#unfortunately my type in men is pathetic and deeply fucked up

[queenofbooknerds]

Me @ my blorbos: There is something deeply wrong with you but unfortunately I find that attractive

#blorbos #this post in particular is because of Childe #but honestly I have a type #unfortunately my type in men is pathetic and deeply fucked up #(unfortunately because it also applies to real men and boy is it a lot more annoying when it’s not a blorbo) #genshin childe #hsr blade #hsr dan heng #jiang cheng #wwx *and* lwj #wwx may have been the one who did necromancy and medical malpractice #but people don’t give enough credit to LWJ for confessing so badly to WWX so badly everyone thought he hated him #if you’re wondering why there was no women #it’s because my type in women is competent and capable of murder #admittedly. it does still include a lot of fucked up women #Wen qing #hsr kafka #Kaul Shae #(from Jade City by Fonda Lee if anyone got this far and is wondering) #Camilla Hect #ianthe tridentarius #yes both of them. I have range

[wholeanimal]

Quietly Shitty Men

“There is a specific type of person who will siphon the gas right from you because they’ve never learned how to shine their own light.” My ex is engaged.  That shouldn’t bother me, should it?  Oh, but it does.  It bothers me because I saw it coming.  Tell me, what makes a woman “crazy”? Is it when she follows her own instincts? Or is it when she suppresses them? Is she crazy for sensing something is wrong, or crazy for acting like it?  It would be one thing if this was someone new. Good luck and God bless.  It would be another if he said, at any point in the relationship, how he felt. That he was anxious or nervous or angry or scared or hurt or apprehensive or lost. You know, feelings.  I can’t blame a person for having feelings. Had he stepped up and said “you know what, I can’t stop thinking about my ex, I want to give it another try with her.”  That would have been fine. Not in the moment, but nine months later, I wouldn’t be feeling like this. Feeling like I’ve just clicked the last piece of the puzzle into place. 

It wasn’t me. It was, obviously, never me.  I wouldn’t still be putting myself back together after riding the world’s shittiest, least exciting roller coaster.  I wouldn’t be having nightmares that I was somehow still dating him, still subjected to his unfortunately not unique brand of emotionlessness and quiet disdain. Like I was the freak for feeling.  When things were really, truly over, that’s when I learned the most about who he was. I remember sitting at the kitchen counter, having a silent panic attack, wondering where I was going to live, what I was going to do, how I was going to make this all work. The pandemic and riots had hit my neighborhood hard, and I was trying to imagine starting life over when everything else was figuratively and literally crumbling.  Granted, I can’t remember the conversation word-for-word, but this is my best attempt.  “What’s going on?”  “Nothing, I’m just freaking out.” “Why?” “I have to move. I have to start over. I have to figure out so many things.” “Yeah, well...” “What?” “I just don’t know why you’re so upset.” “Are you fucking serious?” “Yeah. I don’t know why you have to have so many emotions.”  “Do you mean now, or in general?” “In general.” I was about ready to fly apart.

“You don’t...understand...why I have EMOTIONS?”  ”Yeah. I guess I just don’t see the point.” I don’t remember much after that. I remember going back upstairs and crying so hard I vomited. So much made sense: it wasn’t that he couldn’t empathize with me. It’s that he saw no value in it. Only his emotions were valid. Anything beyond that was simply not worth caring about. It was chilling, and nauseating, and heartbreaking. My heart broke many times over the course of the month I spent living there after we decided to part ways. I had several conversations like this, where I realized just how long I had been having a one-sided relationship. It also made me feel white-hot, clench-fisted RAGE. How DARE he?  NOTHING about his daily life would change. He would wake up in the same bed, go down the same set of stairs, putz around his merry fucking way. He wouldn’t have to spend a dollar or dime sorting out what came next. Me, on the other hand? I lost my job the same day I found my apartment.  I wanted to claw the paint from the walls I had meticulously restored. I wanted to splinter the floors I had paid to have refinished. I wanted to take all this hard work with me, somehow, to show that I had not truly given up everything. That I had something left. I’m not writing this for you to feel bad about me. I’m more than fine.  I’m not looking for words of encouragement. I don’t need them.  I want him, and other quietly shitty men, held accountable.  Nothing my ex did was actually abusive. It was juuuuust under the line, just enough for him to be able to walk away with his hands up, all “Guess it just didn’t work out!” And I know, I KNOW I’m not the only one.  He made me feel crazy and stupid and weak and small and pathetic. I contorted myself into impossible shapes, trying to make the relationship work. I did things he would never do, that I would never do again. I moved across the country. Twice.  I downplayed all the porn he watched. I pushed the fact that he had an active FetLife account out of my mind. I ignored my dealbreaker about being with a smoker - something he claimed he quit, then started up again in secret, then held against me when I called him out. Making me the bad guy.  It got so bad, I suspected I had R-OCD, or relationship-based OCD. That was my only explanation for how I was always so anxious and he was always so calm. It was MY fault that something felt off. He was aware of my tendency to blame myself, and used it against me. Then, he would get to be the patient, understanding boyfriend while I broke down again and again, hating myself for being so “weak.” I wasn’t weak. He was keeping me in the dark on purpose, because it was easier to do that than to, I don’t know, be fucking honest?! 

Every time I got really bent out of shape, when the little slights and coldness and disdain had built up to a breaking point, he would let me say (or scream) my piece, and respond: “You’re right.”  Wow. Thanks!  I see now that you don’t have to do much work on yourself when you just agree with the person who is upset with you.  I’m also not writing this to paint myself as an angel. Yes, I was frustrated and confused and upset, which came out in outbursts of tears and anger. But the difference is, I was trying to connect with him in everything I did.  He was trying to push me away. it dawned on me, during one of those horrible post-breakup conversations, that he had fully checked out many months ago. I finally asked him to define a phrase I had heard him use during couples counseling (another suggestion of mine). “What do you mean by ‘I’m deeply invested in your happiness?’” “What?” “Well, like an investment, do you mean time, money, emotions? Or do you just want me to be ok?” “Yeah, that.” “Ok. so you just want me to be “okay”.” I’ll take “Performative Allyship” for 200! I’ve told myself I should have known. Should have left sooner. Should-ing myself to death, sparing him from any fault. Remember, he’s the long-suffering partner of an overly sensitive woman. Another wince-worthy excerpt from couples counseling: Our therapist asked us, at the end of a session, to each tell the other something we loved about the other person. I turned, with tears in my eyes, and told him I appreciated how consistent he was. I was always able to count on him being stable and calm.  He told me he liked how nice and clean I kept the house.  Cool! He could have saved himself about six months of this bullshit if he had just spoken his mind. I wonder, now, if he even had the capacity. But no, he preferred to wait and let me figure it out on my own, until I was so depleted that I was having almost nonstop migraines. But, just like the sibling who can’t get into trouble because they’re “NOT ACTUALLY TOUCHING YOU!!!”, nothing he did was exactly abusive.  But it was plenty shitty.  Mr. Social Justice. Mr. Feminism. Mr. Don’t Comment On That Topic Or I’ll Shut Down Emotionally. Mr. We Have To Move Away From Montana For Vague Reasons Including Racial Tension Which I Never Actually Experienced But That’s Reason Enough For Me!  And when we got to Philadelphia, it was Mr. Why Don’t You Take More Walks Outside Even Though You Get Harassed and Followed? You’re In The House Too Much (Yeah, Even Though It’s a Pandemic).  He’d spend hours on the phone talking to the nurses he helped at work. But when a woman in need lived in his own house, ew, gross! Too close to home!  There’s a line in a very funny Chris Fleming song called the “Grad Student Shuffle”, which takes the absolute piss out of white male graduate students. A few of the lines apply, but these especially: Call yourself a community organizer Even though you’re not on speaking terms with your roommates! Stand tall and look mindful Even though you're addicted to porn! C'mon! Now close your eyes Say fair enough "Fair enough" Now you are doing the Grad Student Shuffle I’ve gone back and added to this post a bunch of times since I wrote it. I like having a record, even if it’s one-sided. I realize I’m writing this as much for myself as I am for anyone else. To put my story down somewhere, and not to be too concerned if it’s fair or balanced. What happened to me wasn’t fair or balanced.  Which reminds me of the worst confrontation we ever had.  It was just an hour or two after we decided to break up. It was a sad, but quiet conversation. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved. I went upstairs to let the new reality soak in, and asked if I could steal a puff from his vaporizer. Not weird, right? What was weird was that I felt like a guest in his room. We kept separate bedrooms, which I highly recommend to any couple who can spare the space. But there is a difference between having the option of separate spaces, and feeling relegated to separate spaces. I didn’t feel welcome in his room, and he made no secret of it.  So, as usual, I asked to go in.  He had left his laptop open on the bed, and I stared off into space as I waited for the vaporizer to heat. I must note, here, that I am not a person who digs. I will run circles in my own brain, but by and large, i leave stuff alone. So I didn’t go looking for what was already on the screen, which was a conversation between him and his best friend.  I read maybe a couple sentences before realizing, oops, probably shouldn’t. It was enough to see one exchange, less than two hours after we had officially broken up. “That sucks, man. How long do you think til you’ll be back on Tinder?” “I don’t know. Probably before she moves out.”  I’d like to say I don’t remember what happened next, but I do remember. I marched down two flights of stairs, yanked two giant plastic bins out of basement storage, and rage-packed everything I owned outside of my own room in less than ten minutes. 

