im annoyed and a little pedantic so can i just say as a blanket statement

queerbaiting is when the promotion for a FICTIONAL STORY intentionally hints towards two characters having a romantic relationship, without any intention to follow through in the show, in order to get queer people watching without discouraging the homophobic enjoyers of the show

queerbaiting is NOT:

a celebrity who you think is queer because theyre gnc or they have a 'vibe'. that is a real person and they cannot queerbait

two friends of the same gender pretending to flirt with each other for fun. those are real people and they cannot queerbait

a show with two characters of the same gender who are canonically friends that YOU PERSONALLY think would be better in a relationship. that's not bating, that's shipping, and subject to opinion

there are more but those are the main examples of people misunderstanding what queerbaiting is and being mad at something that isn't actually a problem

Day 1 - Friends/Family

My first post for @sihjrweek

Disclaimer: I’m sick LOL so if something is weird or bad ~blame it on that~

-

Saga never really understood why people couldn’t ever shut the hell up about their partners.

It seemed as though if his classmates weren’t panicking about their grades then they were going on and on about my boyfriend took me to karaoke this past weekend or my girlfriend sent the cutest text or my boyfriend does this adorable snort when he laughs, my girlfriend this, my boyfriend that, blah, blah, blah, blah.

It gave him yet another excuse to add to his long list of reasons to avoid his peers and not put in the effort to make any friends. He didn’t want to be obligated to listen to someone go on and on about their significant other - who they’d probably break up with come graduation (not to mention the unavoidable post-breakup drama). Saga had a feeling that any friends he made would get sick of his cynicism pretty quick anyway. So, it was just better if Saga continued to keep his distance and judge quietly instead of wasting everyone’s time. 

And then Saga Masamune just had to meet Oda Ritsu. 

Saga supposed he had no one but himself to blame (though, he did try to blame Ritsu more often than not in an attempt to make himself feel better). If Saga had just rejected the underclassman from the start instead of making the decision to play this little game then Saga wouldn’t have had the chance to develop…feelings. 

Gross, Saga instinctively thought, his face feeling a little warm as he scribbled down notes in math class. Even silently acknowledging the fact that he was not a completely apathetic, disinterested, detached human being made him start to spiral down the path of embarrassment. 

So annoying and stupid, he scolded himself with a silent huff in a vain attempt to discourage anymore thoughts about his issue. He copied down an example problem the teacher gave before he started to wonder, does Ritsu still need help with math? He never told me how his last test went.

Not that he cared.

He definitely didn’t care about how Ritsu did in math class.

At all. 

And he definitely didn’t want to talk to someone about Ritsu.

He definitely didn’t have the cringey desire to brag about his partner, or to make any kind of future plans, or to partake in any kind of excitement about their relationship because how embarrassing would that be?

Saga could feel his face getting warm again, this time much worse. His mortification only became more intense as he heard his classmates talk between lessons. 

“-and her eyes are so pretty-”

Ritsu’s eyes are definitely prettier.

“He’s so shy sometimes, it’s honestly adorable!”

You don’t know shy until you’ve met Ritsu. Plus, he’s definitely cuter than your boyfriend. 

“-we’re going on a movie date-”

One of the best parts of hanging out with Ritsu is watching his reactions, I couldn’t do that in a dark theater. But if talking to him about movies is half as fun as talking to him about books then it might be worth it. 

“I’m totally panicking, I don’t know what to do for our one year anniversary!”

What am I gonna do for Ritsu and I’s one year?

Saga put his head on his desk at that final thought, the thunk produced maybe just a bit louder than he would’ve liked. Their one year?! That was thinking quite ahead and the idea of participating in that kind of celebration made Saga want to curl in on himself until he disappeared.

Since when is that something I want to do? He asked himself. The obvious answer: since he fell in love with Ritsu. Saga had already known love was annoying, hearing his peers go on about their significant others was proof enough of that, but being in love was apparently so much worse. 

Is this really the kind of person Saga became when he was in love? Soft and sentimental and excited and hopeful? The kind of person who tends to annoy him?

I want to talk about him too, Saga finally admitted to himself, feeling incredibly envious of the way his classmates could happily and openly talk about their partners. 

But Saga didn’t have any friends to annoy with a daily recap of Ritsu’s latest cute moment.

Saga didn’t have any family that he trusted enough to come out to, nor would any of his family even gift him the time to make the announcement he had a boyfriend. 

“Have you told your friends about me?” Saga asked one afternoon in the library. The question had been bothering him since his realization that he wanted to be one of those annoying people who always talk about their significant other. 

Ritsu laughed nervously - it was nervous laugh number two, the one that Saga hated because it was weighed down the tiniest bit with sorrow, sorrow that was easy to miss if you weren’t paying attention - and scratched the back of his head. 

“I don’t really have a lot of friends?” Ritsu said, praying that he didn’t sound like a complete loser.

Saga hoped for the sake of Ritsu’s classmates that his lack of friends was because of Ritsu’s shyness and not because of any cruelty Ritsu may be enduring from his peers. Ritsu would tell him if people were messing with him, right? Saga wasn’t sure what he would do if he found out Ritsu was being bullied, but his first few ideas would definitely result in expulsion. Before Saga could attempt to press for any further information on Ritsu’s classmates, Ritsu continued.

“I do have one really close friend and I told her that I-I l-like someone,” Saga noted with secret delight how Ritsu’s face started to flush at this roundabout confession, “b-but, I didn’t say your name specifically!” 

“You can if you want.” Saga said, trying to sound casual about it. If he uses my name, it means I can use his too. Saga might not currently have anybody to boast about Ritsu to, but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying, so long as Ritsu was okay with-

“I-It’s probably better if I don’t?” Ritsu said, looking as though he was trying to hold back a wince. “I just-I don’t know how she would feel about me liking…a guy…” He mumbled, looking down at his lap by the end of his sentence. 

Saga was practiced at hiding his disappointment, so he wasn’t worried about the defeat he felt showing on his face.

“But-um-thank you for your permission.” Ritsu added, straightening his back a little in an attempt to give himself courage to look at Saga as spoke. 

Saga had to refrain from rolling his eyes. Why is he thanking me for something like that? He’s such a weirdo, but I guess it’s part of his charm. Ugh, even stupid things like that make me want to smile…

“I also didn’t use your name because I was worried that you would be embarrassed.” Ritsu admitted. Their relationship status wasn’t totally clear to Ritsu nor did Ritsu know how open Saga was willing to be about their status, so it seemed like keeping his name out of his conversations with An was the best idea. 

“I’m not embarrassed.”

I am embarrassed, Saga thought, but not in the way that you think. I can’t let you know that because it’ll reveal just how much I like you. 

“Do you wanna come back to my place?” Saga asked, I want to kiss you, I want to hold your hand, I want to be close to you, I want to make your ears turn red, I want to wake up to you drooling on my pillow like a moron before we make breakfast and try to keep Sorata from stealing our food, and I want to make you feel as stupidly in love as you’ve made me feel. 

That seemed only fair, after all.

If Saga Masamune was going to become a cringey hopeless romantic then he wasn’t going to go down alone.

Ritsu’s eyes went wide, as if he couldn’t believe that Saga was inviting him over to his place, as if Ritsu hadn’t already been invited over multiple times, but the expression was so cute that Saga hoped the novelty of ‘Senpai’s Place’ would never wear off. 

“S-Sure! I mean-if I wouldn’t be imposing!” Ritsu said.

Yet another thing Saga could brag about if he ever had the chance to:

His boyfriend was so polite.

"What A Creep" Podcast: Humanity At Its Worst / Sarcasm At Its Best

Sometimes, if you dive into the rabbit hole that is TikTok and watch as Karens are exposed in all their glorious insanity, meltdowns, and temper tantrums, you begin to think that average, non-celebrity people kind of suck.

Well, fear not, because after listening to the What A Creep podcast, you then realize that there are plenty of celebrities who can win the footrace to become some of society's most horrible human beings.

And that's the simple premise behind the What A Creep podcast. Expose celebrities for their heinous actions and words that are too often smoothed over by their P.R. people, legal team, or studios.

 Some of the subjects of their episodes -- AKA Creeps -- are well known and well known as creeps. For example, actor Armie Hammer, who hit the creep jackpot with allegations of sexual assault, rape, and even cannibalism.

Then there's the lesser known creep like self-avowed Christian evangelical comedian Steven Crowder, who allegedly exposed himself to co-workers a la Louis C.K., created a toxic workplace, and was seen on a video, verbally abusing his pregnant wife.  

Then we have well-known people who we've had suspicions that they may be a creep.  That's Wheel of Fortune host Pat Sajak on the June 24, 2023, episode. Suffice it to say that Sajak has always curated an air of dismissive disdain and ennui about his game show and especially the contestants. Apparently, Sajak revels in homophobia, climate change denialism (he could probably afford his own personal climate) and whining about people not working hard, despite the fact he only works four days a month.

A June episode was a "Creeps" bonanza when profiling Robert Kennedy, Jr. Sometimes, it's a case of too much decrepitude. You have to hand it to Kennedy. He spreads his hate and contempt around -- Wi-Fi, vaccines, Jewish people, Chinese people, and gay people along with a twisted belief that antidepressants cause mass shootings.

Margo Donohue and Sonia Mansfield chat about creeps as co-hosts of the show, who are not paragons of restraint. These two don't hold back. 

Notably, these co-hosts note their sources and attempt to present factual information before their "editorial" comments fly around like arrows with razor-sharp tips. These co-hosts have the facts to support their "creep" exposures.

On their website, Donohue and Mansfield announce: "We talk about Creeps of the past and the present: It's the who's who of who's the worst. Do you have a story about one of the Creeps we covered? Email us at [email protected]." This show is part of the Spreaker Prime Network, which specializes in distribution, advertising, sound production, and analytics for independent podcasts. That's admirable that there is a ecosystem extant for podcasters who don't have the financial backing of an Amazon or Spotify.

Margo Donohue is the co-host, producer, and editor of a whole slew of podcasts, including Book Vs. Movie and the Not Fade Away podcast.She makes her living as a public relations/marketing and social media consultant and as a part-time fitness instructor. Her new book, “Filmed in Brooklyn” is available for pre-order on Amazon.

Sonia Mansfield is a former TV critic and celebrity gossip columnist for the San Francisco Examiner. She also wrote for a lot of entertainment websites that don’t exist anymore, including Cinescape, IF Magazine, and EON Magazine. She pays the bills working as a content designer.

Donohue and Mansfield excel as a hosting team. They don't rant unintelligibly, like say Charlie Kirk, but often present a "creep" biography before proceeding with the bullet points of pure creepdom.

The duo seem to have a special section of Hell for comedian Chris D'Elia, who has allegedly been accused of sexual assault or harassment by more than 12 women. D'Elia has been accused of threatening to release intimate, adult videos of a woman and making death threats against her. If the requested videos and photos were not sent instantly, multiple women in the exposé claimed D'Elia would become enraged and berate them. 

Donohue and Mansfield roast this creep in a saucy concoction of revulsion, contempt, and utter disgust. 

What makes this podcast so good, and ear worthy are its sarcastic and sharp-witted co-hosts, the sardonic venom they spew on these celebrity douches, and their ability to construct a narrative that is equal parts comedy, satire, sarcasm, and righteous indignation.

Some of my favorite creeps exposed include Scott Baio, Eric Clapton, Josh Duggar, Matt Gaetz, and Pete Rose. 

Recent episodes to enjoy include an update on Russell Brand and Harvey Levin of TMZ.

Check out the What A Creep podcast. You never know what creep will be profiled each episode. 

Nullfolk Newsletter - April 23rd, 2023

Like the "ba-dumf, ba-dumf" of a new-born’s heart, another week comes marching into our lives. Hello, Nullfolk.

This last week began with a bit of a shaking up. On Monday, a charming, precious, little hill troll emerged from beneath the hill in the easternmost edge of town. Literally no one expected there to be, of all things living beneath this hill, a hill troll! Right beneath that hill that no one is allowed to go near. The one so unsuspecting that we barely ever notice it anymore. The one that is, apparently, cordoned off by glowing purple and yellow ropes and beads so that no thing that breathes air may even stumble close. The one that, as though in a photo, just looks like a big, blurry mound far in the distance. You know the one. The one next to the sign that says “Danger! Hill Trolls Live Here.” We here at the Nullfolk Newsletter were simply in disarray at the news because no one, and I cannot stress this enough, no one could have expected these events to unfold.

