta snuggled into his side and, great, now he was blushing).

“It’s special because…” Emile trailed, before his eyes lit up like gems, “Because you got out of bed this morning!”

A lump grew in Remy’s throat and he had the urge to take his arm off of Emile’s shoulder. The blush that had spread across his cheeks faded.

“I did,” he said, aiming for casual, “Y’know, it’s pretty simple. You just yank off the covers and hop out. Or fall off in this morning's case.”

Emile gave him a look.

“Yeah. It is simple. Doesn’t mean it's easy,” Emile said, with that wisdom he seemed to always carry and spew out. Damn emotional intelligence.

Remy did drop his arm this time, pulling it away from Emile.

Emile frowned and opened his mouth, but didn’t get the opportunity to say anything more as they made it to the front of the line. 

Remy moved forward quickly and ordered for himself. When he was done, he went to order for Emile like he always did, but stopped when he realized that Emile hadn’t actually told him what he wanted this time.

See, Remy always ordered for Emile. Emile’s anxiety made it harder for him to talk to strangers, especially when it involved ordering or asking for something. It was certainly something Emile was capable of doing, and something he sometimes insisted on doing just so that he knew he still could, but it was also something he generally preferred not to do. Remy had no such issues and so Emile would tell him what he wanted and Remy would order for them both.

But Emile hadn't gotten the chance to tell him what he wanted. Remy could guess, but he hated to do that when Emile was right here and could choose what he wanted himself. He hated to assume, even if he was usually pretty spot on. Knowing Emile for such a long time made it pretty easy at this point.

The worker was looking at them now, as Remy’s pause went on for a touch too long.

“Emile?” Remy asked.

“Oh, uh,” the other boy stuttered, before rattling his own order off.

They didn’t really speak until they had left the shop and continued on their way to the grocery store.

“Earlier,” Emile started, “I know you can get out of bed. I wasn’t trying to- I dunno- mock you or something. I just know that it can be hard for you- that it was hard this morning. I-” he shrugged, “I’m not proud of you because that’s just-” he wrinkled his nose up, “That’s not something for me to be proud of, but you… You should be proud of yourself.”

Remy sighed and reached out to clutch Emile’s hand.

“I know,” he agreed, “It’s just that…” he sighed, and the fog in his brain continued to swirl around, “Thank you,” he said instead and worked on trying to maybe take Emile’s words to heart. The swirling didn’t seem to like it, but it could fuck off because he was going to buy little mini pumpkins with his- his Emile and it was going to be great.

Emile squeezed his hand.

“Pumpkins?” Remy offered, and Emile just smiled and nodded in return.

~

They didn’t have the time to decorate their apartment with all the little pumpkins they bought because they were starting to run late for morning skate. So they left the clump on the small table in the main room before getting ready and heading towards practice.

As they did so, a little foreign weight dropped in Remy’s stomach. It wasn’t like the fog. It was more like dread. It was starting to become a familiar feeling whenever practice and games approached. Remy absolutely hated it. Plus, morning skate wasn’t even really practice, it was just to get them moving so why the hell did Remy feel this way?

He enjoyed hockey. He did. He really really did.

(Just maybe not lately).

But he ignored the feeling, as well as the concerned look from Emile and headed out the door. They had morning skate to attend.

~

It wasn’t until late evening that they were both home at the same time.

The moment Remy walked through the doors he wrestled Emile away from his studying because come on Em, you can take ten minutes to decorate the apartment. Emile relented, standing to give a soft kiss on Remy’s jaw, and moved towards the pumpkins from earlier. Remy absolutely did not blush whatsoever and followed.

“Remy,” Emile commented once they were finishing up, “Are you- Are you doing alright lately?”

The fog buzzed louder.

Remy let out a weak chuckle.

“I’m always doing alright,” he said.

Emile just gave him a look.