He, of course, had no idea. Nuanced as a fucking turtle, he told me he was going out for a walk, and then asked if something was wrong.  I let him have it. Everything that had been building inside of my body came spewing out, all at once. I stumbled over my own words, laughing-crying-screaming-asking him what the fuck he was thinking, who the fuck he was, and what the fuck was this relationship? Was any of it even REAL?  He had nothing to say.  And that, my friends, was my main mistake. Thinking anything I could ever do could ever get a reaction out of him. Could ever draw the sort of love or support or attention that I used to get from him, before he decided to turn off the tap. 

I spent another month there until I could finally move out. I could tell he was annoyed that I was still there. I remember telling him people aren’t disposable. They don’t disappear when you decide you’re done with them. Thirty days was the absolute minimum I could manage, and even that was an incredible feat.  He asked me to watch the dog, the one he adopted only a couple of months before, while he went out. I remember thinking, “Am I watching this animal so he can go out on dates? No fucking way.” I still don’t know, and I’m glad I don’t. 

He’s not the only quietly shitty guy. There are many. I’m sure bunches of them are being congratulated on their engagements or promotions right now, by people who have never dated them. Have never had the soul-wrenching realization that oh, this person who told you you were their dream and their angel and their moon and stars actually decided like a year ago that they just weren’t feeling it and didn’t have the balls to tell you.  But, feel free to question reality in the meantime! 

Women reading this, beware. There are men who hold up their hands and shrug and say shit like “I wish her the best” and know to use phrases like “emotional labor” to fake enough self-knowledge to start a relationship that they don’t know how to finish.  I encourage you to ask questions. Find out how much they know about themselves. How long their relationships tend to last. If their friends really know them. If they change jobs frequently. If they move states frequently, and why.  But most of all, know yourselves. Know that you deserve to have your questions answered, your emotions validated, and your opinions heard. There are plenty of quietly shitty men to choose from.  You don’t need to choose one. 

[roguesandsaviors]

Do Your Thing

Fandom: Baby Driver

Characters: Trace (OFC), Buddy, Griff, Bats, Baby, Doc. 

Pairing: None

Summary: Trace knows she is good at what she does even if she doesn’t always morally agree with the choices made by the others in the crew. A job leaves her a little shaken.

Word Count:2,315

Rating: SFW

Warnings: Foul language

Author’s note: So, I know that this is a rather small fandom. I watched Baby Driver and couldn’t help but absolutely adore Jon Hamm’s character, Buddy. Of course it spawned a fic. I know that he works so well with Darling and I loved the pairing in the film but I have an issue with OC’s and writing First person POV. And here it is. Hope everyone enjoys. There is more coming soon. If you haven’t seen the movie, it is definitely worth checking out. It’s a blast of a movie.

*************************************************************************************************

I sat in the back quietly, tapping away on keyboard in front of me to ensure that I had everything ready for the job. Baby was sitting next to me, headphones in as they always were. The rest of the room was quiet, no one else besides Doc at showed up yet. It wasn't unusual for the two of us to be some of the first in the room. Or the last two. It depended on the day and how much we wanted to be at the job. I didn't mind it as much as Baby did. Though I also wasn't in the sort of debt to Doc that he was. He wanted out of this life. I understood that desire. There were days that the same sort of crazy ideas bubbled to the forefront of my mind. Then I remembered that I wasn't really good at anything besides hacking. I wouldn't do good sitting behind a desk. I didn't get along others particularly well. Something about the criminal element that kept me at ease over normal people. There was nothing to hide here. These people were open about all their flaws and what they wanted. They didn't try to be someone that they weren't. Most of the time, they just accepted who everyone was for the most part. We were the youngest of the crews but we were good at our jobs. That made our place on the team acceptable. 

Rhythmically, my fingers worked over the keys in a comforting motion. Code scrolled before my eyes as I worked to gain ghost access to the systems. Doc had cops in his pocket. That should have made things easier. Not that it was difficult to begin with. If the public knew how unprotected the police department of Atlanta was, they wouldn't feel as safe. It was a pathetically easy system to hack into and with the code I was running, the counter program to keep their systems from alerting them of my presence working perfectly. 

The doors of the elevator opened with a ding. The others were here. Well at least some of them were. I didn't bother to look back. They would come into view soon enough. I kicked my legs out a bit on the stool I was perched on. There were three people that came into view. I recognized all of them from previous jobs. It was never the same crew but Doc did use the same people over. Buddy, Bats, and Griff. Two of the three I liked. Bats was a wild card and someone that set me on edge. He couldn't be trusted at all.  Not that Griff couldn’t be a dick but he wasn’t a complete asshole. I cracked my knuckles, it was a nervous habit. The other two looked towards Baby and I. They wore small matching smiles and gave acknowledging nods in our direction. I returned the nod for the both of us. Those two at least had heads on their shoulders. For criminals. It wasn't saying much but they were probably two of the most stable individuals that Doc brought in. 

Doc waited for the three men to settle in before he launched into the plan. Baby and I barely paid attention. He had his music to focus on, playing with the car that was a miniature model of what they would be driving. I continued to monitor the program. Besides Doc's voice, the sound of the key presses filled the room. I bit the tip of my tongue to keep focused instead of letting my eyes wander over the crew. I could see a million different scenarios of how this job could go. Two made calculated choices while one made knee jerk reactions. Each different scenario, I felt like I knew how Buddy and Griff would react. Their actions could be predicted to some degree of certainty. Bats on the other hand? I couldn't begin to guess beyond violently and without a care for consequences. He would put all of our lives in danger without a second thought. The math didn't work out when it came to him. That made me uncomfortable. Life could be broken down to equations and numbers even in the criminal life. Logic could come from chaos with a few tweaks. 

"Hey there sweet thing." I could have slammed my head into the desk. It would grant me the sweet unconscious release and escape from Bats. Baby couldn't do anything to help me. He had already gotten up and moved off to talk to Doc. I couldn't stop the way that my leg began to bounce with some nerves. Everyone else was involved in their own business. 

"I uh, I gotta focus on this code. I need to make sure I stay in the system for tomorrow." I lied through my teeth but it was easy to press a few buttons to pull up another program that allowed me to write programs. I dropped my eyes, hoping that the lack of interest would send him off. It didn't unfortunately and my skin crawled as he reached out. 

"Come on now. There are plenty of more...interesting things for you to focus on." He leaned into my space.

"Bats." It was Buddy who had approached and a quick glance up confirmed that Griff was watching the situation closely. There could have been real trouble if there hadn't been at least one of them there to help me out. "You're in charge of masks." Any distraction was welcomed. I wanted his focus off of me. When Bats looked away, I gave the man a thankful nod. Tap, tap, tap of the keys filled my ears and began to drown out the sound of what was happening in the room around me. The men would handle their business and let Baby and I handle ours. Well, Baby would tomorrow. He didn't have to do much until then and he didn't have to do a damn thing to prepare. He knew every escape route and road in this city like the back of his hand. 

Sitting in the car, I was in the backseat as usual. They needed a point man in the front. Unfortunately for Baby, that meant that it was Hard. Thankfully for me, I was sandwiched between Griff and Buddy. There were worse places to be. A thought I kept to myself and locked away deeply to deal with later. My program was running smoothly so far. The two men beside me were quiet and didn't dare reach over and touch my little laptop. Buddy had always been respectful enough of it and Griff had touched it once. It hadn't worked out well for that job and he learned his lesson quickly. There wasn’t a lot of talk in the car. There really wasn’t a need in the lead up to the job. They were all focus on the task at hand and what their roles were. 

The car pulling to a stop was the alert that I needed. We were at the site. I looked up finally, tearing my eyes away from the scrolling series of numbers and letters. All three men got out of the car. Their movements were in sync. I glanced towards Baby, knowing that he was focused on his music and the timing of when the others would be out of the bank. His head was bobbing along with whatever music he was listening to. It brought a smile to my face before my eyes dropped back to my screen. In a separate window, I punched in a few things and had access to the banks computer system. I grinned as a few extra windows popped up. The guys were doing their things and moving perfectly. The silence alarms were disabled before any of the tellers could hit their buttons. Another few keystrokes and the vault opened. The guys had a clear shot at grabbing what they could. The bank had just gotten a delivery of new bills this morning. There wasn’t a chance to have placed any trackers or ink packets onto them. They were ripe for the picking. Bats was screaming and waving his gun around while Griff and Buddy moved to load bags. I turned back to the department and made sure that they hadn’t picked up on anything yet. There were no calls coming through yet and my shut down of the alarm system was working perfectly. It was only a matter of time before something was told to them though. I couldn’t hack every cell phone in the area. Someone inside was bound to be doing something stupid like trying to use their phone to call 911. Or someone else to call 911. 