The hill troll did, in fact, give a name; but us as humans have long lost the parts of our ears that can process those sounds. We have opted instead to call him Herbert. He gave the following statement:

“I have seen it,” said Herbert, frantically, as he bounced on his adorable little hill troll heels, “The sea will drink the sky, and the sky will eat the earth, and the earth will suckle the stars.” The little cutie pie then began to carve adorably cryptic ruins into the walls of the local vape shop, formerly known as the library. We were worried about the owner’s feelings, but the hivemind of teens that run this microbusiness seemed to be more enticed than perturbed by the cool new decals on their storefront.

The mayor has, however, chased Herbert back beneath the hill with a broom and instructed us to pretend that it never happened. So, of course, in keeping with our wonderful mayor’s iron fisted demands, we implore you all to disregard the entirety of what you have just read.

And on Tuesday, the same day on which our visiting stranger went to the docks, we celebrated free street food day. A day in which all street food, legally, must be free to every single customer. Unfortunately, that one esoteric religion that all street vendors seem to follow also had a holy day that coincided with the event so they all went on a retreat and no one got their free street food. This has been the seventeenth year in a row that this coincidence occurred. Hopefully we’ll have better luck next time.

Then, on Thursday, was an event that I’ve been waiting my whole life for. The time capsule was finally opened! In truth, this event means the world to me. Ever since learning of the time capsule, it had become my dream to write and publish a weekly newsletter so that I could inform the public of the wonderful things therein. And finally, here we are.

Thursday morning, bright and early. The dew still sat on the grass as we gathered in droves. Our hearts beating, our breaths bated. Anticipation boiled in our stomachs as butterflies danced between knots. A small stage had been erected behind the plaque that marked the burial spot of the time capsule. The mayor and all his cool friends gathered around the plaque with their shovels and began their arduous task. The mayor broke the earth, and they all toiled away. The smell of freshly turned dirt and the sounds of grunts filled the air as the time capsule was, bit by bit, unearthed. They stopped only to wipe the pooling sweat from their brows before continuing to work. After hours of digging, the capsule was fully exposed. They then all hinged forward and, with perfect deadlifting technique, pulled the capsule from its resting place.

The capsule was pulled onto the stage in full view of the audience. It was a perfect three-foot metal box stained a reddish-brown with images and phrased intricately carved into its sides by the steady hands of a master craftsman. We have not yet been permitted to share the exact details of these carvings in permanence with the public, but we can say that they were really, really cool.

The mayor then took an ornate key from his jacket’s inner pocket. It was a key passed down from mayor to mayor at their time of election, which most believed to be purely emblematic. With a shaking hand, the mayor placed the key into the front keyhole of the capsule. The audience stared on in awe. A few people laughed, a few people cried, most people were silent. The mayor then lifted the lid of the capsule and began to pull from it treasures of the past.

There were many pieces of dishware and tapestries. Bits of arts and craft made by children who, by now, would have aged out of living were also found in the capsules. An old tome carrying a dark and somehow hungry aura was also in there. The most interesting of all, though, were the photos of our ancestors. Farmers and grocers, ice cream men and inhalant peddling hiveminds, hairdressers and newsletter writers, just like us, only dressed in older fashions. It’s truly incredible how the more things change, the more they stay the same. Many letters had also been written for the descendants of those citizens from oh-so long ago, which were all shared out to their rightful owners.

As the capsule was closed, Carl Shepard sat again in his little chair from which he had protected the capsule through the years. He closed his eyes for the last time.

That aside, here is your five-day forecast:

In the following days, the void will grasp onto the debris of a crumbling earth. It will squeeze the remnants of former lives into stars and hang them in the sky for young love to flourish beneath. The void hopes that these young lovers remember to buy new lines for their gas tanks.

In the week ahead:

We can expect to hear or see nothing about hill trolls as I remind you that the thing that happened on Monday absolutely did not happen. Genais McDowell has announced a press conference this coming Wednesday, which should give the press lots of time to find something to conference her about. The mysterious stranger who is wearing yellow pants at the time of you reading this is considering attending.

And so, another letter has come to a conclusion, as all things should and will. The lovely noise that should keep you company hereafter is Da Yu by Zhou Shen.

Hi, hope you're having a good day! Could I make a HC req for how some of the rdr2 gang would feel about being single on Valentines Day? Apparently it was a big enough holiday in the 1800s that there were mass produced cards for it and everything so they would definitely be aware of it. I like everyone in the VDL gang so please do as many as you want, but I especially like Sadie, Kieran and Javier if you want specific ones... thanks and I hope you have a nice rest of your week!

Howdy anon! I’ll do the specific ones plus a few of my own additions since I don’t vibe with everyone in the gang. I hope u have a great day ❤️

Sadie-

Valentine’s Day was something that would be celebrated every year with her husband, but since his death she finds she can’t really stand it anymore.

She’s still healing from the emotional wound. She doesn’t hate the holiday but she also can’t find it in her to celebrate or look at it with the usual joy she had.

Spends v day alone with a few drinks or maybe hangs out with he girls. But she’s noticeably less social than usual with them and definitely takes breaks ‘to get some air’. Overall isn’t a fan anymore.

Kieran-

He’s used to being considered bottom of the barrel in all forms and that includes relationships- so he’s pretty used to spending holidays like these alone or just getting made fun of. That doesn’t mean he isn’t a tiny bit jealous though.

While at the VDL gang people are a bit nicer to him. Mary Beth might shyly leave him with some chocolates if there’s nobody watching. Still, they dance around each other so much he can’t consider it a valentines spent in good company- he’s sure the gang would follow up on their promise of castration if they found out he and MB were ‘together’.

He overall kinda ignores it. So used to it that it doesn’t bother him deeply like it used to but it still stings.

Javier-

He’s a known ladies man, and past valentines days would be spent in a saloon’s room with a pretty girl he managed to flirt into his bed. But since joining Dutch he honestly can’t say he’s still happy with his current relationship status.

Being an outlaw means there’s a large chance you’re going to be single forever or you might die and leave your sweetheart behind. Something he’s accepted the risk of, but he can’t help but feel empty inside sometimes knowing this fact.

I don’t think he *needs* someone. I just think he craves the kind touch and company of someone he loves. So on Valentine’s Day instead of his usual routine of going to the saloon he grabs a beer and stares into the fire thinking about his life and whether or not he’s happy with it.

Arthur-

Being single is definitely another day on the job for him, especially on Valentine’s Day. He’s a bit too respectful to go whoring himself out in a saloon like some of the other guys but he’s willing to recognize the fact he’s a little lonely. Even if he won’t say it out loud.

Normally Valentine’s Day is spent with Hosea and Dutch drinking and pretty much ignoring their love lives. The alcohol lessens the burn of craving intimate human company and helps him temporarily forget his previous relationship turned bad.

Micah-

Honestly I don’t think he really gives a fuck. He’ll gladly go spend a night in a brothel wasting his stolen money and gambling with various women sitting on his lap while he cheats at cards lmao.

In his mind it’s just another holiday with an excuse to be gross and sappy. He’s well past the point of redeeming himself and being a good honest man that anyone would want and he knows it. So instead of beating himself up over his life choices, he drinks the day away with the strongest liquor he can buy and definitely takes a few ‘friends’ to bed at night.

He has the time of his life in town and maybe starts a bar fight if he’s feeling extra spicy. Returns to camp with a bunch of hickies and a sway in his walk from the hangover.

Dutch-

He…doesn’t really care. He’s got Molly to harass if he’s feeling lonely or even Mary Beth if he’s up to it. The day is another excuse to take a break from planning and spend time with Hosea and Arthur or flirt his way back into Mollys heart for a night. Otherwise he doesn’t really think about it and kinda forgets until he notices the cards or decorations in the nearest town.

Holiday

Summary: Grace and Frankie have a heart-to-heart after 7x03. | AO3 Link

—

Grace makes margaritas that night to celebrate Grankiekuh, the new holiday that she and Frankie just made up to celebrate the fact that Frankie doesn’t feel the need to make up holidays to avoid her anymore.

“You just squished our names together and threw the -kuh from Hanukkah at the end,” Grace accuses, chuckling. 

Light.

Playful.

Simply exuberant.

Just an hour ago, she was guzzling martinis on the couch with her ex-husband trying to figure out the quickest way to apologize to Frankie for a twenty-year-old mistake.

And now they’re planning a fake holiday together, and everything is somehow right in a world that also features her current husband sleeping in a jail cell.

“You have to admit—it has a certain ring to it,” Frankie hums determinedly. “We could be the new Shefani, the octogenarian Bennifer!”

“Well, don’t expect me to passionately hold your ass on a speedboat anytime soon,” Grace teases as she carefully measures tequila in a cylinder and then pours a little more than the recommended amount just to be safe.

“Nah,” her partner winks conspiratorially. “Just my hand across a candlelit table will do.”

And so they light a scented candle on the dining room table and drink incredibly boozy margaritas and eventually eat Del Tacos takeout that arrives half-an-hour late because the DoorDash driver couldn’t find the beach house. And Frankie laughs about Grace tearing the poor delivery kid a new one. And Grace quietly admires that Frankie still gives the twerp a twenty dollar tip anyway.

“At least he’s got a stronger constitution than Bugs Bunny,” Frankie snorts as she closes the door on yet another shell shocked human being who has encountered the wrath of Grace Hanson.

“That isn’t an impressively tall bar to surmount,” Grace replies, wrapping a fond arm around Frankie’s shoulders.

They talk, they eat, and then they talk some more when all that’s left at the bottom of the brown paper bag are tortilla chip crumbs. They talk a little bit about everything, really—the surprisingly pleasant weather these past few days, Bud’s apparent penis problem, Robert being useless at the dishes, and how delicious Del Tacos is. 

And between them, talking about everything is certainly not the same as talking about nothing.

Because even if they’re only talking about the weather or the dishes or the abysmal states of their children’s genitalia, it’s because they enjoy each other’s company enough to implicitly understand that it’s nice to just sit together at the end of a long, hard day and hear each other’s voices.

Because the little things are nice sometimes.

The day-to-day minutiae and routine of living with another person.

Sharing space with them.

Being present.

Being kind.

And in experiencing another’s unadulterated kindness, becoming whole.

When Grace gets salsa on the corner of her pink mouth, Frankie reaches over and thumbs it off with a kind of casual intimacy that was hard won between them, fought for and so lovingly, so painstakingly earned. 

They love each other.

They’ve surpassed the point where they constantly have to say it aloud.

I love you, Frankie says when she takes extra care to clean the dishes just the way that Grace prefers—something Robert Hanson never quite learned after forty goddamn years of marriage.

And I love you, Grace replies when she unthinkingly puts Frankie’s phone on charge because she realizes it’s on four percent, and her friend can’t fall asleep until she’s listened to meditative whale noises on YouTube for an hour.

And I love you, Frankie doesn’t say when she extends her palm to Grace and tells her that they should stargaze tonight because “Saturn’s vibin’ in the sky.”

And I love you, Grace replies when she threads their fingers together so snugly that their rings clink and replies—without sarcasm, without judgment, without weight, “Sure.”

And I love you, they tell each other as they slowly stagger their way out onto the deck, Grace assuming the right cushion and Frankie taking the left, arm in arm until the very last moment when it makes more sense for them to let go, to find their own equilibrium as the sea breeze sweeps gentle fingers through their hair.

The sky is star-freckled tonight, blushing purple and inky blue.

In the natural silence that follows, however, the moon and the stars and the supposedly vibin’ planets don’t particularly captivate Grace’s attention for very long, so she finds herself staring at Frankie, who’s staring off into space, her tall features bathed in amber porch light.

Something has shifted in her expression in the few elapsed moments since they’ve been outside, her thin brow furrowed, a frown threatening to tug at her lips where there had once been an easy smile. Her slender hands are clasped below her chin in a gesture that Grace has come to associate with introspective thoughtfulness, tinged with a kind of subtle melancholy that Frankie has always maintained that she detests and tries to consciously avoid. 

“Frankie… are you—?

“We only fought for two hours this time,” Frankie interrupts softly, nodding towards the outdoor dining table where the Hanson-Bergsteins had yet another disastrous brunch together. (At least no one broke a bone or got hit with a wiffle bat this time.) “Ha, that’s a new record if I’ve ever heard of one!"

But the joke doesn’t quite reach her eyes, and Grace’s heart sinks somewhere beneath her ribcage. It throbs in her uncomfortably full stomach. She had naively assumed that three margaritas in a piece, the two of them could just skip the part where they rehash the day’s events and openly reflect upon them—but she should have known.