“No really,” Remy insisted, even as a lump formed in his throat, “I’m- I mean. I’m okay. Uh- this morning was hard. Today wasn’t- wasn’t the best. I can tell this year isn’t going to be the best. But yeah, yeah Em I’m okay. I promise.”

Emile’s worry dropped a bit but didn’t fade completely.

“Okay,” he said, “I- You’ve just seemed more stressed lately. Uh- with Logan-” Emile swallowed and Remy squeezed his eyes tight for a second, “With Logan… out. I mean, it’s a lot more on you.”

“I’ve been Starter before,” Remy said gently.

“Yeah. I know.”

Because Remy had been Starter before. But not- not like this. Never like this before. And they both knew it.

“It is more,” Remy admitted, “But it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Emile said, and let it rest.

What Remy didn’t say was that it wasn’t the extra games, extra playtime that was getting to him. 

It was the team’s faces. 

It was how they went into games expecting to lose and Roman and Patton couldn’t agree on a single thing and Remus was getting reckless again and even Deceit was joining him and Virgil just seemed off and the fans hated that Remy was taking Logan’s place because it was Logan’s place and sure Remy was good but he wasn’t Logan good and they all knew it and it wasn’t even a bad thing but it did mean that even playing his best Remy knew he was letting his team down, letting Logan down, letting himself down. 

But it wasn’t the playtime. 

Oh no, it was so much more than just the playtime.

The fog expanded, pushing down and back on Remy’s brain, encoating him in a layer of discontentment  and hopelessness and misery.

Remy sighed. He set the last pumpkin down.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed,” he said.

Emile nodded. He usually checked the clock when Remy announced he was retiring for the night, making sure that it hadn’t gotten too late yet. But he didn’t bother this time. They both knew it was still much too early for either of them to be sleeping.

“Okay,” Emile said, and smiled, but it didn't quite stretch across his face like it usually did, “I have work to do still, but I’ll join you in awhile.”

“Okay,” Remy agreed.

And they both stood there staring at each other.

Then, suddenly, Emile lurched forward and grasped Remy tightly, clutching the taller boy in a tight hug. Startled, but not about to deny the hug, Remy gripped back, just as tight.

He didn’t start to cry, but it was close.

“Love you,” Emile said.

“Love you too,” Remy responded, voice muffled from where his head was buried in Emile’s neck and trying not to cry.

With that, he headed off to bed.

Later, Emile would slip in next to him, acting in a rare occasion as the big spoon. That next morning would be a little bit easier and three mornings after that would be a little bit harder. Remy would continue to get out of bed.

Hockey would continue and Logan wouldn’t return and tensions on the team would get worse. Through all of it, Remy would be caught in the absolute worse position as Logan’s replacement.