Buddy and Griff were done just as the call come through. 

“Time to go guys….” I mumbled as Bats seemed intent on making someone an example. Whoever the guy was in front of him was giving him a hard time. A hero type. He didn’t want to go down. That was never good since Bats couldn’t let things like that go. He was going to get us caught. I could see Griff talking to him and trying to get him moving. Before anyone could stop it though, a bullet had ended up going through the skulls of whoever was standing up to him. “Fuck.” I closed my eyes and clenched my fingers for a moment so I didn’t end up accidentally slamming my hands into the laptop. I didn’t need to be setting anything off or causing some sort of issue. I let out a slow breath before being jolted by the two men getting into the car. It was still Griff and Buddy thankfully. I remained quiet, though I did want to congratulate them on a job well done. It was Bats that had fucked everything up. Baby slammed the car into reverse before spinning us and rocketing us off. I knew that he knew these streets better than I did. I could hack into the traffic control center but he was able to get us out of this mess without me interfeing. I closed the laptop and glanced back. There were still no cops on our tail yet. I knew that was going to change. There was no way that they didn’t have units rushing to find us. 

“What the fuck was that?” Oh, Griff sounded pissed. I risked glancing to the man to the left of me. Buddy shook his head subtly and I knew that opening my mouth wasn’t a good idea. Not that I was really going to but there was no point in trying to calm Griff down. Once he got going, he wasn’t going to stop. Buddy was a little more level headed and probably should have been the one to challenge Bats. 

“Shut your mouth. Bitch was back talking and causing trouble. He was just a casualty to the situation. No one is gonna miss him and it isn’t going to cause an issue.” How the man could be that confident in that statement was beyond me. Dead bodies were always an issue. It brought more police presence and media coverage to the job. It meant someone looking into it harder than they would before. It could be the sort of thing that connected to other jobs and gave them a trail to chase. Every job that was pulled, the weapons were destroyed right after. The car met the same fate. Everything, minus the crew, that could be traced back to Doc was taken care of. Well, sometimes the crew met that fate too. It depended on the performance. Bats never seemed to be one of those that met that fate. In my mind, he was more trouble than he was worth. Doc got more of a headache out of the man than he did any sort of help. 

“You added a body to the job. That is causing more trouble than what the back talk was doing.” Griff hit the back of the seat and suddenly the gun was pointing back at him. I pressed myself a little further into the seat, shifting closer to Buddy. I didn’t want to be close to being on the receiving end of a blast by the shotgun. He had buck shot in that thing. The spray would still hit me even though we were in close range. I tucked my hands behind my back. They along with my eyes were most important to me. At least I could protect my hands without burying my face into the man next to me.

“Bats put the fucking gun down.” Buddy finally spoke up. I was practically pressed into his side and could feel the vibrations in his chest as he spoke against my back. I would have time to be embarrassed about it later. “You aren’t going to fucking shoot him while we are in the middle of our getaway.” On cue, there were some sirens behind us. Bats was contemplating it. He was genuinely thinking about shooting Griff while Baby was getting us the hell out of dodge. He finally laughed before lowering the gun. I relaxed and pulled away from Buddy, mumbling a sorry. He didn’t say anything about it. Not that I really expected him. There was a little too much tension in the car. Even as they were riding the post heist high, there was an unease there. No one wanted to break it. That fell right on Bats. Part of me wished that Griff had pulled the gun. It would have made my life easier even if it was messy and unnecessary at the moment. The man bothered me and made me feel uncomfortable. He invaded my personal space too often. If the others weren’t around, I didn’t put it past him to try something even if I said no.

#baby driver fanfiction #jon hamm #baby driver #buddy baby driver #jon hamm fanfiction #jason van horn #jason van horn fanfiction #Buddy x OC #my writing #my fic #my oc #fanfiction #Jason van horn x oc

[podmore]

strange bedfellows

did someone say... platonic bedsharing

(read it on ao3)

“Mate,” Ron groaned, “You’ve got to get a bigger bed.”

Face still buried in his pillow, Harry mumbled back. It was meant to be something along the lines of “Feel free to get your own,” but came out as a rather pathetic whine that caused a snort to rise from Harry’s other side.

Harry froze, feeling Ron go still where their sides pressed together. After a moment, a snuffling snore rose up from under the silk headscarf that was all that was visible of the bed’s third occupant, buried under a mound of blankets. Both men breathed a sigh of relief, Harry’s muffled by the pillow and Ron’s by reasonable caution. Hermione was a terror when woken before noon on a weekend.

By mutual unspoken agreement the two men extricated themselves from the blanket pile, moving as fast as possible while maintaining complete silence. Communicating solely by hand signals and insistent eyebrows, Harry followed Ron up through the rich morning sunlight and downstairs to the kitchen. While rolling his neck, Harry used his hands to push himself up back onto the countertop, legs dangling aimlessly. He kicked his heel into the cabinet below in the process and released a very manly meep, quickly suppressed and left unnoticed by his half-asleep friend.

After rifling through the meager contents of the fridge, Ron asked around a mouthful of sloppily-assembled sandwich, “You coming tonight? Nev asked after you last time.”

Harry snorted, rocking forward. “Neville just wants someone even worse at holding their drink around to take the heat off. I thought we decided after the Incident that I was better off leaving early on pub nights.”

They both winced in deeply ingrained shared trauma. This was not, in fact, due to the war, but rather to the other legendary conflict that left them with battered psyches and grim spoils: Friday night pub trivia.

“I know, mate,” Ron grimaced, leaning against the counter next to Harry, “but the Slytherins are trouncing us. We need you there as, er... moral support?”

“Nice,” Harry muttered, knocking shoulders with his best mate. “Real nice. Can’t wait.”

Ron shrugged, face open and entirely too innocent. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll watch out for you, make sure nothing goes wrong this time. You don’t have to drink, even.”

—

Ron was a filthy liar.

The pounding of the drums woke Harry far too early, squeezing a pained noise from him that he instantly regretted as he felt the vibrations in his skull, mouth far too dry for the swampy feeling of his stomach.

There were, of course, no drums, and Ginny had no compunctions about telling him so in an unreasonably chipper voice from where she was spread out next to him. She somehow managed to still look put together with Luna’s bottlecap necklace slung jauntily around her neck and a smear of what might have been green paint or worse near the edge of her freckled jaw, and Harry had no hesitation in pushing her off the bed. The loud squawk that followed was well worth it, although it made colors flash madly behind his eyes.

“Why,” Harry ground out, “the fuck did we do drinking games. Why the fuck.”

Ginny shrugged, only a slice of her visible in Harry’s eyeline over the edge of the bed he was plastered to with the weight of his sins. “I thought it would be funny?” She yelped when a tiny plastic pineapple found its way out of Harry’s wild hair and bounced off her forehead with prejudice. “Hey, I was right!”

“I,” Harry said with all the sparse dignity he could muster, “am removing you from the wards. Immediately. Traitors are not welcome in my home.”

Ginny cooed. “Oh, Haz. That’s what you said last time and the time before. Face it, you love me.”

“Less and less every day.” Still, Harry submitted to the bitter tang of defeat. Changing the wards would require movement, and he was fairly sure he was incapable.

“Besides,” Ginny continued gleefully, stretching out with her arms up and back arched, “I haven’t even told you what you got up to last night.”

“What I got up to? Don’t try to shift the blame. You’re the one who got me drunk.” Talking. Too much talking was doing his head in.

“Ye-e-es,” Ginny hand-waved the technicality, “but you’re the one who suggested body shots.”

A flood of horror shot through Harry’s already rioting stomach as he lifted his head off his pillow and away from the suspicious drool stain. “I didn’t.”

Ginny only nodded solemnly, her eyes sparkling madly. Smirking, she opened her mouth only to be hurriedly cut off.

“I’ve changed my mind, I don’t want to know.” Harry thunked his head back onto his pillow, flinching a little at the impact. “I’m never drinking again.”

—

“And then?”

Harry blinked, startled out of his reverie. “What?”

A deep, heavy sigh rose up from behind him, and Pansy blew a perfect smoke ring over his shoulder, never one to miss a chance to use the pretentious cigarette holder she thought made her look dashing. “And then what, moron? Did you and Weasley the Youngest have horrifyingly vanilla Gryffindor sex?”

“No! What? No,” Harry spluttered on the alarmingly toxic cloud. “That’s... No. Who said you could smoke inside?”

“Hm,” Pansy ignored his question easily. “I suppose she at least isn’t really the vanilla type, and you were the one to suggest—“

Harry threw up a hand to stop her. “We did not have sex, vanilla or otherwise. Please stop bringing up the body shot thing, I’ve blocked it out.”