These emotional reckonings are Frankie’s chosen form of healing.

She’s always processed better aloud.

“Fighting with you is the most uninspired pastime I can think of doing these days,” Grace tells her truthfully. “I’d rather resolve our conflicts in five minutes than five hours, so we can catch Jeopardy! together without sitting on the couch in passive aggressive silence… I think we’ve reached a point in our friendship where we can do that… yeah?”

The question comes out a little more vulnerably than she would have liked.

Open-ended and hesitant, it requests an equally honest answer.

And while she knows that Frankie has no qualms about being emotionally honest, Grace also innately understands that she has chronically shied away from honesty about all matters pertaining to herself. 

(When she initially told Nick that she wanted to redefine their relationship, she couldn’t have even told herself what the hell she meant either. She supposes she wants to have her cake and eat it, too—to be in a relationship with Nick and go home to Frankie. But maybe that means she doesn’t really love Nick, that she’s just using him for the ample entertainment he provides: the romance, the easy companionship, the sex. And maybe, at the heart of that unsettling hypothesis, she’s just as much of a stone cold bitch as everyone around her seems to think. Her husband is in jail, and she doesn’t lose any sleep about it. In fact, in her queen-sized bed in the beach house she shares with Frankie, she’s slept better than she has in all the many elapsed and miserable weeks since she said, “I do.”)

“Of course!” Frankie exclaims, her brows arching in surprise. “You say tom-ay-to, I say tom-ah-to, and then we kiss and passionately makeup. That’s exactly where we are nowadays.”

“Then why do you still look like a kicked puppy?” Grace asks shrewdly, folding her arms across her chest. “Or like Sol after his supposedly well-trained dog shit in his Birkenstocks.”

“Does being marginally tipsy on tequila count as an acceptable answer?”

“Nope.”

“Fine then and damn,” Frankie sighs, waving a defeated hand around the empty air. “But don’t hold it to me if I’m not making sense, Grace. I’m thinking rabbit trails tonight. And not, like, rabbit trails of criminally-tampered-with poop, but circles and other weird thoughts that don’t seem to be heading anywhere.”

“Hey, I'm not going anywhere—I’ve got all the time in the world to listen,” Grace replies easily, and this is love, too, without ever uttering the word.

Twenty years ago, she did everything short of making up a holiday to not spend a single moment alone in a room with Frankie Bergstein.

And now, she's done everything short of divorcing her husband to ensure that they're never apart.

Frankie's eyes briefly widen in pleasant surprise at this seemingly unexpected gesture, her parenthetically enclosed mouth curving into a gentle smile—tender and sweet.

Lord, she’s beautiful, Grace thinks to herself as Frankie mulls on her next words.

She thinks this at least twice a day and chalks it up to passive jealousy that someone can look so radiant without ever really trying, by just simply being herself.

“Mm, okay... so I was just thinking about how my thing might actually be worse than yours… and you killed my son’s beloved rabbit,” Frankie says bluntly.

And so clearly!

Like she already fully believes it.

Grace blinks rapidly, not entirely computing what she just heard.

“How the hell did you come up with that conclusion?” She asks, nonplussed. “Like you said, I killed your kid’s rabbit and lied about it for some twenty-odd years. You and Sol just played an elaborate game of hooky.”

Frankie looks torn on whether to laugh or shake her head in clear exasperation of Grace not getting it.

“But the ethical jury in the sky isn’t in on me creating a religious holiday just to avoid you,” she protests with a half-smile. “Or even worse, admitting that’s the reason after all these years. I hurt you, Grace, and I don’t wanna hand wave that away just so we can watch Jeopardy! in peace. I want to check in with you and make sure you’re really okay.”

Even after many years of slowly but surely becoming acquainted with Frankie’s uncanny sensitivity to her emotions, somehow, it’s always still a pure shock when Grace is met with the unadulterated and unconditional extent anyway. She’s still unlearning Robert’s idea of emotional care, which largely involved having a stockpile of generic gifts to placate her various moods and whims.

And frankly, she’s not the most empathetic woman of the year herself.

I hurt you, Frankie said candidly and made no attempt to defend herself, to excuse her actions.

I hurt you, she declared, and it was an I love you at the exact same time.

Grace can hardly swallow, her throat a hundred emotions thick. 

“Hey now,” she eventually rasps, “don’t go all revisionist on me now. I was so fucking mean to you. We don’t play wiffle ball anymore at waffle-and-wiffle brunches because I hit you with a bat.”

“You told me there was a bee in my hair,” Frankie rubs the back of her head wistfully. 

“There totally was,” she grins painfully, “but the bat was a highly unnecessary measure.”

“Grace!” Frankie groans. “Don’t get me sidetracked. I’m trying to be real with you here—I wasn’t a saint by any stretch of the imagination! I could be shitty to you, too.”

But Grace firmly shakes her head at this, her mouth pressed into a thin line, her rebuttal already locked, loaded, and innately known to be true.

“Not as often as I was to you, and rarely did you instigate because I’d already started it,” she insists, venom in her voice, raw and undeniable self-loathing. “If I’d been you dealing with me… God, maybe I’d have needed to make up a holiday, too…”

And even as she says it, the uneasiness in her stomach suddenly solidifies into sharp clarity and even crueler pain as she realizes what’s really been bothering her these past few days—a burgeoning feeling that she’s every bit as “harsh” and “vindictive” as Robert told the FBI lady she could be, even though she’s sworn she’s changed, even though she's wanted to be better.

God knows she's tried to be.

Because of Frankie.

Or maybe even for her.

The two reasons are interchangeable in her mind.

“I… I wasn’t like you, Frankie,” she eventually continues, glancing away so she doesn’t have to face the other’s expression—fearing confirmation of all her awful feelings, monstrously craving pity she’s sure she doesn't deserves. “Hell, I’m still not like you. The fact that my ideal marriage includes my husband being in jail more or less proves that.”

Grace Hanson doesn’t tip confused delivery boys thirty-percent after botched deliveries.

She doesn’t make up fantastical stories about magically disappearing bunnies for her kids so they believe in themselves.

She rarely apologizes for her mistakes.

And she makes a hell of a lot of mistakes.

“Robert called me harsh and often vindictive,” she chuckles humorlessly. “Well, I guess he’s got my number almost better than anyone.”

The ensuing silence following this proclamation stretches long and thin, like a tightrope strung precariously taut, and Grace is about to cave in to the temptation of looking at Frankie again when all of a sudden—

“Bullshit!” Frankie exclaims ferociously. “That’s a whole lot of bullshit, Grace Hanson.”

“Frankie, don’t defend—“

But she quickly reaches over and tightly curls her palm over Grace’s spiny knuckles, demanding her attention and getting it.

In so many years and throughout the span of them, she has been the only one to ever truly earn it.

Grace turns her head and finds Frankie’s oceanic eyes inches away from her face, storm-like in their intensity, piercing all over.

“Robert doesn’t get to use the present tense with you because he doesn’t live with you anymore,” Frankie insists when she knows she has Grace, when Grace can no more look away than a rabbit can actually disappear in a hat. “He doesn’t get to see you the way I do. And let's be honest here, I'm not sure he ever really has."

“And how do you see me?” Grace can barely breathe, only dimly aware that this is yet another needy question, one that can only engender a frighteningly vulnerable response.

Her heartbeat quickens.

She feels the exact striation of Frankie’s finger that is resting on the quarter of a million dollar wedding ring Nick bought for her in Vegas.

In the semi-lit darkness, Frankie’s sharply hewn cheeks feather themselves sunset pink. 

Grace blindly assumes it’s the humidity.

“As someone worth discovering,” she murmurs, “and by discovering, understanding that you’re a pretty darn amazing person to love beneath all those expertly erected walls.”

Frankie leans forward then and presses a chaste kiss on Grace’s head, quick and habitual, like she’s done it a hundred times before. Her floral perfume wreathes her like a warm embrace. Beneath the perfume, she smells like acrylic paint and sea breeze and strange but rich incense—complex and earthy and full of so many vibrant notes.

Heat rises to Grace’s face.

This must be the humidity, too.

“Some people don’t get that,” Frankie continues, moving back to her own cushion again, “and that’s their loss. They’ve never had to carve a pretty statue outta stone before, have never had to work on a relationship with you over time.” 

“So what you’re saying is that it takes work to love me, huh?” Grace raises a teasing eyebrow, even though she's not exactly sure that this is the appropriate time and place to make a joke. But the alternative to lightly joking is to internalize the words that Frankie just said, to truly contemplate what it means that there's at least one person in this world who'll wait for her—despite her many walls and damn them.

“It takes work to ever love anybody, really,” Frankie shrugs easily. 

It’s an unsurprisingly sage take—Frankie’s always been good at emotions and relationships and all of the other important and dauntingly human stuff—but it’s also one that gets Grace to thinking about Nick again, about his kindness and his persistence and about his dedication to wanting to make things to work.

She’s beginning to get an inkling of what it might mean that she doesn’t want to meet him halfway, kind and persistent and dedicated though the man might be.

That if she had to choose again between husband and home, there would be no contest.

There would be no hesitation.

So perhaps there are two people in the world who would wait for her, but of those two, Grace knows there's only one whom she would invite to stay.

“Happy Grankiekuh, Frankie,” Grace says, leaning her head against her best friend’s shoulder. “I like discovering you, too.”

“Well, you should! I’m a fucking delight.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Ha, never.”

But in the end, Frankie intertwines their hands together, and the silence of this action is its own unmistakable and resonant reply.

I love you.

Grace Hanson is loved.

Το Βόρειο Αστέρι μου - Lucifer x Diavolo

AO3 Link

Το Βόρειο Αστέρι μου: Greek for ‘My Polar Star’

Word Count: 1859

A/N: I don’t know what this is. All I know is that @simpingw0lfi3​​​​​​​ refused to do it, so I did. Of course, please don’t expect this to be perfect because... it really isn’t. 

Vote of thanks: @akaiiro-yume​​​​​ for checking and correcting all the grammatical fuck ups I did, making sure I didn’t stop writing this halfway and going through any mental breakdown I might have had instead for me. And, of course, @some-ikemen-snob​​​​​ for making sure this SCREAMED Lucifer energy this way and that. only for now, but ily both.

Devildom 14th February, 20XX Saturday, 7:57 PM

Dear Diary,

      I suppose I've never written a journal entry such as this in the past, for I haven't found either the desire or the will to task myself with writing my thoughts down in a manner wherein I speak to an inanimate object. That said, I have been told writing is, in a manner of speaking, therapeutic, and I believe I could do with some of that right now. It would be false to assume I don’t still harbour any inhibitions towards using my time in this manner, especially when I'd much rather be by Diavolo’s side. The very same Diavolo who, as a matter of fact, happens to be the subject of this writing session today. Strangely enough, and if I recall correctly, he was also the one who introduced - which is putting it rather mildly - me to the “art” of journal entries. I admit, I haven’t given this activity the kind of gravity which was probably expected out of me, but then again, today is a little different from the rest. I'm not entirely certain as to where to begin, but I do believe I have been told in situations like these, one should do whatever... feels right.

      Diavolo is... well, where do I even begin? He is the future of Devildom, as a few might call it - myself included. While he does appear to be quite the cheerful and at times careless lord, it’d be a lie to deny that he is just as wise and compassionate underneath that wave of buoyancy radiating off of him. Honest to a fault, but with his moral compass always pointing towards the best interest of those around him. I’ll admit, sometimes it proves to be rather difficult to believe that he indeed is a demon. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to compare him to the Polaris considering he does quite radiate the charisma from himself, shining admirably amidst a dark sea of onlookers. While in name he rules over all the demons in the land of Devildom, the right set of eyes won’t take too long to deduce the eloquence with which his fingers reach out to the soul of every single resident of the land, holding them together better than gravity ever bound humans to the earth. 

      Saying that is all there is to him would be a lie whiter than the wet snow, making its way to the tips of my fingers and sliding off gently onto this page. That, of course, doesn’t mean describing how I feel towards him is no herculean task. There are some cases when a language -  no matter the plethora of vocabulary it offers - just isn’t sufficient enough, and this certainly is one of those cases. For the time being, let’s just owe my lack of articulacy to the bond of mutual respect and trust Diavolo and I share, built over centuries upon centuries, braving the ravages of time, and even perhaps the less than pleasing antics my brothers tend to pull. But while the impression the ruler of all demons and I tend to emit may seem to be distanced by a careful degree of professionalism, I don’t believe anybody knows that that might not be the case. Even Diavolo himself. Doesn’t come as a surprise, really, for they simply can’t know.