But for now, Remy would go to bed early, fog pressing down, harsh and unforgiving, but still much softer than the upcoming storm. Because that’s really all this was, wasn’t it? The calm before the storm.

~~~

taglist below

-ask to be added or removed-

@mewithanie @eddies-spaghetti @lemonyellowlogic @savioursailor @goldteethandacurseforthistown

#remile #ts remy #ts sleep #emile picani #sanders sides #ts sides #cartoon therapy #depression #seasonal depression #hockey au #im not as satisfied with this as i want to be #but im content enough for now #so here you go #colupdate #colao3update #ao3 #fanfic #fan fiction #fanfiction #mywriting #my writing

[cavehags]

do you have any articles you’ve read that accurately explain why you hate weddings and why they’re bad for women? i agree but i find it so hard to put in words so i need some ref

anon I want to have these resources for you!!! I do!!! but I have never found many compelling articles on this topic, and not for lack of trying. so I’m gonna try and gather up the ammo myself by going topic-by-topic, if I can. my hope is to give a holistic view of just some of the many, many harms marriage imposes on women. cw sexual assault, pedophilia, misogyny, abuse, basically everything bad.

i think a lot of people see marriage the way it’s practiced by 20- to 30-somethings in the coastal united states today as pretty much the only relevant snapshot of the tradition. if you’re a certain type of person, weddings make marriage look pretty good! most people enjoy lavish parties that someone else paid for. and almost everyone has, knowingly or not, been exposed to a lot of propaganda that states that a wedding is the happiest day of a couple’s life, that women in particular are or deserve to be in a state of bliss on their wedding day, and that all the trappings associated with weddings, from purchasing expensive dresses to purchasing expensive tablecloths, are fun expressions of the couple’s creative side. obviously this is marketing dialed up to eleven and none of it is true. further, people like to argue that because brides tend to take the more active role in wedding planning, therefore weddings are in some way a feminist practice (????). this is total nonsense. for a start, weddings put women on display as physical objects–just think of how much marketing goes into the idea that a bride should look perfect on her wedding day, with a dedicated stylist and hairstylist, a team of friends and relatives to get her dressed, and a dress that cost at least $1,600 on average (i’m not linking to theknot dot com but trust me, that’s what it says). don’t forget that there will be a photographer and a videographer there to capture the bride at her most beautiful. and you only have to google “wedding crash diet” to see how how beauty standards of thin bodies are a singular focus of obsession by the wedding industry.

putting women on display for their physical apperance disturbs me. enforcing the idea that finding a man produces the most beautiful day of a woman’s life also disturbs me. and marketing that pretends that the happiness of a couple is in some way connected to how much they spend on a big, dumb, sexist party also disturbs me. but that’s just weddings.

i could put aside my issue with weddings if weddings weren’t just the first day of marriage. because my real issue is with marriage. so anon, i’m going to take you on a tour of everything that sickens me about marriage to put all my wedding hatred into context for you.

marriage is an ancient practice and misogyny is embedded in basically every variant of marriage ever practiced in the world. the commercialized, commodified weddings practiced by affluent couples in the west today just put some gloss and propaganda on the old tradition. but the skeleton of the tradition is really fucking ugly and hateful towards women. and the more you examine how marriage plays out today, the more you see that that hasn’t gone away. and it never will.

let’s start with the basics. historically, marriage as an institution has reinforced the myth of male superiority by giving tangible structure to what was previously just a notion–the notion of gender roles. if a home contains one man and one woman (often a girl, really, but i’ll get to that), then it naturally follows that a man’s role is to contribute x, y and z to the household, while women contribute… uh, a through w at the very least. and often x, y and z too. so you’re immediately left with a society where men are expected to be active and women are expected to be passive. that mandated passivity erodes choice and freedom and consent.

many forms of early marriage permitted men to have multiple wives while women were of course tied to their one husband. across the board, the minimum legal age for marriage has been lower for girls than for men, since long before anyone understood fertility patterns; though it may have been stated in some cases that this is because women “mature faster,” the real reason is that men were expected to have established themselves and their wives were expected to be young, inexperienced and virginal. across the world, married women have often been treated as if the act of marrying a man symbolizes passing from one guardian to another; this is clear even from an extremely common ritual still practiced today–the changing of the bride’s last name to match her husband’s. and worldwide and throughout histories, legal systems have granted husbands the right to control their wives and everything in their orbit. this includes the practice of marital rape.