“Why, darling,” and Harry could hear the faux surprise dripping off her tongue, “Whoever said anything about body shots? One might think it weighed on you.” She tugged gently at a lock of hair behind his ear. This being Pansy, ‘gently’ left him wincing and rubbing the smarting spot as she slid elegantly off the bed and stubbed out her cigarette on the ashtray she’d Transfigured out of his alarm clock. That would be hellish to replace. He went through at least one a week, and Hermione was getting rather suspicious at this point, having nagged him into recording all his expenses.

“Give Malfoy my love,” Harry said snidely as Pansy bent to retrieve her purse, watching her as she lingered for a moment before rising and casting a spell to smooth down her robes. Pansy loved to be watched, and hated to be touched. Harry, being rather the opposite, had found a certain stability in their chats. He even missed her when she left, some days. Today would not be one of them.

She blew him a kiss over her shoulder on her way to his drawing room and presumably its fireplace where she would certainly use far too much Floo Powder just for the private joy of inconveniencing him. “Tell him yourself, Golden Boy.”

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but she was already gone. He hated the Slytherin penchant for dramatic exits, he really did.

—

Hermione barged into the room without knocking, every line of her screaming efficiency at the cost of normal social rules. “Harry, we need to talk— oh, hello Neville. Stop screaming, it’s just me— we need to talk about the House Elf Rights Bill.”

Having had all the covers yanked off of him in Neville’s attempt to hide his bare chest, Harry had no choice but to stop feigning sleep. Besides, barriers meant nothing to Hermione anymore now that she actually helped make laws and saw the folly of rigidly adhering to a messy, contradictory system. “Hermione, please, you know I love you—”

“Yes, right,” Hermione cut him off while pulling an alarming amount of papers out of her handbag to toss them solidly onto his chest, “That’s nice, but we don’t have time for pleasantries. I need this bill before committee by next week. Where are we with the endorsements?”

Neville, still wrapped protectively in the quilt, stood and began an awkward shuffle toward the door, voice somewhat muffled by the blanket as he muttered, “I’ll just… be going, then.”

“Hermione, just— Neville, wait—” Harry cringed at the thump of Neville’s covered head at the doorframe. “A bit to the left there— Hermione, I told you I don’t want to use my name to get everything done in government. It’s unethical.” He was quite proud of himself for that argument, having debated various worthy excuses with Neville the night before over wizard’s chess.

Judging by her fearsomely arched eyebrow, Hermione was rather less impressed. “I’m well aware you’re terrible with publicity, which is why I need you to use your name to get other people to use their actual political cachet. I’ve compiled an updated list,” she said brusquely, indicating the stack of papers currently occupying his chest, “And I need you to get started on it. Actually, this really should have been done already, I don’t know what we were thinking, we’ll never make it—“

“Hey, no,” Harry jumped to assure her in a desperate attempt to stave off a full-blown crisis mode melt-down a la the Goblin Liaison Office Crisis of 2001. “It’ll be fine, I’m going to go talk to…” He glanced down at the pile still cradled in his arms and read off the first name, “...Malfoy, right now.”

He paused. “Wait. Malfoy?”

Hermione sniffled, and Harry was decent enough to avert his eyes, meaning he was forced to stare at the rather unfortunately shaped water stain some earlier occupant had left on the flat walls. “Yes, Harry, remember? He’s done all that charity work with that foundation for marginalized wizarding groups and we really need a rising star to back us right now. The Wizengamot’s still stuck in the Dark Ages, and these things take so much time without influence to speed them through, and I hate playing the game as much as you do, but—“

Harry managed to juggle the papers enough to put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder, stopping her to take a deep breath. “It’ll be fine! It’ll be fine. I’ll talk to him.” He managed to suppress a shudder at the thought, but the outlook was still grim. “I doubt he’ll want to see me, though.”

“Hm.” Hermione peered at him through red-rimmed eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Also, did you realize Neville stole your quilt?”

Harry spun on his heel to see his empty bed and let out a long, heartfelt groan. It was going to be a long day.

—

“I mean really, Malfoy? How much of an influence can he have?”

Luna hummed. “You’d be surprised, I think. Draco does have a bit of pull these days. Would you mind handing me that pin? This twist is about to fall out, and I haven’t quite figured out that third hand spell.”

Harry dutifully passed the pin back over his shoulder. “Shame, that sounds useful. What do you think Hermione meant when she said not to be sure Malfoy didn’t want to see me?”

“Yes, I think maybe adapting it from the third eye spell might have been a mistake,” Luna mused, tugging another lock into place and very gently securing it to what Harry assumed to be some sort of braid but was rather afraid to look at to confirm his suspicions. “Very different meanings, metaphysically speaking. I thought it was rather obvious, myself.”

“Then why start from that in the first place?”

Luna tucked an errant curl behind Harry’s ear, seemingly oblivious to the way it sprang out again immediately after. “I meant that Draco just wants to be your friend, Harry. That looks good, doesn’t it? The flowers add a nice bit of color.”

Harry, entirely unaware that there had even been flowers to be put in his hair, blinked. “Malfoy wants… to be my friend?”

“Well, I assume so,” said Luna, with a laugh that sounded like a rusty can opening yet was still somehow charming. “Otherwise him doing a shot off your belly button would be a rather awkward way to begin your professional negotiations.”

Harry groaned, falling back onto Luna’s outstretched legs. “I’m going to kill Ginny.”

—

“I can’t believe you got me drunk, again,” Harry mumbled into his pillow. “You’re the worst.”

An audible sniff came from beside him, and Harry could practically hear the aristocratic disdain. “You’re a lightweight, Potter. Merlin, it’s freezing.”

Rolling over, Harry blinked blearily at Malfoy, who was looking rather stiff sitting upright in his dress robes at the edge of the bed. “Neville stole my quilt. Are you going to just sit there all night?”

“I rather thought I would be returning home, actually. You received my endorsement, I was seen with you conversing amiably in a public venue to improve my image. We both got what we wanted, and now we can part ways.” Malfoy’s chin stuck out, reminding Harry of a younger, pointier git posturing for his classmates.

“Come on, Malfoy. I’m too drunk for you to Apparate.” Harry hoped he wasn’t drooling, but his mouth had gone rather numb and it was hard to tell. “Besides, we’re friends now. You have to stay over, that’s the rule.”

Malfoy opened his mouth, pausing for a moment. “That’s not… how anything works. You do know that?”

“Shhhh. Shhh shh shh.” Harry pushed at the other man’s shoulder, helping him sink stiffly into the mattress. “We’re friends. Don’t fight it.”

“I don’t…” Malfoy petered off, hesitant. “Are we?”

Harry nodded, nose scrunching into the pillow. “If you want.”

A long silence ensued, during which Harry almost drifted into blissful unconsciousness before Malfoy brought him back around with a quiet voice. “I’d… be amenable to that. I suppose.”

Harry snorted. “Good. Shut up and sleep, Malfoy.”

Another silence, and then, “Potter, it’s freezing. Your horrible feet are freezing. I will freeze if we stay here. They will find my body and you will be blamed for my untimely death.”

Letting out a soft groan, Harry reached back and poked Malfoy in the too-bony side. “Huddle for warmth, then. I don’t care, just go to sleep and hope I don’t actually kill you for the hangover I’ll have in the morning.”

After a pause, Harry felt a slight warm pressure at his back, and fought down a smirk at the thought of Malfoy having to choose between suffering the chill and spooning his childhood rival.

“Potter.”

“What, Malfoy?”

“We will never speak of this to anyone, correct?”

Harry shuddered. “Absolutely not. No one can ever know. They would be insufferable.”

Malfoy’s chin poked into Harry’s back as he nodded too quickly. “Thank Merlin for that. I’d lose all self-respect otherwise.”

Harry would have snarked back, but he was too exhausted to work up the energy, letting his weak elbow jab speak for itself.

And if an arm ended up over his waist overnight in an apparent search for warmth, well. Harry couldn’t let Malfoy have the satisfaction of seeing him crack first. They’d see who could keep a secret longest.

Malfoy had no idea what he was in for.

#hp #harry potter #draco malfoy #harry potter fanfiction #kelseysfandomfam #fic #hermione granger #ron weasley #luna lovegood #pansy parkinson #ginny weasley #neville longbottom #mine* #back at it folks prompts are open again as well

[mandivsman-blog]

So, I came to the end of a situationship about a month ago with a man I realized I didn’t know at all. We were seeing each other for about 3 months and I would consider it long distance. Now, he did the classic “love bomb” (telling me he loved me right away, selling me all type of extravagant dreams, calling and leaving messages multiple times a day) a love avoidant technique and towards the end I found out he was deeply troubled, didn’t think he was, and was probably not going to change. He actually turned me OFF at first. I found him clingy but was simultaneously intrigued because I thought he was successful, well traveled, and thought we were looking for the same things word for word. Now, I’m not excusing my part in this. He was not my usual type and at the first sign of trouble I should have left. He was 40 years old, hundreds of sexual partners, never lived with someone, moved all over the country, single for multiple years, never had a long term relationship (2+), never stayed in one place for very long, had no sense of normalcy or routine, was very emotional but lacked empathy for others, and I got a sense he thought people were disposable. And, through all of those things, he was still just being who he was. Not good, not bad. Just him.