      Why do I believe that to not be the case, then? Well, I would wonder why I felt so strongly about it had I not known the reason myself. The very same reason which is now a secret so surreptitious that I can’t help but consider burning this piece of paper once I finish writing to ensure it is never revealed to another set of eyes. Such dastardly is the nature of this emotion, tricking one into its delusive warmth, encompassing them with the belief that nothing truly is impossible, that what they feel might just be true and meaningful enough to be returned by the other they feel for, only to cackle with glee and turn away when the reality doesn’t match the fantasy it was believed to turn out to be. The very same emotion which in layman’s terms is apparently called... love.

      I’m not entirely certain I understand the extent of its exquisite existence myself, to be truthful. All I know is no matter how intensely I try to shut the door on its escaping fumes, it turns futile the second I lay my eyes on the man in question. While the rest of the known universe sees an omnipotent leader binding everyone together, making them sing the same tune in harmony, I see what I can only consider an anchor, grounding me, making it so that I can’t ever fall into the abyss of the darkness that breathes inside of me and float away. He is the quintessence of the best of what the world has to offer, with his golden eyes sparkling like stardust, weaving their ever-lasting magic into the hearts of whoever they come across - be it human, or demon, or angel - wrapping them in their never-ending warmth, letting them sink into the depths of benevolence they promise. His hair are the cerise of a raging inferno, sheltering beneath their canopy a quick, sensible, erudite mind. His smile is but a warm culmination of everything optimistic and positive, like a flame inviting moths to it, reaching out to give their innermost yearnings a hand to grab on to and never let go. Simply divine. And this is where the paths diverge, I suppose.

      They see a to-be Demon King, I see Diavolo.

      But alas, love is a fickle mistress. Getting too lost in the charm of her alluring arms will only result in a doom of them wrapping around your neck, enticing, until you realise their hold is tightening. Not to hold on, but to suffocate. I might have gotten so lost in that fiery gaze that I didn’t notice it start to crawl along my skin, leaving a charred, burnt path in its wake. The very anchor which I believed to be the one to ground me and hold me close etched itself deeper into the oceanic floor of delirium, drowning me. The threads of his stardust wrapped themselves around me and clutched hard enough to strangle. Before I knew it, the symphony of something meaningful became the cacophony of a nightmare.

      This red thread strung through itself earlier today the series of events I’d rather forget. I’ve known how I feel towards Diavolo for a while now, and I had been searching for an opportunity to come clean and let him know about it for the last few days. Not to say I hadn’t gotten said opportunities at all, but one could owe it to me being too prideful to admit I was finally opening up to the idea of accepting feelings and... emotions. Around that time was when Solomon let slip a few details about the significance of Valentine’s day in the human world as an annual occurrence to celebrate romantic love, friendship, and admiration, and with enough persistence, Asmodeus managed to convince Diavolo to declare the day as an official holiday. Just a few hours ago I walked along the empty hallways to Diavolo’s office, knowing him, Barbatos and I to be the only ones in the building, still choosing work over any form of inactivity. By then, I had talked myself into finally telling the most powerful of all demons about the feelings I harboured towards him. I am a little embarrassed to admit that I was indeed a tad hopeful, wishing for the feelings to be returned. Once I reached the door to his private office, my hand settled above the smooth hardwood to give it a knock. And that’s when I noticed that the door was already slightly ajar. I heard a voice inside, other than Diavolo’s, and I took the liberty to glance inside, only for my hopes to come crashing down when the realisation struck me: I shouldn’t have done that.

      Inside his office, Diavolo sat in his seat with his mouth pressed against another, a hand trailing across the small face with dark green locks framing it with elegance while the other held on to the person’s waist, pulling him closer. My eyes widened when the smaller man of the two let out a muffled whimper, perched on Diavolo’s lap. Barbatos. I felt my heart squeeze out a pained croak at the sight, and even though every single nerve in my body begged me to move away and forget I ever saw anything, my legs didn’t move. They stayed glued to their spot on the floor even as I felt it crumble beneath my feet, just the way my eyes stayed on Diavolo. My lip trembled with a longing I never thought I’d experience when Barbatos intertwined his fingers with Diavolo’s, smiling into the kiss they shared, like the perfect harmony which was always meant to be. It was when Diavolo broke the kiss, eyes meeting the other’s and whispers of love and confessions floating across the room until they settled on my ears, that I finally felt the mask crack. The facade I had worked on for centuries to lay the foundation of crumbled as my fists clenched, letting myself have a moment of weakness when a lone tear of frustration, delay, anger, and self loathing dripped down my cheek. I looked up at the ceiling, a voiceless laugh tumbling across my lips at the cognisance that the Polaris I was reaching out for, shining proud in the middle of a dark, cloudless sky, was beyond my reach, and... never supposed to be mine. How far I could stretch, how willing were my fingers to make one last attempt to touch it’s light and bask in it - all of that didn’t matter anymore.

      I exhaled a shaky breath, blinking once as I tucked away whatever it is I was going to tell Diavolo in some corner of my mind, crushing the key with a hard snap of my fingers. My eyes found Barbatos again, glazing over with a heartfelt wish for him to find his happiness, at least. It was with one last aching smile towards Diavolo and a euphoric laugh spilling from Barbatos’ lips that I turned on my heel, shaking my head at the fate I was handed. Needless to say, I hold no malice towards either of them - they’re both precious to me, as much as I dislike admitting it.

      I believe I have shared more than what was required, and I shall burn this piece of paper lest anyone finds it. One might call it wishful thinking on my part, but I do pray that watching the last signs of anything I harbour towards the one who wasn’t meant to be mine from the start burn as the embers of the fire consume it whole makes me put a lid on my feelings once and for all, for they were never supposed matter. They weren’t supposed to exist to begin with.

      After all, only a prince deserves a fairy-tale with a happy ending, and I am no prince.

Lucifer.

Bigotry Being Sold to Black Communities

Recently I was discussing bigotry in the black community with a friend, who is a gay black man. He told me about a very popular character named Dr. Umar Johnson and how many people in the community are getting anti-LGBTQ propaganda from him. My interest was peaked, so I did a little research.

Who is Dr. Umar Johnson and What Does He Believe?

Umar Johnson is a popular speaker and figure in the black community best known for speaking out against the racist and unfair treatment that black children receive in our public schools. Specifically, this includes giving black kids more punishments, harsher punishments, over medicating black children, putting them in special education classes for behavior issues. This is a very real cause that deserves a lot of attention. However, Dr. Johnson is also extremely against homosexuality and interracial dating/marriage. As you might be able to guess, his reasonings are less than credible.

The "dr." in Johnson's name comes from his doctorate in psychology. That sounds very impressive, but there a couple things you should keep in mind if you listen to him. The first is that his degree was received from an osteopathic school of medicine. While these schools now require the same standards as an M.D., the concept of osteopathic medicine is born from 100% quack pseudoscience. Most medical universities do not offer this type of medical degree. Personally, this makes me highly skeptical of the quality of his education. Furthermore, in 2018 around the height of his popularity, the state caught him working as a school psychologist without having the state licenses to practice counseling or psychology.

Additionally, his fundraising efforts have been highly scrutinized for lacking transparency and in a case in 2014, lacking 501(c)(3) status to be a real non-profit.

Lastly, Dr. Johnson is connected to the Hotep movement. If you're not familiar with this, it is essentially a conservative black nationalist movement. So that is Dr. Johnson.

The Quackery of His Beliefs

In this video, Dr. Johnson discusses homosexuality in black communities. His primary point against homosexuality is that no past African cultures condoned the practice, therefore Africans should not practice it. He has also described homosexuality as "a cancer" on the black community and a tool to destroy the black race. He also incorrectly claims that before white people to Africa that Africans lived in a virtual paradise like Eden from the Bible. I took ancient African history in college and the continent was no different than any other. Monarchies ruled over subjects, nations warred, slaves were kept, greed ran rampant by those in power. These beliefs are connected to his Hotep political beliefs. In believing that Africa was once a egalitarian paradise that had things right, he reasons that homosexuality must be rejected.

In the video linked above, he claims that he doesn't need to pay attention to any of the many studies done that show homosexuality is a genetic trait, because his own experience tells him that it's not. For anyone who has been to college for virtually anything, one of the first things you should have learned is that our personal experience is to narrow to judge large issues of humanity. White racists make this exact claim all the time when it comes to equality between races. They reject the many studies that prove that people of races, in equal conditions, exhibit equal intelligence. They say their experience tells them different. For someone who holds a doctorate in psychology, this is a shockingly anti-clinical view. Keep in mind, I just wrote an article recently about how the Left wing went crazy in the 60's and 70's believing in magical thinking. The baby boomer hippies were highly influenced by people similar to Dr. Johnson who were in academia, but went directly against the methodology and research of their own fields. He claims that there is a huge debate in psychology around whether sexuality is innate or learned, but that's not true anymore. That debate has been over for a long time. This is the same way that quacks, including Johnson, believe that there is a debate over whether homosexuality is a mental illness. There is no debate, that's been over for a long time.

After watching several videos of Dr. Johnson, I have not heard him actually a give a reason why homosexuality is wrong. He doesn't seem to have anything to say about what harm is causes or why it's bad for black communities, besides his misguided idea that homosexuality will prevent black people from reproducing. However, you can see in this graph...

All groups except Asians have higher birth rates than white people. White racists are simultaneously claiming that POC are breeding like rabbits in a conspiracy to overthrow America and destroy white people. These same bigots have also been claiming that homosexuality is destroying our birthrate, but homosexuality exists in all of humanity and our world wide population keeps DOUBLING. Homosexuality has no negative effect on population and never has.

Dr. Johnson is also against interracial relationships. This again comes from his Hotep black nationalist politics, which mirrors white nationalists beliefs. Both groups believe that to mix genes is to weaken the bloodline (respectively). In this video, he goes off about interracial relationships. His primary concerns seem to be that 1) the African bloodline will be weakened and 2) that mixed babies will have identity issues. His big example of the danger of mixed babies is a pro tennis player who is both Hattian and Japanese, and she's representing Japan instead of Haiti, even though she clearly identifies as a black woman. He apparently thinks that someone could not love and celebrate two cultures in their identity, and seems offended at the idea that any attention would be given a part of someone instead of their blackness. This is an exact mirror of white racists.

Having been in many interracial relationships in my life, I am accustom to this attitude coming all colors of people, not just white. However, I never find it any less offensive and absurd. The belief that we should separate ourselves based on the color of our skin is literally the core idea of the Nazi eugenics programs. More importantly, any separation by skin color is a denial of the absolute FACT that we are all human beings and have no genetic difference deeper than our skin tone, and that difference is remarkably shallow. Any separation based on "race" opens the door to beliefs about superiority and inferiority, as can be seen with his claims that Africa was once a paradise before inferior white barbarians came to destroy them. This dynamic he pushes is literally the same narrative that colonial slavers used just in reverse. Any thinking that denies our common humanity, our shared assets and flaws, is an outrageous belief that is destructive to all of society.

Conclusion

To anyone who follows Dr. Johnson, I invite you to send in questions or arguments of his on these subjects that you would like to hear challenged. I am fully prepared to debunk his thoughts on homosexuality, race-relations, and nationalism in greater detail for any sincere and curious reader.

Winners of the Wanderlust Betting Pool- Eils-blog

Thank you so much to everyone who participated in the Wanderlust Betting Pool. In return, @klavscaroline​ and I decided to make a mini drabble and edit of their choice for the winners.

Prompt: mates AU: hybrid Klaus and human / untriggered werewolf Caroline. Klaus tries to get Caroline to trigger her werewolf curse and win her over to take her rightful place by his side

Written by @bellemorte180 | Edit by @klavscaroline

The body laid in the middle of the abandoned road; mangled and torn. Blood was spattered all over the pavement; the blood glistening silver in the moonlight. Her heartbeat was racing and adrenaline pumping through her veins. The car door was hanging open, a dinging sound echoing through what would be a silent night.

They lied to her. They all lied to her. She had known that for weeks, but at that moment, their lies seemed so much more real.

“It’s alright, Sweetheart. I have you. I have you.” Klaus’s voice soothed her as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She could not explain it. There was something that made her want to bury herself beneath his skin. She felt a burning inside her that made her want to claw her way into him; she felt safe and wanted as he held her. She had just killed a man, an accident on her part, but the outcome was still the same; the man’s distorted body rested lifeless on the ground with his head turned at a wrong angle. Caroline still could hear the snap as he hit her car.