girls and women have always been denied choices and agency through the constraints of marriage. child marriage is an obvious example. in many parts of the world, girls as young as seven years old (which was the minimum in the united states in 1880, btw) have been forced to marry adult men. marriage is the only cultural ritual practiced in large numbers today that transforms what would be viewed as sexual assault on a child one day to a private family matter the next. child marriage is slavery and still takes place in 50+ countries today, including the US. child brides, who are often from poor families, are thrust out of their homes generally because their parents are looking to eliminate the financial burden of raising a girl. but in their new marriages, they are subject to violent rape and domestic violence, dangerously young pregnancies that put fatal stress on their developing bodies, and a host of inequalities in the law that permit their husbands to do whatever they want with them. marrying eliminates any chance of a young girl enjoying her childhood or pursuing an education. her life prospects are reduced to a short lifetime of unpaid domestic labor and sex she can’t consent to.

further, marriage between partners of any age is wrapped up in the idea that men must control women and girls’ sexuality. some have argued that the practice of marriage is commonplace for no other reason than to keep women’s sexuality in check. naturally, then, what we’re left with is a longstanding tradition of marital rape. throughout history, in many places, rape of a married woman was legally considered a crime against her husband and not the victim herself, as she was his property. extending that logic reveals that no husband could be found guilty of assaulting his property. so marital rape was commonplace, and was not even viewed to be a crime in many parts of the world until the twentieth century. through marriage and the misogynistic laws surrounding it, a very chilling sentiment was normalized: the concept that men are entitled to sex with the women in their lives. that perspective has not yet been fully destabilized. in a 2018 study of 4,000 british adults, a quarter of participants reported that they don’t believe marital rape is rape.

some other quick hits… the extremely widespread practices of paying dowries and bride prices further reinforce how marriage is understood as a transaction over a woman. and i wouldn’t want to overlook how the structured gender roles enforced through marriage resulted in trapping generations of women inside their home, where they were expected to do all the household labor and reproduce for as long as their bodies could support it. think of all the work those women could have done in the world, and all the worldly experiences that they might have had, if they were not trapped in their homes based on the idea that only their husbands had the right to experience the world.

marriage is a religious tradition that was eventually adopted by the state. but we already know that many religions were constructed by and to the advantage of men, and they are full of quite misogynistic traditions, including the ideology that shaped marriage rituals over the centuries. the state recognizes marriage and grants certain privileges to married couples that others don’t have access to. often these privileges can be life-saving, as in the case of the benefits pertaining to medical insurance. the legalization of gay marriage, and before that, interracial marriage, expanded the prospects of who was eligible to reap those benefits. however, there will always be limitations on who can enjoy those benefits–and use them to survive–so long as they are extended to married couples only.

and then suppose that a woman has decided that she’s seen enough injustice in her marriage and she would like to divorce. research shows that women face a great deal of gender-based scrutiny in divorce courts, and when men sue for custody–which occurs in a minority of cases–they generally win. and in cases of abuse, divorce is a costly obstacle to a woman escaping with her freedom. some abused women have said that the time-intensive process of divorce put them off of leaving. the regimented structure of marriage was a trap that subjected those women to a greater degree of violence.

so! all this being said, i am adamantly against marriage. i cannot see a version of the practice that doesn’t just slap a shiny coat of paint over a violent tradition that has restricted women’s rights to a horrifying degree and continues to do so today. so when i see weddings treated as romantic and aspirational and objects of envy in the media, i’m left feeling disgusted that this tradition is so often painted as good for women. wedding magazines are marketed to us. there are new startups emerging every day that promise to make the wedding-planning process easier, more fun, more romantic. i just can’t see the romance in women’s continued subjugation. 

anyway. i hope this was helpful. there are lots of BOOKS you can read with plenty of history on marriage: i just read who cooked the last supper?: the women’s history of the world by rosalind miles and there’s in depth discussion of the many abuses women were subject to under the laws governing marriage. you might even look to the wikipedia page for criticism of marriage to start more research.