Why did I hang around? Well, what is the #1 thing that makes us attracted to another person?

Whether THEY’RE attracted to US. Yes, that’s right, if they like you, that’s half the attraction right there. He was a Casanova right away. Spoke beautifully, like a poem. He supposedly noticed and loved things in about me that I love about myself. He was externally successful, intellegent, funny, clever. We connected deeply on a sexual level as well. It was easy to open up about things I wanted and rarely shared. We had similar goals about the future.

See, it’s easy for a man to give me attention. I glamour/alternative model, sex positive, and extremely open but they don’t know me. They don’t know my past or my fears. Men tell me things all day, everyday. It’s easy for me to simply overlook because it’s the same words over and over. A man can look 10/10, be wealthy and fit and I will feel no sense of attraction. I have to hear the right words.

Words are meaningful but they lose their value if the actions aren’t parallel. This is where it sticky because the words vs. actions is a perception and thus subjective. One person may feel like their words match their actions perfectly yet the other person feels like they are doing they exact opposite. Is there really any objective truth?

Patterns. If it weren’t for recognizing patterns in science we wouldn’t have centuries of information that’s saved millions of lives and responsible for almost every innovation we have. There’s truth in patterns. He told me multiple stories and I noticed patterns. But, what is the truth? Was it my history of being scared of men and not trusting him that made me notice these patterns? Did they matter? And who should I ask for answers?

I choose not to be in a relationship for a long time. I was in a multiple year, live-in, serious relationship for most of my twenties with the only person I ever loved. The split was, in laymen’s terms, because I didn’t want to move forward and take our relationship seriously enough. This still haunts me some days, some days I think it was a blessing. I felt like a kid most of that relationship but I still remember how freeing and how fufilling full trust and endless love and affection was.

He loves me. He would never hurt me. He cares if I have a headache or a bad day. He makes me a priority. He wants to make me happy. He protects me.

And, In turn, I did the same plus more.

That relationship had been outgrown, unfortunately, and there was nothing him or I could do to stop it. He was air headed and light. Surface level. I am intense, quirky, horny, intense, highly-intelligent, inquisitive, complex. I take up space. I crave learning, doing, seeing, questioning. He liked watching TV.

After our split, I had a rough several years. I needed time to heal and figure things out. This time was the first time I truly spent time alone instead of jumping back in a relationship or dating. This is the best thing that I have ever done.

When a person goes from relationship to relationship, fuck to fuck, person to person, they just wind up mirroring their current partners personality instead of cultivating their own. Chamaeleon like. You need consist, heart wrenching, gut churning time alone. A person needs time to let their heartbreak, disappointed heal to change the essence of their character. This is growth. Jumping from one person to another is a distraction. It chips away. Now, I’m not talking about taking interest in your partners interests. I actually love that part of relationships because I love learning from my partners. I’m talking about melding your life with theirs and basically becoming your partner. 

Anyway, I kept on trying to break it off with this person. He was saying beautiful words but I could never feel comfortable with him. He was had no schedule and his stories didn’t match up. I would bring up inconsistencies but he would shrug them off.

Doubt began to built.

When we began seeing each other he did tell me there was some overlapping but about a month in I decided I didn’t want to see someone with that kind of baggage and tried to break it off. He told me, “I have no one else.” Now, it was just “I have no one else.” It was paragraph after paragraph. Phone call after phone call cementing the fact that there was no one else and he wanted me, was pursuing me, and saw a future with me.

But, that wasn’t the case.

He was still boo loving and fucking that girl. I asked him again and he finally told me the truth. A 24 year old girl (he’s 40), with severe co-dependent issues. He told me her current boyfriend (they’re in an open relationship)was older than him and basically controlled her whole life and didn’t treat her well. I felt for that, no one deserves that but hearing that he was OK with entering the life of that person who was extremely sick, and fucking her changed the way I looked at him. If he wanted to help her without the benefit of sex, that would be one thing. I was devastated. I couldn’t understand how someone could tell me the things he had said to me and blantantly lie to me.

Still I tried to make things work because I felt like we could have a great future together...and I just couldn’t fucking let that go...

He told me he would break it off. I asked “in person?” And he said “My therapist and I will decide.” This puzzled me and hurt me. After this situation caused so much drama between us, why add more strife? Remember how he thought she deserved a break up person when I tell you how he disrespectfully ended things with me...

And, I just want to add, if things hadn’t moved lightening fast between us, I would not have felt this way. I’ve been through similar situations with men I’ve cared for and have never been in as much pain as that betrayal made me feel. When clearing out my phone of anything regarding him, I deleted over 20 voicemails from him.

He told me “I don’t want to lose you. I’ve never met anybody like you and I’m scared I won’t again.”

Sounds like bullshit, I know, but everybody secretly wants to hear that from their partner. It felt so good. It felt like I found a friend and lover who had plenty of experience but out of all those women he picked me. We all want to believe that. We all play the fool sometimes.

Anyway, I was in rare form. Since the quarantine I had stopped taking my ADHD med bc of insurance issues which I really need for multiple things including mood, and focus, my mental health was declining, I was drinking a lot, I had little direction, and here this man comes along to swipe me off my feet. He had some extravagant baggage which, when I first heard, I was like “this is not my guy but fun for now”, but I grew to want to walk with him through his problems, grow with him, and nurture him. That’s who i am. The problem was, I couldn’t trust or forgive him. So, he wasn’t doing the actions needed to help restore trust. The second he hurt me and I started reacting, I could feel him start pulling away. He had multiple, heavy things going on and whether he wanted to build trust but couldn’t bc he was busy or he didn’t care to, I will never know.

I also was trying to connect with my absent father at the time which did not go well. I should have known better. Every time my father tries to reconnect with me, my life and psych gets flipped on it’s head because, he’s still the same man who abandoned my mother and I when I was a child. See, it would be different if he had done therapy or actually attempted to be a better human but he hasn’t. He just shows up periodically and says “forgive me.” And I’m not, “no, you selfish mother fucker, show me you’ve changed.” He can’t. He’s 50 years old and is who he is. He disturbs my life subconsciously and consciously. He is to me. I was having a this battle with my father and trying to make things work with my love interest...

But I couldn’t stop being angry with him. I couldn’t stop feeling stupid for trying to believe what he was trying me. I kept trying to break off the relationship like once a week. At the time, I really didn’t want to be with him. I felt disgusted with his character but breaking down the root of that action, I just wanted to manipulate him into comforting me.

How pathetic is that?

Such a hard pill to swallow for me. I didn’t have the tools to regulate my emotions and communicate what I needed. I didn’t have the balls to firmly let go of the relationship. I was miserable running in circles.

Now, this was the absolute wrong thing to do and definitely is emotional blackmail. I hated that I was doing it. It hurt me and weighed me down. The person I cared for was walking on eggshells. I was hurting the person I cared for and he was also hurting me.

When I would drink, I would have meltdowns. They weren’t funny or cute. They were hurtful and designed to cause pain. If we’re talking in self-help terms..every time I would feel triggered, my “pain body” or “shadow” would be stimulated and their main function is the cause damage and posing as a faux coping mechanism.

Painbody-“It is an accumulation of painful life experience that was not fully faced and accepted in the moment it arose. It leaves behind an energy form of emotional pain. It comes together with other energy forms from other instances, and so after some years you have a “painbody,” an energy entity consisting of old emotion.”

I remember painbody being described in Eckort Tolle’s “The Power of Now” as “A lizard eating it’s own tail.” A pain that causes you to hurt people and that also hurts you to hurt people. I hadn’t been triggered like this is years. My mind forgot how to protect itself in a healthy way. I was just doing the best I could.

I met his parents and brother in Denver. This meant a lot to me because, for me, I would never introduce my mother to someone I wasn’t sure about. To me, that’s unfair to my mother to constantly bring man after man over for him to meet.

At this point, communication is declining, he’s trying to do the books for several businesses, meet up with friends, travel, and work...yet is trying to build a connection with me? It wasn’t the right time. I needed to feel like the person who supposedly “loved” me actually cared about integrating me into their life. We had nothing planned to see each other, he always made plans last minute. This was another big reason I couldn’t feel comfortable with him. He expected me to be completely on his schedule. Every time he would tell me, 5-7 ahead of the time he was free and I’d have to completely change my schedule for him. I would have to change plans with friends, family. I’d have to move shifts around at work and lose money. Also, he used to call me in the middle of the night and I would wake up and answer. During his all night shifts sometimes he would sometimes call me multiple times. I was so discombobulated. I was trying to be there for him. I wanted to be with him.