This was her senior year. It was meant to be magical; not supernatural. Prank night was supposed to be fun; the only drama being finding a way to avoid her ex-boyfriend, Matt, not learning that she was fated to be with the oldest vampire alive. Or that vampires, werewolves and all manner of supernatural beings were real- and that she was one of them.

She didn’t trust them, not anymore; not even her own mother or father who kept such a secret from her. Or her friends that lied to her over and over again about what was going on; or the fact that her nightmares about a man with blue eyes were slowly making more sense. The only one who had been honest with her, was Klaus.

And the truth was terrifying.

“I killed him. I didn’t mean to. He was just standing there in the middle of the road and wouldn’t move. I didn’t mean to hit him. Oh god…oh god.” Caroline could feel the panic swell up inside her as she looked at the body on the ground again; the sight of blood would never leave her now. Yet, Klaus was there; holding her, telling her that it would all be okay. Then it clicked. “You did this. You wanted me to trigger the curse; you wanted me to kill him. You did this to me. You made me a murder!”

The last words came out as a scream; hysterical and loud. It echoed amongst the trees, not a single soul around to hear her anguish. She narrowed her eyes at Klaus. She knew he was a monster. From the moment he stood in the middle of the science lab and turned Tyler into something she did not understand. She did not like Tyler, for he never supported the relationship she had with Matt but that did not mean she wanted to watch as his neck was snapped. Klaus’s soulless blue eyes met her icy ones and the world got sharper; colors shined brighter and all that mattered was him.

“No, Sweetheart. I made you stronger.” Klaus’s soothing voice reached her, his posture ridged and on guard; as though he was approaching a rapid animal. The change was happening and Caroline could feel in her bones, she supposed she was stronger; but that did not make the truth any less real. “I made you better. The full moon is in three days. You’ll turn. It will be painful; I will not lie but I will be there for every moment your bones break and crack. We will run under the moon. Then, I will collect some of Elena’s blood and I will gift you with immortality.”

“But he is dead.” Caroline waved to the corpse on the ground.

“Would it make you feel better if I told you he was a rapist? I know how you detest those.” Klaus flashed her a whitening smile that sent chills down her spine. For months she had been having nightmares; terrifying blue eyes, a cruel smile and raven hair. Over and over again she ran from him and yet he continued to pull her back into his grasps. She knew that she dated Damon and that he was cruel to her; but the memories were fuzzy. Only in her dreams did everything begin to make sense again.

Apparently, compulsion was feeble when it came to werewolves; even untriggered ones.

“Why can’t we just go now? Hmm? Elena will give me her blood. She feels guilty for lying to me.” Caroline still had not forgiven Elena for the lies she had told. If, perhaps, it had just been a lie to protect Stefan and Bonnie, she might be forgiving…. but never for Damon. “I don’t want to change. Tyler told me how it feels. What he goes through. I can’t go through that.”

“I need you to change at least once. Just once. I need to know that you’ll become a hybrid like me. I couldn’t turn you before you trigger your curse because I don’t want you ending up like the wolves I tried turning before.”

“But why? Why do this to me!?”

“Because I can’t lose you!” Klaus all but screamed out. Caroline was taken aback, staring at him wide eyed; not being able to process the words he was speaking. His eyes looked terrified and broken; gone was the confidant man who blew Caroline’s entire life apart, all the while putting it back together. “I never expected to find you so quickly, or at all. Triggered wolves always find their mates. I wasn’t sure if I would find you because part of me wondered if you were alive while I was human. If I did find you, I never thought that you wouldn’t have already triggered your curse. But here you are; untriggered and perfect.”

“I’m perfect Klaus. I killed a man.” Caroline whispered. “I will have to live with that for the rest of my life. No matter how horrible he is or what he has done. I killed him.” Klaus gave a deep breath and walked over to Caroline; placing his hands on her shoulders. He leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. Caroline knew that she should push him away; scream and slap at him for what he had done, for what he had turned her into. But she couldn’t. She wanted nothing more than to let him hold her. “What do we do with the body?”

“I’ll take care of it.” Klaus told her, kissing her on the top of her head again. “Go to the manor and I’ll meet you there. I’ll have someone fix your car. No one will know what happened here. Okay?”

“Yeah.” She gave the body one last mournful look and turned back to Klaus. She thought on what he said, about him being a rapist. She thought on the victims and what they would think on if they knew he was dead. If someone told her Damon had been killed, she would celebrate. Caroline clung to that feeling. “He was a bad man?”

“Very.”

“Okay.” Caroline moved towards her car and looked over her shoulder at Klaus. She did not like this. She did not like the idea of being a murder, but she wasn’t surprised. Klaus had been telling her for weeks that he wanted her to trigger her gene; that he wanted her forever and that tugged at her heartstrings; especially since she was giving Bonnie and Elena the silent treatment.

“Caroline?”

“Yes?”

“In a thousand years this moment will only be a blimp. You’ll look back on it and you won’t even remember his face.” Klaus told her and she knew it was meant to be comforting but Caroline could not imagine a time when that man’s face will not haunt her. “You’ll be a queen Caroline and all those who wronged you will be dealt with.”

Caroline heard the promise in his words and really smiled for the first time since she hit that man with her car.

“And how do you know I’ll be around in a thousand years?”

“Because I’ll ensure it.”

A Shadow of What You Used to Be (4)

Chapter 4: Brother, Brother | Cal Kestis x Irele Skywalker

Requested by Anon

Summary: There is another! Years after young Anakin Skywalker departed Tatooine, his mother Shmi delivers a second child—this time, a daughter. Whilst the circumstance of the girl’s birth remains unexplained, Irele Skywalker has yet to choose the true path between those laid out for her.

Tags: Fem! OC, Irele Skywalker, Force-sensitive! OC, Anakin’s Younger Sister, Skywalker! OC, Darth Vader’s Secret Apprentice, Long-lost Sibling

Also in AO3

Chapters: Prelude – 1 – 2 | Previous: Part 3 | Next: Part 5 | Masterlist

5 of ?

They arrived at the moisture farm, the exact one that Watto told them. The domed abode stood out across the surrounding dunes, behind it were the suns hoisted in its point for high noon. As Anakin and Padmé approached, a dark-colored figure got into their better view—little did the Jedi knew that the figure posted outside was the droid he had created years ago.

“Oh!” startled, the droid turned around to face the visitors. “Hello, how may I be of service? I am C—”

“3PO?” Anakin squinted some more, unsure whether the sunlight was playing tricks on his already narrowed eyes.

The droid paused, its photoreceptors processing the face of the young man before him, and then it dawned on him.

“Could it be? The Maker!” the black droid exclaimed. “Master Ani, I knew you would return! Oh and Miss Padmé, oh my.”

At least Padmé was delighted to have been remembered by the droid she has not seen in a decade.

“Bless my circuits! I’m so pleased to see you both.”

“I’ve come to see my mother,” the droid’s maker said in the same steely tone he used when speaking with the Toydarian, affording no moment for the droid to celebrate this small reunion.

C3PO stuttered, unsure how to begin responding to that purpose.

“Yes, well, I do believe it is best I bring you inside.”

The droid stiffly turned around, expecting the human pair to follow, and they were escorted into the ground floor of the Lars homestead.

From the kitchen, Owen could hear C3PO speaking like a tour guide. He had figured it might have been the person he thought would come, he just didn’t realize it’d be today. Out of common courtesy, he—along with the Whitesun girl—came out of the kitchen to greet their guests.

“Master Owen, might I present to you the two most important visitors.”

“I’m Anakin Skywalker.”

“Owen Lars. And this is my girlfriend, Beru.”

Beru managed a smile to both visitors before softly saying “Hello.”

“I’m Padmé.”

“I guess I’m your stepbrother,” he swallowed. “I had a feeling you might show up someday.”

Anakin didn’t take that kindly, he had no emotional reaction to it—he’s just here for his mother.

“Is my mother here?” he demanded, stepping away from his apparent stepbrother.

“No, she’s not,” a gruff voice drew everyone’s attention to its direction, followed by the soft whirring of a hoverchair.

Cliegg had aged, though not quite well, given what had happened in the past. He extended a hand as he introduced himself.

“Shmi is my wife,” he added. “We should go inside. We have a lot to talk about.”

Owen quickly came to his father, taking the two handles protruding outward from the backrest of the chair.

“Where is your sister?”

“She hasn’t come back yet,”

“Well, she better come home quick.” Grumbled the elder Lars only within Owen’s earshot.

They all gathered at the dining table. Cliegg began with how he met Shmi, how he bought her, and eventually freed her. The old man chuckled once as he studied the boy’s features while he was listening in carefully, even while he stares at his hands clasped together.

“You know, it’s funny,” he began, the remark caught Anakin’s attention. “I never realize that you and Irele have the same eyes—but I think she resembles Shmi’s the most.”

Anakin’s eyes shifted shakily, his lips parted but no words escaped from it; he looked alternately between Cliegg and Owen, wordlessly demanding some clarification to what Cliegg said. Anakin blinked once, dramatically so, and finally managed to let out the words: “I… Irele?”

Everyone on that very table exchanged looks, but the other party was more confused and perhaps curious on who’s this Irele person that they don’t know of. Cliegg’s last words also got to Anakin and he decoded it quickly—but as he solved the minor riddle, more questions piled up after the answer. Has his mother given him a sister without his knowledge? Why hasn’t he felt her through the Force? Is she not gifted with the same abilities as he is?

“W-Where… Where is she?”

“She’s probably out in town with the other children her age. Irele is coping, you see, but I don’t think it’s not doing her much good. Overworking, finding and taking one too many odd jobs—more than she can handle—”

“Coping?” Anakin asked for elaboration.

Cliegg guessed there’s no way of sliding his way out of that question. They will come to the point in the conversation on what had happened to Shmi. The mood in the dining room changed significantly. A gloomy silence befell Owen and Beru as they waited for the head of the house to begin the tale.

“Your mother went out early—just before dawn—to pick mushrooms, like she always does. But this one time, she was ambushed by the Tusken Raiders, they had been prowling by the ridge waiting to raid the farms when there’s no one looking—but they saw your mother. They attacked her and took her with them, kept her hostage. And your sister, well…”

The elderly man sighed, taking and then letting out a deep breath, he attempts to continue.

“She left the house to search for her the moment she got out of bed. I found her woken up by a cold sweat, then she insisted that something was wrong. I trusted her, believed her, and let her go find her mother in the fields. She came back empty-handed, I had already prepared a search party. Those Tuskens walk like men, but they’re vicious, mindless monsters. About thirty of us went, only four of us came back. I’d be out there with them, but after I lost my leg… I just couldn’t ride anymore until I heal. I don’t want to give up on her, but she’s been gone for a month.”

The silence was distrupted by the sound of light footsteps, the only noise that rung across the homestead apart from their voices.

“I’m home!” a girl’s voice announced. “Dad? Owen?”

Her voice and her arrival caught the attention of both her family and the two visitors. Anakin stood up and stepped out so that he can see—and be seen—the rotunda. Just a meter and a half away from him was a girl of ten years—nearing eleven—standing from the stairs from where he came when he himself arrived in this house.

Irele was immediately taken aback by this stranger, not because it was a new face—but because she was bothered by how familiar he looked and felt. A good minute has passed and it dawned on her. She knows who this is.

Anakin examined the girl: black hair tied back into a ponytail, donning a woven scarf to protect her from the sands, and a pair of earthy hazel eyes hooded with a somber, unreadable gaze—nearly similar a hue to Shmi’s eye color. Looking at her was like seeing Shmi in her girlhood, for Irele could perhaps grow to be the spitting image of their mother. This is his sister, he thought, but he wasn’t sure what to do or how to react and interact with her—neither of them have known much about the other. And they’ve only just met! To Irele, it felt like she had waited a lifetime to meet him; she always had that feeling, perhaps over time, she didn’t anticipate him as much.

“Irele…?” Anakin uttered.

“H-Hi…” she stuttered shyly, reacting to her name.

Cliegg spun his hoverchair, “Irele, this is your brother. Your real brother.”

Irele’s brows furrowed, she blinked several times as she examined Anakin’s features. Perhaps she could not spot any resemblance yet, but eventually she would have—if she gave it time. As the siblings stared at one another; thoughts, questions, and even comments about each other’s appearances flood their minds.

What does she know about me? Did Mom ever tell her about me?

There’s something I feel about him… though it’s making me too nervous. It’s almost like it’s something bad… or maybe because he just looks a little mean.