#wedding hate #also believe it or not i wrote this mostly in a stream of consciousness so my ability to entertain counterarguments is quite limited #and along the same lines - any fractured sentences are one hundred percent my b #marriage

[all-things-are-nothing-to-me]

No Hope, No Future: Let the Adventures Begin!

This writing is dedicated to my dear friend Miles “Art Phoenix” and also to the memory of:

15-year-old Italian individualist anarchist Anteo Zamboni, who lost his life attempting to shoot and kill Benito Mussolini in Bologna on 31 October1926

& Japanese anarchist and nihilist Fumiko Kaneko, convicted of plotting to assassinate members of the Japanese Imperial family and imprisoned until she took her own life.

The sun, moon and the stars do not wait; they bomb the sky with their presence. A tsunami does not hesitate; it announces a death rattle of destruction before dissipating. So why should I wait? And who am I waiting for? And who are they waiting for? The Future is a god obeyed at the expense of one’s immediate desires in order to secure distant membership in a nonexistent utopia.

The Future is a hologram projection of dreams and promises that get rejected by the present. For politicians and other authoritarians seeking long-term domination, The Future is often socially utilized to exploit one's fear of living in the moment. The Future domesticates wild desire, limiting its capacity to explore spontaneous, unpredictable experiences.

Today is here, right now like a blank canvas inviting my imaginative, destructive creativity. Do I dare to dream bigger than the prison world of material wealth, fashion trends and workerism? Should I indulge in savage hedonism against the monolith of collectivized misery? Yes! Against the gospel of The Future, my anarchy is a riotous celebration of now!

The Future is antithetical to any feral insurgency that refuses politicized stagnation. When I say “politicized stagnation”, I am referring to the politics of “waiting for when the time is ripe”. When I say “feral insurgency”, I am referring to the prioritizing of immediate attack rooted in an individualist, unrestrained desire for freedom. The Left enjoys long-winded academic debates and discussions, attempting to redefine revolution within the limited scope of civilized society. Acting as a new constitution for a future society, there is everexpanding politically correct terminology to learn and memorize, along with the everchanging methods of “educating” “the people”. And then there’s the ingroup and outgroup competition, the oppression olympics and lowestcommon denominator identity politics. I consider all of this Politicized Stagnation. More time and energy is placed on the ideological construction of a perfect future utopia than attacking the existing prison society now.

These type of (exhausting) discussions understimulate my desire for wild experimentation and illegalist adventure. When I speak of “wildness” I am referring to the unique complexities of individual experiences and emotion, which defy the politicized confinement of analytical measurement. When I speak of “illegalist adventure” I am referring to the full-flowering of individual growth and selfliberation beyond the confines of law and order.

My wildness is defined by an individualism borne of the intercourse of anarchy and nihilism; it can not be captured and confined to socially constructed identities nor the poverty of leftist ideology. The illegality of my feral revolt against industrial civilization makes me an accomplice of all wild beings who viciously reject social domestication. My wildness is an exploration into the adventurous unknown life experiences of criminal, antiworkerist anarchy. My experiences are unique,

everchanging and my own, blowing to pieces the assumption that they can be defined by identitybased affiliations with any particular group membership. I find identity politics laughable, rejecting its glorified victimhood and representation. Rather than participating in the pretentious role of identity policing, I take destructive aim at the mental prisons of my own class, race and gender assignment.

I also mock the authority of psychiatry with an assertion of negativity toward behavorial standardization. In the eyes of a neurotypical society, I am fucking crazy but in the eyes of lunatics I am alive and well! The insane/sane binary is a socioeconomic trap that criminalizes antisocial behavior and capitalizes on emotional misery. With the experience of having been imprisoned at a psychiatric facility and rejecting their medications, I remain insubordinate: there is no cure for my depression that civilized society induces. There is no prescriptive remedy for my unruly incompatibility with collectivized subservience. I refuse to tranquilize my hatred for authority and this civilized society which maintains it.

Some would even encourage me to indulge in the intoxication culture that takes the sharp, sober edge off of reality. But it is sobriety that I weaponize against the docile, habitual comforts of toxic escapism. There is nothing this colonial establishment wants more than to subjugate my savagery with addiction or habitual inebriation. My sobriety is a feral sworn enemy of industrial civilization.

No Hope, No Future: Let the Adventures Begin!