Last time I saw him I flew to Seattle. It was going fine until i asked whether he was still talking to that young girl. He said he had. He also acted like she had a family emergency and I was some monster for being upset about him talking to her. At that moment, I knew it wasn’t over between them. He was also showing me something on his phone and I held it a little closer to my face and he snatched the phone out of my hand. Both situations he convinced me I was wrong and should believe him despite his sneaky, withdrawn behavior. I had so much anxiety. I drank the rest of the weekend to try and calm down which had the opposite affect.

After I came home, We barely spoke. I tried to break it off with him twice. He send me a picture of him crying. I was sick. I couldn’t feel better. It had been so long since a man made me feel so small, so insignificant. Everything he said and did contradicted each other. What was the truth?

I began to not tell me friends anything because I was so embarrassed that I still stuck around. I don’t know why but I believed he was good. I believe he cared for me. I believed we could make it.

I went to a therapy appointment and laid everything out in a brutal 2 hour session. I was transparent because I knew I couldn’t figure this out without complete honesty. I called him crying, telling him I missed him and wanted to make this work. At this point, he seemed nonchalant. I think he probably was already seeing the girl again at this point bc he was completely different. That week he was working and barely spoke to me. He answered me hours later. He cared nothing for me. He was tired of my reactions and thought he was absent of responsibility for my behavior.

This made me feel desperate. Desperate for an answer, desperate for a reason. Desperate for the truth. I felt the pull of abandonment on my chest. I called him, he wouldn’t answer. I called again, he wouldn’t answer. This bothered him. When I would speak to him he would act annoyed with me like I was bothering him. Remember though, this man would call me 5-7 times a day, leave multiple messages, send pictures and videos all day long, and a week before this, send a picture of his ass crying. I have NEVER had such a piece of emotional manipulation sent to me IN MY LIFE. And just like that, he snatched all that back. It meant nothing.

I reached out one more time. I spilled my heart out. I said we could start over again. I had meant what I said. He sounded reluctant the whole time but eventually agreed. I promised that I was working daily on forgiving him and working to feel safe in my own body as to not project on him. It didn’t feel right. After this conversation I felt uneasy. I really thought “this is my person and I’m gonna have cute little, smart babies with him”, but at this point he made it seem like it was a competition. I knew there was other women, possibly multiple, I would knew I would never be happy not being the queen. I wouldn’t be able to respect him or look up to him. I knew he had no sense of loyalty and yet I still wanted to make it work. Him not having loyalty perplexed me because his parents are good people his and been together for years and years.

My phone rings at 2:30, I thought he was attempting to make more contact with me (bc that was one of the things I had said would make me feel comfortable) but he sounded weird. I asked “Why did you call me?” And, I don’t really remember what he said but, it was along the lines of “this is the way it is and I don’t wanna deal with it. This is not for me.” He broke things off with me. Then, to add insult to injury, he added “The man you end up with is going to be the happiest man in the world.” Man, stfu. If you’re a man and you’re reading this, never fucking do that. It’s just so shitty and pretentious. This is a pattern of his. He did it to someone else with me. But he felt the other woman deserved in person and I deserved a 2 minute fuck you phone call at 2:30 am. That being said, my guess is he tried to break it off with her but a. It was never completely broke off bc he’s not capable of making a firm decision and B. She’s young and naive so it’s easier not to be held accountable and she’ll be less likely to enforce her needs c. She’ll let him fuck who he wants bc she’s nonmonagomous. D. It’s a trauma bond. E. They lived in the same state. It was just so fucking obvious and I tried to force myself to ignore it.

Anyway, I said goodbye.....and went right the fuck back to sleep. I am not kidding when I say, the weight had been lifted right then and there. Sure, I was mad I was disrespected, lied to, and maltreated but the limbo and that weird feeling in my tummy was torturing me. I spent a week boohooing. I liked him, I missed him but, all in all it wasn’t that deep. I didn’t love him, I was ATTACHED to him. I wouldn’t have been attached to him if he didn’t sell me a dream.

I had screenshots of some of grandiose things he’s said to me and honestly, I just had to laugh. Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe what people are capable of.

But, I’m giving myself a break. Since quarantine I’ve been through some changes. After the quarantine started, my yoga studio closed which I went to 5 days a week. I was also meditating at least 5 days a week.I feel like I was really happy and grounded. The difference between my psych then and now is profound. When I lost my job I couldn’t afford my ADHD med this summer so I had to abruptly stop it (Stratera) which definitely left me kind of out of sorts. I wasn’t working, I was alone, I was worried about money, I moved, my (absent) father was trying to come back into my life all while trying to take care of anyone and everyone I could because that’s just what I do. Also, I have a pattern of Rocky starts in relationships. I try to be who I am from the beginning, work things out, and then have a great rest of the relationship without waiting until 2 years in for you to find out that I’m awful. I’ve had good and bads experiences with this. 🤷🏼‍♀️

I was stupid. I can’t even say I wont act stupid in another relationship again. I probably will because sometimes I suck and that’s okay.

To be continued and edited...

[incomplete-nano-stash]

Welcome to Technasia Ch 12

              “What do you mean, she’s not here?” Prince Guent’s bellow echoed through the meeting chamber, making the remaining Council of Lords cringe under his fury.

              Lord Qine cleared his throat cautiously. “We haven’t heard from Lord Moethran today. I had assumed she and Prince Thaylen would be back by now for this meeting.”

              Prince Guent growled. “You thought wrong, Lord Qine. Like you usually do, you borderline …”

              “Enough!” King Turgen’s own bellow echoed as much as Prince Guent’s had. “We shall deal with her absence as we go along. As it happens, she has been sending daily missives to me, and I am aware of her circumstances.” King Turgen handed a missive over to his son.

              Prince Guent scoffed at the report. “Technasia had another attempt. Good.”

              King Turgen’s temper exploded and he slapped Prince Guent on the back of his head. “Concentrate on our issue, boy! Lord Jair is dead, assassinated at his own inn.” King Turgen coughed hard and suddenly. “We need to find a replacement for him on this Council, and quickly.”

              Lord Qine and Lord Poe looked at each other suspiciously. “Which of us should name the new Lord, Your Majesty?” Lord Poe finally asked.

              King Turgen scoffed. “Let’s make it a race. First one to find a new Lord and get him past me and my son becomes the new Second House of Litigia. Obviously the House of Jair is no longer fit for the title.”

              Lord Qine cleared his throat gently. “If I may, Your Majesty, why not elevate the House of Moethran back to its original station?”

              King Turgen’s eyes narrowed to slits as he regarded the suggestion from Lord Qine with the same respect he gave horse excrement in his stable. “Let’s put this bluntly. I don’t trust Lord Moethran. I trust her about as far as I can throw her with my left nut. The House of Moethran lost its station as Second House because of her, because of her daft father’s insistence that she inherit his title, that she not wear a giggler, that she take his place on this Council.”

              Lord Qine bristled. “She has proven herself time and again in this body.”

              Lord Poe scoffed at this. “Proven how much of a pain in the ass she can be, you mean. We don’t need those kinds of ideas in this nation’s government.”

              “We don’t need her,” Prince Guent added. “This Council would be better off finding a replacement for the House of Moethran at the same time as we replace the House of Jair.”

              King Turgen’s grip on his goblet was so tight the vessel was shaking. He stood up and flung the cup down the middle of the table. “Enough!” His roar brought the other men to instant silence. “Lord Poe, what do we know about Lord Jair’s assailants?”

              “Nothing, Your Majesty,” Lord Poe responded. “We’re not even sure how he was killed. We couldn’t find a weapon to cause that horrific entry wound.”

              Prince Guent smirked. “It’s Technasia. Has to be. That vile Queen sent an assassin in response to the Killaine chick getting offed.”

              King Turgen glared at the Prince. “If I had any better ideas as to who it was, I’d thrash your ass right here and now, boy. Unfortunately,” he sighed, “I don’t. Especially not from the information Lord Moethran has been sending.”

              “How do we know it’s accurate?” Lord Poe offered.

              “She’s a lot of things, but she’s loyal,” Lord Qine rebutted.

              “Loyal to us? Or loyal to her sex? Because I doubt she’s loyal to us if she’s not making every effort to get back here for this meeting,” Prince Guent argued. “I bet even money she’s in with Guerrania and her estrogen brigade. Plotting against us.”

              Lord Qine’s teeth ground at the suggestion. He stood up. “You would accuse her of treason, in absentia, just because she’s a woman?”               “I would do a lot of things to her just because she’s a woman, and I don’t give two fucks if she gives me permission or not,” Prince Guent retorted, standing up in front of his own smaller throne. “Know your place, Qine.”

              Lord Qine gripped the table tighter. “Your Highness, Your Majesty, you are well aware that I have been Lord Moethran’s closest ally on this Council for years. I know her better than any others here, and I swear to you, upon my life and my House’s honor, Lord Moethran is many things but not a traitor. Despite all your efforts to marginalize her, Lord Moethran is a member of this Council, in good standing, and deserves the respect that her House has coming to it, and the respect of all of us here.”