Before giving a proper reaction or even speaking a single word, she sprang to her heels and fled to her room, flimsily holding her satchel loosely by the strap, dangling just inches away from the ground as she ran.

The adults dismissed it as bashfulness and also surprise. Anakin did not go after her anymore and went to the direction of the front door.

“Give her time,” Cliegg advised.

“Where are you going?”

Anakin’s eyebrows slightly pulled, but Owen did not notice, “To go find my mother.”

“Your mother’s dead son, accept it. There’s little hope she’s lasted this long.”

In fact, he didn’t. He could never ever. Then Cliegg sighed in defeat, knowing that this boy might be just as stubborn as his little sister. He reached for Anakin’s forearm and clutched it weakly, slightly startling him.

“If you can’t do that… at least talk to your sister.”

The sky had burned into a golden orange hue, sunset was nearing. Night will be upon them soon. Anakin found Irele in the workshop, he recognized some of the apparatus to be Shmi’s—apparently, she had brought those with her when she and Irele were bought.

As he was approaching her, he caught a glimpse of what she was doing—she was piecing together a sort of tech that seemed familiar, along with a little help from her friends in town.

“Irele, I…”

“She told me about you,” Irele matched her brother’s firm tone of voice, though the hint of uncertainty rang along her words. She did not look at him, she spoke to him while keeping her eyes on her handicraft. “A long time ago. I just didn’t think we’d meet at this time.”

Anakin got close enough to get a better look at her tinkering, he examined the small machine and discovered that she was retrofitting a podracer’s dashboard.

Attempting and hoping he’d establish a connection with her, he caved in to listen on what Irele has to say.

“She told me that you were a great racer. You won against Sebulba.”

“Sebulba? He still races?”

Irele turned to Anakin, not exactly surprised that he still remembers the cheating Dug, though a decade’s worth of not knowing anything happening in Tatooine would at least fog his memory. His sister nodded slowly and then returned to fixing the dashboard.

“No, it’s…” she trailed off when she got too focused on arranging the wires. “It’s from a customer in Anchorhead. I used to be in a podracer’s pit stop entourage, when I was like six.”

“Do they still race?”

She shook her head, and answered the question she knew was coming, “Accident. Can’t drive a pod with just one arm, huh?”

Her posture straightened, she moved the magnifying lens away from her, and then secured the dashboard in a leather sleeve before settling it down neatly in the center of the workbench. Irele finally afforded a good long look at her big brother.

Big brother… kinda weird to call him that.

“Ani,” she uttered, though she meant it as a practice of getting used to addressing him when talking to him. She didn’t really intend to call him, but he looked at her anyway. There was a pause before she continued.

“How much did Dad tell you—about Mom?”

It slightly baffled Anakin how casually she called Cliegg her father, he cannot blame her anyway if this is the father figure she grew up with.

“Just enough for me to know,” Anakin answered.

She hummed. Then Anakin decided to ask the question that has been lingering in his mind. If this was his birth sister, was she born in the same way he was?

“Irele, perhaps you can tell me something,” he began.

Detecting the seriousness in his tone, she swiveled the chair to face him, propping her elbow on the table. Staring back at him with those hazel eyes that he cannot gaze upon without remembering Shmi—because he could definitely see his mother within his sister—he licked his lips before speaking.

“Cliegg isn’t really your father, is he?”

His sister stared at him some more with squinted eyes, bobbed her head to the side as she got the idea of his question. She wordlessly shook her head; when she did, then Anakin’s presumptions have been realized—she was exactly like him. Within their moment together of just conversing, he could feel the Force flowing in her, although it was faint and seemingly dormant. In that case, her Force-sensitivity might be still untapped—what seemed to be a small stream on a quiet summer morning will eventually turn out to be a powerful, raging dam. And so it begs the question: will he report her to the Jedi Council?

“He told you about the Tuskens, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Oh…” Irele’s eyelids drooped as she looked randomly on the floor, avoiding her brother’s gaze. Another moment passed, both siblings were inept in speaking to  one another casually—unlike how Irele is to Owen—but then she lifted her head again, and this time, she looked at her real big brother with pleading eyes, suggesting a sense of longing for their mother and sadness. The latter being a dangerous emotion to dwell on. “You’ll bring her back, won’t you… Anakin?”

Then at that moment, Anakin was both determined and burdened to keep such a promise. He was confident and hopeful that he would rescue Shmi, but with such a motivation fueled by the fear of loss, Irele was beginning to sense something ominous from him. In the back of her head, she was regretting what she asked of him. She saw a shadow loom over Anakin, as dark as his long robes that sweep the sand as he strode. Her heart pumped slowly and heavily, it suffocated her and made her nervous.

There’s something not right with him. Something… bad. She thought to herself, her fingers twitched with anxiety. It’s too late to take that back. Anakin has sealed a contract forged from her behest—which was also his. Now she wanted to stop him, because she know something bad was going to happen—executing the same foresight she had for Shmi.

“Anakin, are you alright?” Irele asked, and that seemed to snap him back to reality.

He stammered as he answers, “Yes. I… I just blanked out, I guess.”

“Right…” she groaned with a growing suspicion. “Just… Just don’t lose sight of what you came for.”

Her vague warning would allude to the preceding events. Anakin took her words to heart, and his being a Jedi gave him the advantage to read people better than most, to analyze their motives and desires. Hearing Irele say something like that hints her Jedi-like abilities: her foresight, which was something Qui Gon had noted of Anakin himself when he was still a child.

“I won’t,” he said with conviction, and then he managed a smile in the hopes of easing her spirits. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring her back.”

Irele’s thin lips pursed and watched her big brother turn around to leave her be in the workshop. When his back turned to her, that smile instantaneously melted away; her stomach slightly churned at the sight of his robes shadowing his figure—he looked broader and more intimidating, and quite ominous.

She had a bad feeling. A very bad feeling about this.

Worst engagement AU // on AO3

Parts of this had been posted before, but it has now been updated to better fit with the rest of the timeline

After another weekly discussion with Lan Xichen, Nie Huaisang figures out a way to get back at his fiancé.

It goes the same as always. Lan Xichen serves insipid tea for both of them, and offers some of those bland biscuits he seems to adore, as if it’s a great honour he’s doing to Nie Huaisang to give him anything to snack on.

Nie Huaisang who just wants this stupid meeting to be over already so he can go have some fun. Wei Wuxian said he’d sneak out to get them something to drink, and Nie Huaisang still has a stash of snacks from his last expedition out of the Cloud Recesses. They’ve decided to have a little party tonight, to celebrate the end of Wei Wuxian’s punishment. It will start as soon as Nie Huaisang is freed from this boring tea party.

First though, Nie Huaisang half expects to be scolded for what happened at the river yesterday. He was too annoyed by having their fun interrupted, but Jiang Cheng swears that Lan Xichen seemed very upset by his state of undress. Not without reason, since it goes against the rules of stupid Gusu Lan to be immodest and indecent. And sure, it’s all Wei Wuxian’s fault, but that’s not really going to help his case.

But the scolding never comes. Lan Xichen chooses to be annoyingly dignified instead, as if it’d be beneath him to even mention that incident. Nie Huaisang would have preferred anger. He would have preferred any emotion at all, instead of that blank politeness.

"Shall we play Go again?" Lan Xichen asks as he hands him his cup of tea. 

He sounds hopeful, eager even, and last week he looked like he was really having fun as they played. So did Nie Huaisang. He's still new to the game, but he finds that he loves it and it was thrilling to win against someone as skilled as Lan Xichen. 

"I'm not in the mood to play," Nie Huaisang announces.

Lan Xichen's smile falls, letting show real disappointment. Good. Nie Huaisang likes Go, but he refuses to let his fiancé get any enjoyment out of their weekly talks. Last time was an accident that he won't repeat. 

"I'll be more careful about the time that passes," Lan Xichen offers. He's not wrong that it was part of the problem, but seeing him insist like this just makes Nie Huaisang promise himself to never play together again, since Lan Xichen wants it so much.

"I'm just too tired," he mumbles, just a touch whiny. "Lan gongzi, I'd do so badly and then you'd be cross at me for not doing well enough."

Without surprise, Lan Xichen pinches his lips and glares at him, but it would be rude to push more so he gives up. It's rather obvious that he was planning on playing for the entire time they have to be together, and that he didn't prepare anything else to pass the time. Meanwhile Nie Huaisang has decided he wants to try his hand at poetry, so sitting in silence for a while doesn't bother him in the least. 

For now, he's looking for something to rhyme with nightingale, which is harder than expected. But aside from his beloved birds, Nie Huaisang can't think of anything worth writing about. Love is a lie for common people, and he's more interested in painting nature than writing about it. 

"I don't think I had the chance to say, but thank you for preventing that fight the other day," Lan Xichen says, apparently abhorring silence.

Nie Huaisang shoots him a puzzled look. It takes him a moment to find what that's about, but there can be only one incident his fiancé his referring to. Three days ago, Lan Xichen had to supervise the guest disciples because Lan Qiren was called away for a bit, and of course that gave some people a chance to start causing problems. 

Well, some people. Jin Zixuan. 

He's a weird kid, that Jin Zixuan, Nie Huaisang has decided. For someone from such a great sect, who is this pretty and good at cultivation, and in spite of being there with a number of relatives, it's odd that he's not particularly popular. Of course, that might be because he can't say two words without insulting someone. 

A bit like Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian, but at least they always have each other to step up if they cross a line. On the other hand nobody dares tell Jin Zixuan when he's a little shit, so he comes off as mean rather than funny like the Jiang boys. 

In truth, Nie Huaisang is starting to suspect Jin Zixuan is just painfully awkward and bad with people, and of course he too knows about being awkward. He wouldn’t tell anyone, least of all Jin Zixuan himself, but he pities him a little.

"It really was nothing," Nie Huaisang says with a dismissive handwave. "There wasn't going to be any real trouble. Wei-xiong knows better than to start a fight with his shijie's fiancé." 

Lan Xichen cannot contain a slight grimace, unconvinced. In truth, Nie Huaisang isn't so sure either, but he's not about to snitch on his friend. 

“It was still good of you to intervene,” Lan Xichen insists, smiling blankly.

Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes. If he had known it would please Lan Xichen so much, he’d have let Wei Wuxian punch Jin Zixuan in the face. Maybe he will next time.

“Lan gongzi is too kind. Really, I just wanted to tease Wei-xiong, it’s just an accident if that prevented anything. Lan gongzi knows I’m not bright enough to do anything good, ever.”

“That’s not true,” Lan Xichen protests, startling Nie Huaisang with how earnest he sounds all of a sudden. “Certainly you are not much of a scholar, but you have other talents. Although, even for this you have improved, haven’t you? I’m told you have done better than last year with the class on talismans.”

“Wei-xiong helped me,” Nie Huaisang announces, proud of himself for the fact that it’s not quite a lie. Wei Wuxian did help, by giving him all the answers in exchange for permanent ownership of a certain artful print from Nie Huaisang’s collection. And this time, they’ve been smart enough to not get caught. They're getting good at cheating, Nie Huaisang thinks.

Lan Xichen appears to consider that explanation for a moment as he sips some of his tea, looking as if he actually enjoys the stuff when it tastes like nothing but diluted washing water.

“You really spend a lot of time with Wei gongzi and Jiang gongzi, don’t you?” Lan Xichen remarks at last.

“I like them a lot. And I remember you encouraging me to do it. After all, a sect leader’s husband must have good relations with other sect leaders as well, right?”

A frown appears on Lan Xichen’s too perfect face, as always when Nie Huaisang says something to remind him of what awaits them in a few years. More surprisingly, there’s also the faintest trace of a blush on his cheeks. It’s not a bad look on him. It makes him seem more human. Not that Nie Huaisang cares, of course.

“You are right. Still, I would advise you not to take too much after Wei gongzi,” Lan Xichen says in a voice as dispassionate as ever. “He is not unkind, but very wild. A sect leader’s husband should respect the rules, and I fear Wei gongzi...”

“Are you gossiping, Lan gongzi?” Nie Huaisang interrupts with a smirk.

The other boy’s frown deepens, as does his blush. Lan Xichen hates being caught at fault, and Nie Huaisang is starting to figure out how to push him to it. It’s thrilling to see how imperfect his jade fiancé is after all. If he weren’t worried about Nie Mingjue’s reaction, Nie Huaisang would push even harder, just to see if it’s possible for Lan Xichen to actually get angry. His face his always so smooth and perfect, but he must look ugly when he's properly furious, that'd be fun.