I don’t want to create new theories or more analysis to filter the world through; I want to destroy the ideological chains that prohibit me from experiencing it directly. I don’t want to create a blue print for another world; I want to experience utopia, here and now!

What differentiates leftism from my nihilist anarchy is the desire to embrace the present as the best time for attack, waging an individualist war on all governance and social control. While adherents of leftism spend years in college classrooms attempting to make leftism palatable to “the masses”, some nihilist individuals send smoke signals of sabotage in solidarity with others who embrace the night like a balaclava. With destruction, these individuals constellate an informal network of feral revolt across the globe, leaving behind the chains of fear and internalized victimhood.

Even in the era of Trump presidency “the masses” have yet to take up arms and overthrow the establishment. While anarcholeftist organizers advertise their groups in competitive popularity contests, the violence of fascism, poverty and police orchestrated executions roll on. Individualized, spontaneous ruptures to the civilized order define a warfare that almost always undermines state infiltration and management. In the transformation of civil anarchism to feral insurgency, anarchy becomes an anti-political life of illegalism accessible to any individual with the courage to get wild and fuck shit up.

The authoritarian “revolutionaries” who carry communist bibles filled with “better futures” are a predatory bunch, discouraging individualist selfdetermination and targeting those most vulnerable to groupthink buzzwords like “hope” and “community”. One is led to a believe in and choose a side within a binaryist worldview: find a future of happiness through the riches of capitalism or find a future of happiness in the communalism of communism.

For me The Future of both is as much of an apparition as the authoritarian power both require to create it; I refuse to endure years of wageslavery in hope of a future financial security under capitalism. Equally, I refuse to surrender my present days building communes in hope of a future communist utopia.

My anarchy can not be defined by either capitalism nor communism: it is the abomination of both. My activities require no future utopia for motivation only a personal obsession with a present life ungoverned by submission. My anger and contempt for this technoindustrial nightmare motivates my actions. “The Commune” requires my individualism in exchange for membership, and like a machine requires my free time and energy for its maintenance.

I mock those Tiqqunists, the Invisible Committee and their disciples for attempting to market insurrection to “the masses”. Their “manual of terrorism” is merely a biblical text that presents itself as a “truth” that people are “forced to choose” if they desire something other than the world we have today. This oversimplification intentionally erases those who channel the power of their individualism towards emancipatory destruction rather than surrendering themselves to "recreate the conditions of another community."

The way I see it, no one other than my self is more qualified to determine and acquire my freedom. I am responsible for my own life, freedom and the necessary attack in obtaining both. Without prioritizing this personal responsibility, I would fall into a dependency which would enable an authoritarian, social hierarchy that normalizes my own disempowerment.

For many, individualist potential is difficult to explore in the presence of an overwhelming number of mechanistic social roles and identities that demand its surrendering. So is it really surprising that many people have difficulty imagining themselves as independent, selfsufficently armed survivalists? Much of what is propagated as “anarchism” in the US comes from a collectivist perspective that boasts more about “community”, “the movement” or “the commune” rather than individualist power. Is it really surprising that so many self-identifying anarchists struggle with not feeling motivated enough to take action unless they are affiliated with a group, organization, or movement?

The anarchist nihilist critique of organization can be summarized as a tension between the individual and the collective. Sure, I will be the first one to say that shit like the J20 black bloc that wrecked havoc in the streets was a hell of a fun time! I understand there is a power, riotous excitement and even sometimes safety in numbers. I also recognize that mutual aid and support do wonders for helping one another in more ways than I can list. But what about that same power, riotous excitement, and safety in individualized, lone wolf attacks?

Is there no power to be found in knowing everyday can be an opportunity for direct action without needing a police killing or some moral outrage for motivation? Is there no excitement to be found within the personal experimentation of clandestine activities, the rush of adrenaline while fleeing the scene of a crime, or the safety in a selfplanned and secured action taking place when and where police least expect it? Why wait for the next demonstration, police shooting, presidential election or convergence? And while the aid of others can potentially enhance one’s criminal experience, there is much to learn about one’s personal experience with carrying out their own individualized attack. Everything from planning, to panic control and task completion are experienced differently when not split up amongst others.