              Dead silence ruled the room for a half a minute after Lord Qine concluded and sat down. Silence that was only broken by Prince Guent’s sudden guffaw. He leaned forward in his seat. “So how long have you been fucking her?”

              Lord Qine reached his breaking point. He leaped up and rushed toward Prince Guent’s seat, lifting the Prince out and throwing him against a nearby wall. Lord Qine pressed his forearm against the Prince’s throat. Fire flared in the Lord’s eyes as he gritted his teeth in utter rage.

              “I don’t give a damn who you are, or who your daddy is, or what you can do to me. Disparage Lord Moethran again in my presence, or even hint at impropriety with her, and I swear to God I will feed you your testicles until you shit them out, and then feed them to you again. You got it, daddy’s boy? I will end you. I will humiliate you, and I will end you.”

              Prince Guent whimpered pathetically. Lord Qine dropped the Prince from his vulnerable position on the wall and returned to his seat. Prince Guent coughed and wheezed, trying to regain his breath.

              King Turgen smirked at Lord Qine. “I think the Lord’s opinion has been made crystal clear.” The King rubbed his own neck. “Then shall we agree that Lord Moethran’s mission will continue? Because that’s my inclination. It’s far more important that we avoid any chance of Inperia’s daughter designing weapons for Queen Guerrania than it is to ensure that Lord Moethran makes it back in time for emergency meetings.” The King cleared his throat. “In the meantime, Lord Poe, I wish to increase our order of equipment from your company. Can this be arranged?”

              Lord Poe smiled. “We can start negotiations immediately, Your Majesty.”

              “Very well, then. Gentlemen, this meeting is adjourned.” King Turgen knocked against the table, signaling the excusing of the two Lords, who quickly left the room, leaving the King alone with his still stunned son.

              Prince Guent looked over at his father, his eyes flashing a sense of betrayal. “Dad, what the hell? That was blatant treason what Lord Qine did!”

              King Turgen stood up and slowly approached his son. “Yes, but it’s an act that I’ve fought the urge to do at every single Council meeting you’ve attended.” The King approached until he stood completely over Prince Guent. “Because you deserved it, you know.”

              Prince Guent spat at his father’s feet. “You’re going soft, Dad. She’s had too much influence on you, she’s making you turn into a pussy.”

              King Turgen reached down and grabbed his son by his collar, hoisting him back to his feet. “I am a leader, boy. I’m not some penny-ante tyrant who only wants what his country can give him and all the luxury that entails. I believe in my people. I believe in this nation. I believe in my ability to lead this country through these trying times.” He shook Prince Guent before letting go of the Prince’s collar. “What have you done to earn this station? What have you done to make Litigia a better place? All you’ve done is brawl and fuck your way through your people with little regard for their lives, with only selfish motives.” King Turgen sighed deeply. “Why did I make you the heir?”

              Prince Guent grinned. “I see it now, Father. I see it. You’ve become weak. You’re turning into Queen Guerrania.”

              King Turgen shot another glare at his son. “I am the responsible adult in this room, Guent. Until you can show you can control yourself, or be a proper leader, then you will never be ready to assume the throne.” King Turgen shuffled out of the room. “Choose your path wisely, boy. I can’t wait another lifetime.”

              Prince Guent seethed. He leveled a swift, hard kick to his father’s Council throne, knocking it aside and breaking an armrest off of it. Pulling a hand slate out of his pocket, he furiously typed out a missive.

                “Well, that was revealing,” Thaylen quipped as he and Firnian re-entered their quarters at the Central Palace. “Had he never told her about being an immigrant before?”

              Firnian shrugged. “Maybe not. Tuck seems like the type who wouldn’t like secrets being kept from her. Did you see her face when she opened that box?” The Lord sat down on the bed. “That was betrayal. Betrayal from family.”

              Thaylen nodded. “I guess I’m not exactly that well-versed in reading people.” He sat down next to Firnian. “What about the mini-ballista? I didn’t think any were here.”

              Firnian took Thaylen’s hand in hers. “Neither did I. I think Lord Poe would have known about it if it went missing. No, I think someone purchased it and brought it here.”

              “Would it have made it through the port? How did it not get seized?”

              Firnian smirked. “Disassemble it and call it parts for a watermill. There’s no way of discerning the difference just from loose parts, especially if you’re crafting your own spears here.”

              “And the air cans? Those require some explanation.” Thaylen laid down on the bed, letting go of Firnian’s hand; a headache was starting to overtake him from all of the thinking and theorizing.

              “That’s true, I hadn’t really considered that.” Firnian settled in next to Thaylen, who put an arm around the Lord. “Let me try sending a missive to Lord Poe, see what he can tell us.” She pulled out her hand slate and was about to start writing when a message popped up. “Oh, what’s this?” She opened it curiously.

                             FIRNIAN

                             DO NOT COME HOME!

                             GUENT THINKS YOU A TRAITOR. WILL KILL YOU ON RETURN.

                             ATTEMPTED TO TRY YOU IN ABSENTIA AT EMERGENCY COUNCIL MEETING.

                             UMBRIENT

              Firnian’s breathing came much quicker. “They think me a traitor.” She looked up at Thaylen. “They want to kill me. They want to take my house … want to take Daddy’s house …” Her eyes were welling up.

              Thaylen clutched her tighter. “They think me a disgrace, and you a traitor. As far as they’re concerned, we’re just the designated bitches of Litigia.”

              Firnian’s face hardened, even as she sniffled in her sadness. “Litigia is my home just as much as it is his.” She looked back up at Thaylen. “If we’re going to be the bitches, then fine. We’ll be Litigia’s bitches, but we’ll make them all pay dearly for making us their bitches.”

              Thaylen hugged Firnian tighter. “That’s the Firnian I love.” He kissed her gently and lovingly. “I’m with you, all the way. You can count on me.”

              Finally, a smile cracked through Firnian’s steel face. “Then let’s start with figuring out who’s trying to kill Princesses here.” She sat up in the bed. “I’ll get my missive off to Lord Poe, and then I think I’d like to talk with Princess Ramia.”

              “I’ll be right behind you,” Thaylen called as Firnian stood up and walked toward the door. His own hand slate started to vibrate, and he pulled it out to read the missive.

                             To all Litigia –

Your Lord High Protector, King Turgen, announces that as of this evening Lord Firnian Moethran, Lord of the House of Moethran, has been convicted in absentia of treason against the Crown and People of Litigia, and of conspiracy to commit the murder of Lord Bruxien Jair. The Lord has been removed from the Council of Lords, and her House has been declared dishonorable and removed from the Great Hierarchy of Litigia. Moethran and any and all associated with her are hereby declared enemies of the State, and are placed under arrest under pain of death. Moethran has been sentenced in absentia to public display, followed by death, upon her return to within the borders of Litigia. It is advised that any attempts to prevent the carriage of justice will be considered an act of treason, and if committed by a foreign power will be tantamount to a declaration of war.

              Thaylen’s heart leaped into his throat. He ran after Firnian in a panic.

                Lord Qine read the missive, his eyes darkening as he did. Anger continued to bubble within him, anger at Prince Guent, anger at the King, anger at the entire society. He slid his hand slate into his pocket, grinding his teeth in stressed distress.

              A loud banging on the door of his chamber finally drew his attention out of his red cloud of anger. “Yes, come in.”

              The door burst open, and five heavily armed guards rushed into the room, clasping a tight hold on Lord Qine. They forced him to his knees even as he struggled against them.

              “Get your hands off me! I am a Lord of the Council of Lords!”

              “You’re nothing but a pathetic pussy,” a familiar voice echoed into the room. Prince Guent cracked his knuckles. “You always have been. And tonight you made your final, fatal mistake.” He bent down to whisper in Lord Qine’s ear. “And hey, don’t feel sad. Soon your little fuck buddy Moethran’s going to be with you in Hell. I signed her death warrant myself.” He stood up, turning to the guards. “Get him on the floor! Now!”

              The guards pushed Lord Qine down until he was completely prone on the floor, pinning his limbs out at his side. Lord Qine snarled up at the Prince. “Your father won’t let this go, boy. Do you really want to do this?”

              Prince Guent grinned and snarled back. “My father won’t have much more left to do after tonight.” He nodded to a guard, who grabbed Lord Qine’s hair to force his face up to look at Prince Guent. “And you won’t say a word.” Prince Guent reared his foot back. Just before the moment of impact, Lord Qine finally noticed that Prince Guent was wearing boots from a suit of armor … his final observation before one of those feet impacted through his face and severed his spinal column at the base of his head.

#nanowrimo #incomplete nano

[anautisticdragon-blog]

On Polygon, Being an SJW, & Insecurities

Deep breath.

So, I dig Polygon. For those who aren't familiar with such an outdated parlance, it means I like them. In fact, I'm a big fan. I might even say I love them. No, that's not fair. The McElroys are involved, including that big baby Travis whom I'm so fond of. So, yes, I do love them. It's not fair to say that I 'might.'