Actually, since Nie Mingjue’s always grumpy about something, Nie Huaisang might try anyway. He wants Lan Xichen to be angry, just as Nie Huaisang himself still is when he allows his thoughts to linger on their situation.

He wants Lan Xichen to hurt, just as he’s ached all those years during which he tried so hard to be good enough, always in vain.

He’ll make him pay.

“If you knew for sure that Wei Ying and I were doing anything wrong, you’d have had us punished already,” Nie Huaisang claims, enjoying the ways Lan Xichen’s eyes narrow when he uses the other boy’s personal name. “Besides, I’m sure Jiang Cheng would not let us do anything that might tarnish his sect’s reputation either. He is very aware of these things.”

“I was not aware you were so close to Jiang gongzi,” Lan Xichen remarks coldly.

They both know that Nie Huaisang has never even called Lan Xichen by his courtesy name, let alone his personal name. He never will, not if he can help it. They might have to marry, but nobody can force Nie Huaisang to pretend he cares, not anymore. Lan Xichen is Lan gongzi, and someday he’ll be sect leader Lan, and that’s it. If absolutely forced, Nie Huaisang will perhaps deign call him husband, but only as a last resort, if they have to show unity in front of enemies. He'll never be Lan Xichen, and even less Lan Huan.

“Jiang Cheng is a lot of fun, in his own manner,” Nie Huaisang chirps. “It was his idea to go to the river yesterday, you know? He doesn’t look it, but he is really fun. And it’s nice that you always know where you stand with him… I just like people who are honest about what they think and how they feel. Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian are great friends to have for that, even if it can get them in trouble at times.”

Lan Xichen pinches his lips, and his fingers tighten around his cooling cup of tea, his cheeks flushed red in what might very well be actual anger. It’s not as good as if it were pain, but Nie Huaisang still delights in any reaction he can get. He’s convinced now that he could push harder quite easily, but…

But the incense is already finished burning, and Nie Huaisang is free.

He jumps to his feet, and bows to Lan Xichen, already thinking of nothing but the little party that awaits him.

“Well, I’ll see you next week, Lan gongzi,” he says, not even trying to hide his joy at being done with this. He didn’t even have to drink that disgusting tea this time, which counts as another little victory.

Without waiting for an answer, Nie Huaisang turns toward the door, thinking of Emperor’s Smile, peanuts, and real, sugary biscuits. It will be wonderful, and they will have fun, perhaps check some of the books in his private collection if they get drunk enough, and…

“Nie Huaisang.”

He stops on his tracks and glances behind in shock. 

Just like him, Lan Xichen had never called him by anything but his title before.

“Lan gongzi?”

There’s an unusual intensity to Lan Xichen’s expression, his face so red it looks to be burning. It’s not quite anger alone anymore, but it’s… something else, something Nie Huaisang can't quite name. It nearly makes him shiver to have those dark, golden eyes on him like this. It almost feels as if, for the very first time in their years of acquaintance, Lan Xichen is truly looking at him.

“I am glad if you make friends, Nie Huaisang, especially close ones. But you would do well to remember that you are engaged, and that your friendships should not be taken too far.”

Nie Huaisang laughs, too surprised to think of any other way to react. 

He laughs, and laughs, and leaves without gratifying Lan Xichen with an answer. He’s still laughing when he joins Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng, although after some hesitation he decides not to share with them the cause of his hilarity. Wei Wuxian would laugh along without doubt, but Jiang Cheng is too aware of politics to find it funny. He would demand that Nie Huaisang return to see Lan Xichen and make it clear there’s nothing improper between them, which sounds boring.

If this is the way he can shatter Lan Xichen’s pride, Nie Huaisang has half a mind to get a lot more flirty in the future.

Hello ! Could you tell me facts about the life of Cesare Borgia? Thaanks.

So, I really wanted to make this a short list with basic facts, but somehow it ended up becoming a longer, detailed list with my favorites facts alongside facts that aren’t very well known or mentioned, here it goes: - Cesare received an outstanding, carefully planned education. He was brought up at Rome by private tutors until the age of twelve, in 1489 he left Rome to attend La Sapienza of Perugia, where he studied the foundations of law and the humanities, being placed under the charge of the preceptor Giovanni Vera of Archilla, to whom btw, he remained warmly attached until Vera’s death in 1503. In 1491 he continued his studies in Civil and Canon law at the University of Pisa, attending the lectures of Filippo Decio, one of most rated lecturer on canon law of his day. There he also became more acquainted with the Medici family, through Lorenzo de’ Medici sons: Giovanni de’ Medici and his brother Piero. - Paolo Pompilio, a Spanish scholar, dedicated his treatise on verse-writing, the Syllabica, to Cesare, where he praised him as ‘Borgiae familiae spes et decus’  (the hope and ornament of the House of Borgia).     - His father, as Cardinal and Vice-Chancellor, invested a long list of benefices upon him, to name only a few: when he was seven years old, pope Sixtus IV conferred upon him a prebend of the cathedral’s chapter of Valencia. In 1483 he received the title of rector of Gandia and archdeacon of Játiva. Later on, with pope Innocent VIII he was granted the position of treasurer of Mallorca’s cathedral, following that of canon of Lérida, Archdeacon of Tarragona and then treasurer of Cartagena’s cathedral. By 1491, Innocent at last granted him the bishopric of Pamplona. - He learned the art of bullfighting from the Spanish members of his father’s court and it became one of his life passions. Whether in Rome or in the Romagna, at any celebration, there was almost always a bullfight and he was almost always participating himself. - He also loved hunting, so he was always looking for good hunting dogs and falcons. On May 28th, 1497 he even sent one of his men, Enrico, to Germany to request from the Archbishop of Mainz some “well-trained and sagacious hunting dogs; their quality to be more important than their number.” - He was the first person in the history of the Church to resign the cardinalate, eventually becoming commander of the Papal armies. - He was briefly hostage of the Colonna during the conflicts of the French Invasion in 1494, and later on hostage of the king of France, Charles VIII. Although that time, he escaped their camp at Velletri, with the help of a man named Francesco del Sacco, officer of the Podestà of Velletri, who was waiting for him with a horse. Cesare sped back to Rome going to the house of one Antonio Flores, where he stayed for a night and informed his father of his presence. The next day, he withdrew to the city of Spoleto, and remained there until matters cooled off. - In 1497, a sword was forged for Cesare, known as “the queen of swords”, for his visit to Naples as papal legate, to crown the new king, Frederick of Naples. Its design was attributed to many artists including Michaelangelo, but it is more likely that the artist was Pinturicchio. And the blacksmith/sword engraver was Salomone da Sesso (c. 1465- c.1504–21) who after his conversion to Christianity assumed the name of Ercole dei Fedeli. (more details about the sword here x) - Cesare appeared wearing a horned mask in the guise of a unicorn during a theatrical performance, in one of the many festivities held in honor of his sister Lucrezia’s second wedding. Unicorn are known symbols of female chastity, possibly a reference to Lucrezia and her wedding night, but it also shows off Cesare’s own sense of humour, since it was well known to all present that he was anything but a chaste man lol. And the unicorn horn, according to a Greek physician had the ability of protecting people from sickness and neutralizing poison, which could have been another humourous remark from Cesare in reference to his family’s reputation of using poison to dispose of their enemies. - His best known mistress was Fiammetta Michaelis, she was a cultured courtesan from Florence, but who lived in Rome since 1473 most likely. Her relationship with Cesare was such that even after his death in 1507, she continued to sign herself as Fiammetta Ducis Valentini (of the duke Valentino). And her will in the city archives was headed ‘The Testament of La Fiammetta of Il Valentino.” - On May 10, 1499, he married Charlotte d’Albret, and before his departure from France he appointed her governor and administrator of all his lands and lorships in France and Dauphiny. He also made her heiress to all his moveable possessions in the event of his death (a little more about that here x). On December 1501, he personally selected precious gifts to be sent to her acquired from Venice. It included moulded wax, white sweetmeats, fine sugars, syrups, nine barrels of Malvoisie, oriental spices, oranges and lemons and all kinds of cloths. - Under his patronage, the first printing press of any importance was established in Italy. It was set up at Fano by Girolamo Sancino in 1501. One of the earliest works was the printing of the Statutes of Fano for the first time in January 1502. - About his administration staff, also in the year of 1501, we know he had a beautiful young woman from Bologna named Jovanna, working for him in his chancery. She’s described as a “degnissma scriptora”, she wrote letters and maybe did other secretarial duties as well for 14 ducats. - Whether it was treachery or a legit, reasonable move against Guidobaldo's own plans of treachery against him, the fact is that Cesare acquired Urbino without bloodshed in any of the towns, in a brilliant coup that amazed the whole of Italy (and terrified the nobility lol). While leaving a military contingent at Camerino, Cesare road north through the Apennines, between Nocera and Urbino he covered more or less sixty miles in forty-eight hours with a mixed force of 2.000 men. Before anyone else knew, he had already took Cagli, inside the Duchy of Urbino. Simultaneously, two other points were taken too, Montevecchio and San Lorenzo. Di Naldo, one of Cesare’s captains came from the east. These three armies converged towards the capital of Urbino then, where they met with the castilian and the garrison was rendered by him. A few hours later Cesare himself entered the city without any resistence. - The famous Sleeping Cupid by Michelangelo that Cesare gifted it to Isabella d’Este when he took Urbino in 1502 had a history together. He had previously been the owner of this piece. Cardinal Riario Sforza bought in 1496, but apparently when he found out that the piece was a modern piece and not an antique, he didn’t wanted it anymore, so it was displayed across the street of Cesare’s palace and he bought before the end of the year and later on send it as a gift to Guidobaldo da Montefeltro, Duke of Urbino. -  A popular canzona of the time, Donna contra la mia Voglia by Filippo de Lurano  (c.1470-c.1520) was Cesare’s favorite song. (There is an excellent version of it too by conductor and composer Jordi Savall). - As another step to secure the unity of the Romagna, Cesare did a reform in legal administration of great importance, he established a supreme Court of Appeal, named the Rota, influenced by the famous Court of the Vatican with the same name. He appointed as The First President, a newly created office, to Antonio di Monte Sansovino, a distinguished jurist with high integrity, and who was universally beloved. This Appeal Court sat in the seven main cities of the Romagna: Fano, Pesaro, Rimini, Cesena, Faenza, Forlì and Imola. If it was necessary, this Court would sit for as much as two months. All expenses were met by a payment from each of these judicial circuits of 200 ducats per annum. - In October 1500 Pinturicchio wrote to Cesare asking for the grant of a well to be put in one of the lands pope Alexander VI had bestow on him and his descendents at Chiusi, a city in the province of Siena, but near Perugia. Pinturicchio went himself to see Cesare at Diruta to request for all the necessary permission. Cesare issued a letter to Alfano Alfani, vice-treasurer of Perugia, making the request and saying that: “he had again taken to his service Bernardino Pinturicchio of Perosa, whom he always loved because his talent and gifts; and he desires that in all things he should be considered as ‘one of ours.” This initial request wasn’t honored so Cesare wrote again to this Alfani reinforcing his wish to be granted within that year. In 1501, Pinturicchio was given an annual payment as Cesare’s personal painter as well. - Cesare hired Leonardo da Vinci as a military architect and engineer in the spring of 1501, he entrusted him with all sorts of projects, in Cesena for example he asked that Da Vinci planned a new quarter of the city with wilder streets, sidewalks, parks, and a functioning sewage system and many other improvements. He also issued papers from the city’s headquarters for the construction in Cesena of a new university building, a palace to house the Rota. - Cesare also commissioned Da Vinci to work on an alterpiece, that is now lost unfortunately, at the Santuario della Beata Vergine del Piratello, outside of Imola. Some scholars agree that Da Vinci at the very least begun this painting, but it was not finished by him. There are some sketches he made that are called: Three views of a bearded man and it’s generally accepted to be Cesare, in what might have become a portrait of him in this alterpiece. - Right after he conquered a city, it was Cesare’s policy to issue a stem proclamation against plunder, guaranteed the property of the citizens. At Forlì he took measures to safeguard the convents, listening to all complaints of ill-treatment or robbery at the hands of the soldiery. On December 7, 1500, he hanged from the windows of his headquarters, two of his own men, a Piedmontese and a Gascon soldier, who had disobeyed his orders against plunder in the town. On the 13th of the same month, other offenders followed the same fate as the first two, which showed his zeal and the level of his commitment for the interests of his Forlivesi subjects. - At Cesena, as in other places in the Romagna, that same policy was applied, the usual disorder was put to an end, and civic automony was fully restored, along with the suppresion of aristocratic feuds, which resulted on econonical security and internal peace. - During the conquest of Faenza, the only city where Cesare met a true resistance, he retired to Cesena through the winter months while the siege kept going there. One night, he was walking around the city when he found a baby girl abandoned in the street, he commanded the baby to be nursed, and settled an ample dowry on the baby’s mother until she was of marriageable age. Afterwards, when the father refused to acknowledge the girl as his own, Cesare himself acknowledged the girl and she was baptized that day. - On March 29, 1501, when he was informed of Beatrice of Naples arrival at Cesenatico, twice Queen of Hungary and of Bohemia, and sister of Frederick of Naples, he send off his staff to greet her and to present her with a 'royal gift'. He ordered his lieutenants to honor her in every city in the Romagna and the Marche region, where she made her way back to Naples. - On 1502, Cesare and his father, Rodrigo went on a boat trip to Piombino and the island of Elba so that Rodrigo could officially take possession of these territories Cesare had recently conquered. Everything went smoothly, and they were on their way back when a violent storm began, hitting them hard. During 5 days they wandered aimlessly. Everyone, but Rodrigo, were quite anxious and scared. At the second day, the crew saw an English ship, and Cesare proposed to go to this boat to request for help, but Rodrigo refused, not wanting to request help from strangers. Eventually they made it back ashore, but it was a close call there for them for awhile.     - After the masterstroke at Senigallia, where he successfully arrested his conspiring condottiere, the city was in total confusion, and a part of Cesare’s infantry were starting to sack the city, so Cesare in full armour and on horseback gave orders for his men to stop the sacking immediately, he then gathered some of his captains and went about the city streets putting a stop to the abuses that were starting to happen, some soldiers however, refused to obey his orders, and they were promptly executed there for their disobedience. - On 25 October, 1506 he managed to escape the Castle of La Mota, in Spain, a fortress that at that time worked as State prison, of maximum security, and where he was imprisoned. With the collaboration of his chaplain, and a servant of the governor's, named Garcia, along with the outside help from Count of Benavente, a powerful lord from the neighbourhood, who visited him regularly, he managed to climb down the 40 meter high tower with a rope, and if memory doesn't fail me, he was the only prisoner to have ever managed to escape this prison lool.