With individualist attack, the actor is not alienated from the action. Everything is evaluated directly, personally, and in the moment. The attack then becomes a direct expression of the individual. Without the ideological guidance of a future utopia or greater power, nor the motivation of a collectivized identity, the individual becomes simultaneously the catalyst and creator of their anarchy. The selfdefeating worldview one holds onto is only as strong as their grip on it. The enslavement of one’s existence is only as powerful as their individualized subordination.

One thing that comes to mind when speaking of creating anarchy is uniqueness. Ones relationship to their action is always unique from another. From a strategic point of view, there is uniqueness in the experience of lonewolf attacks. Even “phantom cell” structured attacks carried out by small groups of trusting individuals offer a unique perspective on direct action. Compared to mass demonstration property destruction, (which unfortunately often ends with police kettling and mass arrests) it doesn’t take long to research how successful ALF and ELF attacks are while utilizing the model of spontaneous and unpredictable attack. But the ALF and ELF are the more wellknown success stories. This doesn’t include all the successful attacks by lonewolf individuals. These individualized attacks have the benefit of being carried out in the most random, unpredictable manner, while displaying the courage and power one determined individual can possess. Formally organized movements that require mass mobilization and time for “education” is futile; along with formally organized militias, both play into the trap of predictability and infiltration.

Socially speaking, personal uniqueness is more often feared than accepted. If it can’t be controlled, massified, or out-right eliminated it is a threat to the continuity of an established social identity. The breaking down of control and stability often induces panic in authority. An individualism that rejects the logic of submission becomes boundless in the exploration of personal potential. This ungovernable potential threatens the collectivized security of social control and predictability. Similar to the strategy of spontaneous attack, desire armed with chaos is like the wildness that civilization tries to domesticate; determined and resilient.

When I hear people say “we have a plan for a better world” in the futuristic sense, I wonder if they are considering the very real possibility that they will never see that world. And unless they are speaking for others the way politicians do, I am curious to know who is going to experience this better world. Is this “plan for a better world” a predetermined model for a future of people that the architects have no relational connection to? I have no desire to propose and enforce a preconstructed model of living upon people from afar. As I expect for myself here and now, anyone who exists beyond my own life is entitled to the same individual agency.

For me, this shit world in which I currently exist is the only world I am going to see. I have no delusions of getting old and touring colleges to give speeches on anarchy. Nor riding trains at 80 years old, or wasting away in a retirement home glued to a television or piecing together puzzles. I will most likely die young, and I don’t see a “better world” coming. Nor a mass uprising that wouldn’t impose another authoritarian regime in place of the current one. I guess some would say this is the “hopelessness” often associated with nihilism. For me, this is a realistic assessment of the world I currently live in.

But this reality, however dismal, motivates my desire to make my life, through fierce revolt, as joyful and fulfilling as possible! My hopelessness does not paralyze me with fear or depression; I celebrate it with hysterical laughter and ecstasy in spite of civilization’s death march. I arm my desires with the urgency to live... against the social order of monotony and peaceful enslavement, to sleep beneath the stars, to feel sunshine and a breeze with every hair on my body, to listen to the latenight conversations of the insects, to become wild...

Scattered everywhere around me are the social manifestations of domestication and control, the politics of fear that reinforce them and the individual architects who construct them. Therefore, opportunities for creative destruction (or destructive creativity) surround me! So why wait?

My Individualism, nihilistic and anarchistic, is the embodiment of both perpetual destruction and creativity. The life I want to live is the one I create here and now. Through the personal destruction of all that governs me, my freedom is experienced creativity. My life is my utopia, located here and now, defining my present as the playful insubordination that renders The Future useless.

******

To black out in becoming the light of hopelessness,

to accelerate emancipation from the shackles of stagnation,

to create an exhilarating life of hedonistic rebellion against the social conformity of self-destruction,

wild insurgency is an individualist celebration,

a reclaiming of a life society says I can’t have,

every day against stifling obedience to The Future.

- Flower Bomb 2019

#anarcho nihilism #anti civ #green anarchy #post left #anarchism #anti left anarchy #communism