Are Polygon and the McElroys SJWs? Well, from the Alt-Right perspective... Yep. I'm a goddamn SJW, me. Just like Green Arrow. God I loved the controversy that caused, thank you Ben Percy, you're one of my new favourite comic book writers.

What does being an ‘SJW’ mean?

From the Alt-Right perspective, it simply means... You're just not part of the White Supremacy Circlejerk. That's it. Yes, that is the great sin of it all, everyone. If you're not a vile White Supremacist, you're an "SJW cuck." Which is interesting, but I want to get back to that later.

What does being a social rights activist mean to me?

It means I try harder. I've been hurt, I have flaws. I'm human. I err, I fuck up, it's ugly. The difference is is that I have the self-awareness to realise I need to keep trying. I had a problem where I was prejudiced against neurotypicals because so many of them were personally responsible for making my life as an autistic person hell. And yet, that's just spreading the disease of prejudice. I had to stop that. I did stop that.

I've come to realise that it's 'toxic normality' that's the problem, rather than any person or group. And the group which has the most power is going to use all their resources to push their own version of that to homogenise the world into something that they're comfortable with. Which is precisely what the Alt-Right is trying to do. It's exactly what Nazi Germany tried to do, albeit it in a much violent way. I insist though that if you see a Nazi, you should say Nazi. Whether they're part of a military or not.

It's not like the Alt-Right hasn't done their fair share of slaughter in the name of their holy quest. Gunning down an LGBTQ bar, driving into a crowd of peaceful protestors, or even a guy chasing down and beating his elderly dad to death just for having left-leaning opinions. All of this is true, and all of it is endemic of the cancer which fuels the Alt-Right. This sense of their 'default status' as healthy, cishet, white individuals. Their 'normality.'

How does this tie into Polygon?

I was curious why so many of the White Supremacist types have tried to slander Polygon, whether they had any kind of argument or not. And, 2 times out of 10, they'll actually latch onto something that's slightly shady. This is all part of a process of manipulation, though. You have to be right every now and then in order to deceive people when you know you're completely wrong. You can point at that and say 'Unfortunately, I've already proved us right.'

It's a very skeevy, political play. It's the kind that the Alt-Right love. Essentially, they'll dig, they'll doxx, and they'll find the tiniest bits of dirt on a person. Then they'll use those mistakes that someone they dislike has made and weaponise them to make their outright lies and manipulative deceits appear as valid to the untrained eye. It works. It's a very effective, powerful tactic.

If you've been a little bit honest, you can keep using that tiny bit of honesty to shut people down if you're loud enough. It becomes a back and forth where they're trying to detail the dishonesty and the skeevy person is just pointing at this one honest thing they did as a counter-example. It's incredibly commonplace in right wing politics, Trump does it all the goddamn time.

Be honest 2 per cent of the time, then just be loud enough about the 98 per cent of the time that you're not. That's often enough to prey on the cognitive dissonance, biases, prejudices, and worse of people in order to bring them around to believing horrible things.

So the arguments against Polygon hold no water.

Why do they do this, then? Why do sites like Deepfreeze actively lie and misrepresent opinions and everyday occurrences as vile breaches of journalistic etiquette?

As much as the Alt-Right proclaims to love free speech, they hate anyone outside of their echo chamber. They'll often try to shut them down with lies, manipulation, deceit, numbers, loudness, and even violence when they (in their very White minds) think it's 'necessary.' Polygon is left leaning, it's inclusive and accepting of different kinds of people. To all in the Alt-Right, that makes them "leftist cucks."

What does 'cuck' mean? Take a look at this. It's a deeply, heinously racist word that gets to the core of the insecurities of the White Supremacist. You see, it all comes down to race-based sexual anxiety. It's all about dick sizes, if I'm honest. White Supremacists are often White Supremacists because they're tiny down there. Hence "cuck."

Which, hilariously, was at the root of Hitler's insecurities, too. I'm not fucking with you. Hitler had a really tiny dick. This is what drives almost all of White Supremacy.

So, these men with tiny dicks are riddled with insecurities. The insecure often take to overly conservative, traditionalist views because it makes them feel safe. It doesn't put them in a position where they feel less powerful. And since they're already insecure, they need to feel powerful. This means using the dirtiest, lowest tactics to bring down anyone who they perceive as any enemy to their divinely ordained, absolutely perfect White Supremacy.

So if Polygon is inclusive of other ethnicities, if they support strong women, and they generally have a strong willed enough perspective to be left leaning?

Yeah. Exactly.

The thing is? This 'toxic normality' I've talked about often comes back to cognitive dissonance and people feeling just really scared and insecure. That's what's going on, here. Why would anyone use genuinely deceitful, underhanded tactics like this? Why would anyone try to destroy or harm those who're not like them? It's all about the insecurities. They're scared children who feel like their comfortable rug of entitlement is about to be swept out from beneath them.

Oh no! Imagine that! They won't be seen as the divine 'default state' any more. They won't be seen as 'normal.' So what does that leave them with? Well, besides their tiny dicks, of course? Nothing. It leaves them with nothing. They aren't talented people, they're not creative (which is why they're always appropriating, co-opting, and outright criminally stealing things rather than making their own), so they've got nothing to fall back on other than "I'm just so Superior 'cause I'm White!"

Y'see?

So Polygon, being inclusive and supportive, is a threat to what they see as the status quo. They don't want the Zeitgeist to shift in a way that would be unfavourable to them. They're worried they'd lose their entitled, fortunate position they hold over all others. Then all they're left with is their lack of talent and their small dicks.

It's not because they're extraverted, it's not because they're neurotypical, it's not even really because they're white (that's just a tool). It's because they've enjoyed an entitled lifestyle of benefit over all others, and these people know that if they didn't have that, they'd have nothing. They know they get picked in jobs over more talented people by prejudiced bosses because they're white men, if that boon were to shift against them? Well, goodbye cushy job! They'd have to finally learn what life is like without those benefits.

So Polygon isn't responsible for having unethical journalism. Polygon is responsible for having their own opinions, and left leaning perspectives which make incredibly insecure White Supremacists feel uncomfortable. And here's the kickers. Whenever a White Supremacist sees a black, male writer on one of these sites? They don't think it's because they might be talented, but rather because they're winning the 'White entitlement' away from the Alt-Right, that Polygon are ‘pandering.’ And because they've got bigger dicks.

So... Hopefully that's an insight into the mind of an Alt-Right person. Just think of them as tiny, insecure people who're sexually anxious. Yet also people who've been privileged and boosted up by society despite their shortcomings -- emotional, intellectual, and otherwise.

Normally, I'd never shame someone for having a small penis. The thing is, though? It truly does get to the root of why they are, and it's important to understand this insecurity whenever you find yourself having to deal with them. It puts a feather in your cap, that you can understand why they're behaving this way.

Like I said, it all comes back to that word they use, "cuck."

To use ‘cuck’ is to basically say "I'm insecure of other people because I have a tiny penis, and I believe the stereotypes of other ethnicities naturally having a bigger penis than us whites."

Is that sad? Yes. Is that pathetic? Yes. Is that pitiable? Yes. Is that the defining, driving aspect of the Alt-Right? Also yes.

Why do we even pay attention to them?

It's funny, really. If they had an iota of creativity they'd finally understand Austin Powers' dad. It's not the size, it's how you use it. If they had an iota of creativity, they'd be good enough in bed to make up for whatever deficiencies they feel they have. So, really, a small penis isn't a good reason to feel just as insecure as they do. And yet, that's what it's all about.

In a way, it's 'toxic masculinity' and 'toxic normality' turned back on them. Since it's 'normal' to have a big dick, right?

And... in the end, I sort of feel sorry for them. I mean, I also don't because they do kill people. They are murderers and we can't really ignore that, can we? They are criminals, and they have that killer instinct and willingness to maim and kill those they disagree with. So I can't feel too sorry for them but... I also kind of do?

They're just these manchildren lashing out because of their insecurities, with no creativity to make up for it. They're just turning to lies, deceit, and clumsy manipulation to try and prove to the world that they're so great. And... doesn't it just all come over as over-compensating? It's sad. They're sad.

So, beyond the violence, I don't really think that Polygon needs to ever worry about the Alt-Right. I hope Polygon will always continue to be left leaning, opinionated, inclusive, and as ‘SJW’ as they can be. No matter how insecure it makes some particularly sad, pathetic people feel.

Don't feel too much pity for them, though. As I keep pointing out -- do keep in mind that they are murderers. They're not exactly the most wholesome group. See a Nazi, say Nazi. There's never been any good reason to not make fun of a Nazi. That's exactly what I'm doing here, because it needs to happen. It's a little vindictive and petty, sure, but again... I feel the need to point out they're hardly innocent lambs.

They deserve all of this lambasting, and more.

Plus, their toxic opinions have hurt people I care about, and I like Polygon! So this was very cathartic for me. Again: There has never been a good reason to not make fun of a Nazi.

#alt-right #polygon #sjw #making fun of nazis