Animal War

João Pedro Tamer and Rodrigo Catap

Fanfiction Synopsis:

After getting control of the Animal Farm and settling there, the pigs and the other animals, led by comrades Snowball and Napoleon, started to think about expanding their territory and taking control of England. With the same objective, they dominated Pinchfield Farm and declared war on the human beings. This act is the beginning of a national Revolution, a war between the animals and the human, between capitalism and animalism. There will be kings or beasts of England?

What if the pigs wanted to take control of all England instead of just staying in the Animal Farm?

Story:

“That’s it, comrades! We won the battle and we finally are free from Mr. Jones. I declare this farm, formerly known as the Manor Farm, the only place in England which isn’t controlled by humans. This farm, from now, is called the Animal Farm!” - With these words, Snowball showed the other animals that they were in command now.”

They weren’t slaves anymore. Their liberty was conquered. After this day, the animals would never be treated in the same way they used to be. 

From that day on, Snowball was seen as a leader, who was always making convincing speeches and having a lot of good ideas, like the construction of a windmill. Napoleon was more like a strategic and military leader. He wasn’t so good with his words, but this wasn’t a problem because his cleverness and his decisions were helping the farm to thrive and prosper. And finally Squealer, who wasn’t so strong as the others, but had the ability of convincing and persuading the others as nowone. His accurate words were like magic. He could easily change an animal's opinions, making someone that was firmly against a decision suddenly agreeing with what was said by Squealer.

With those three leaders, Animalism was implemented, the Seven Commandments were written, the animals had equal rights and peace was established. That could be a happy end to this story, isn’t it? But the pigs wanted more! They wanted to conquer the human’s neighbors farms, Pinchfield and Foxwood, who decided to attack the Animal Farm, just because they didn’t accept a farm controlled by animals instead of humans, which could turn into something bad for them. 

Napoleon was the responsable to preventing the invasions that were currently happening. After seeing a lot of human attacks and realizing that the Animal Farm was in trouble, he presented an idea to the Farm’s council: 

“Comrades, I have to say something... As you all know, our farm is being oftenly attacked by humans, with the objective to destroy us completely. With this fact, I realized some days ago that our defense isn’t impregnable, so we should improve it to not be attacked anymore. If we don’t change it, in a few weeks, we will have already been dominated by them. So, I offer you something. To scare them and prove we are stronger than them, besides improving our defense, we have to counter-attack them! We have enough military power, so we are capable of taking control of both of these farms!” 

The animals were shocked. None of them had some similar idea before. But that was true, the farm was constantly being in trouble, so something needed to be done. Probably, their best option would be counter attacking. This speech made a lot of animals start to sing their song: “Beasts of England”. 

Due to his strategic abilities, Napoleon was capable of planning and executing a big counter attack to beat the Pinchfield and the Foxwood Farm. After nearly a month, Snowball and Napoleon took control of both farms. The plan was a big success. Now, they were in control of the whole county. 

The battles against humans were now comun because a lot of farmers saw the Animal Farm as a threat to their business, having in mind their own animals started to think about adhering to the Animalism system. A lot of them stopped to work hard or even ran away trying to find the Animal Farm. 

With the Pinchfield and the Foxwood battle, even the parliament was seeing the pigs as a real danger, because their territory and their influence was increasing everyday. The farmers from all the country were desperate, trying to warn the Queen about this possible war that could happen between the animals and humans. 

Squealer was always converting the animals from all different territories that were conquered by the pigs, due to his convincing speeches, criticising the humans and their system and presenting Animalism as a solution and as the best system possible. 

The parliament was gathered to discuss this issue. They concluded that the best power in the pig’s hands was Squealer and his speeches, capable of convincing every animal living in England. Without him, Animalism could lose influence and power. As an answer to this increase of the pig’s power, they decided to eliminate him, sending some pilots with the mission of overflying the farm and throwing a big bomb, able to kill every animal in the place. 

Their first step was to find where Squealer was. This could be something very difficult to know, because there was very little information about what was happening in the animal’s territory. Then, the Queen told everyone that their first job was to overfly all the territory conquered by the pigs until they could find Squealer. After that, they would throw the bomb to the place where he was located. 

After three days, the attack was done. The pilots did what they were supposed to do and they could find their target in less than an hour. He was staying in the old Pinchfield Farm, which was named by the pigs as “The Beast Farm”. Their plan was a success. The bomb was thrown and it detonated exactly where they wanted. After some minutes, the pilots verified the situation and confirmed that Squealer, their target, was dead. 

This was seen as a victory to the humans, but the pigs weren’t over. The Squealer’s death impacted the animals, who quickly organized a funeral for him. Snowball and Napoleon both were very sad about what happened, but they were now mad with the humans. At this point, the pigs had conquered almost 10 counties in England and they had almost conquered the whole North region. 

Now, both of them had a new reason to fight against the humans. They had killed one of their best friends. When Snowball and Napoleon met each other again, they decided to declare war against England. From this time on, their objective was to take control of London, the country’s capital, consequently ruling the parliament too. 

For the parliament, who was celebrating a lot after their apparent victory, this declaration was a huge surprise. They were all shocked when the messenger entered Buckingham Palace with this news. Without thinking, the Queen said that they had to be prepared for what was coming, so a lot of troops should be in charge of protecting the city from the animal’s attacks. 

Napoleon had a strategic way of attacking the city of London that he had thought through many days. He and Snowball organized a council meeting to show their plan to the other animals, such as the dogs, who were always near from Napoleon, the hens, who were always against what was said by the pigs, the horses, who usually agreed with Snowball’s plans and projects, and the sheeps, who liked a lot to sing their rebellion song: “Beasts of England”. 

“Comrades, the humans declared war on us when they killed our comrade Squealer. We all know that they won’t stop. If they did it to him, they could throw a bomb to kill everyone here, so we are in real danger. Our only chance is to counter attack them. And we need to attack a specific place, where all the power in England is. This place is known as The Buckingham Palace and it is located in the city of London. The only way of invading Buckingham Palace is causing a distraction. You, my comrades, have the honour to make this plan work, because you, commanded by me, will start a battle in London against their army. Meanwhile, a group of animals will have the job of going in secret to the palace, where the Queen of England is. Snowball, I give you the honour of making part of this plan by having the mission of killing the Queen of England. Do you accept it?”

Snowball looked his friend with a lot of determination in his eyes and he replied:

“Yes, I do. I will do it for the Animal Farm! Let’s go, Beasts of England!”

From that day forward the animals, under the leadership of Napoleon and Snowball, began to follow the strategic route traced by the two leaders. They passed through several small cities, killing all the humans they found and releasing all the animals that had been imprisoned by them, all in complete secrecy, so that the Queen would not know that their plan was in place, and that they were increasing their army every time. to be prepared for the final battle.

Their troops grew, their territory increased, and the road to London was almost at an end, when they finally took over the farm closest to the capital, where they would establish themselves there to carry out the attack, which as planned, would take place in the following week. 

To finally invade and take full possession of parliament, thus controlling London completely, it would be necessary to take possession of most of the arms depots, which were scattered throughout the city. As they were a great threat to parliament, and in London, security was reinforced to the maximum, and to enter the capital would be a difficult task, if not the most difficult of all up to that time. After much thought, the two leaders came to a single possible solution: They would have to dress up to behave like humans. When they told their idea to the other animals, everyone was extremely upset, as they refused to imitate and act like their biggest enemy, the humans. But it was the only way, it would have to be done.

They spent approximately 3 days working for 24 hours making the costumes, so that they were immaculate, and that their presence could not be identified even by the English authorities. The end of the week had arrived, the costumes were ready, the plan was already made and the animals were more prepared than ever, they were ready to take over London and the English parliament completely. 

When the expected day finally arrived, all the animals, being pigs, horses, sheeps, hens or dogs, were costumed until they arrived in the city of London. Then, they were divided into two different groups. One of them was commanded by comrade Napoleon and the other was led by comrade Snowball. Snowball was leading only the most clever animals, like the dogs and the pigs, who could understand the plan better. Now, Napoleon’s group didn’t need anymore to be costumed, since they would start a huge battle against the humans, where they didn’t need to be furtive. 

After they were divided, Napoleon started the war when he and his soldiers appeared in the center of a pram and they started singing the “Beasts of England” song. Besides that, their leader started to make a speech to everyone who was present:

“Hello, everyone. I think you British already know me, but if you don’t, I'm Napoleon, the leader of the Animal Farm. Your plan to kill one of our leaders was a big success, and our plan will be as good as yours to kill your main leader, the Queen!!! So, let me introduce you to my power” - when he said that, thousands of pigs, dogs, hens, horses and sheeps increased their tone of voice and now they were shouting out. - “We won't let go of what you did to our leader, and we'll do the same with yours!!! That’s it, comrades! Let 's go! Let 's win this war!”

The battle started and it lasted more or less three hours. Napoleon stayed outside in the streets to hold and kill as many soldiers as possible, while Snowball and the dogs stormed the parliament to brutally execute the queen. A lot of deaths happened on both sides. The fight was nearly in the end, but some soldiers were still in the battle. One of them was Napoleon, who had killed a lot of British soldiers and was now surrounded by 20 enemies. At this time, he stopped fighting and made another speech, maybe his last one:

“Fight for our Farm! I can go away, but our cause isn’t death and never will be! Let’s go, Animal Farm. I trust in every animal…” - while he was saying that, a soldier shot him in the chest and he was bleeding a lot. Napoleon noticed that his life was fading away, but he finished his speech with a final sentence - “Beasts of England! Beasts of Ireland! Beasts of land…” - then, a shot was heard and all the animals saw the life of their leader ending in front of them. Another leader was gone. First, Squealer, and now Napoleon. The only thing they could think of was Snowball’s situation.

Meanwhile, the dogs' group, leadered by Snowball, entered Buckingham Palace with some explosives. Their attack was fast and effective. They invaded the Queen’s room and quickly did their job. A single shot was enough to kill her. All of them were celebrating after accomplishing their job, but when they arrived in the center of the city to tell the other that the Queen was dead, they saw Napoleon lying on the ground and a lot of animals crying around him. They had won the war, but they lost one of their leaders. That was the price to be paid. 

With Napoleon's death, a funeral was made in his honneur, and a statue was built on top of his body, as a tribute to his person, for being the greatest military leader in Animalism history.

Snowball was in control now, and following his and Napoleon's ideias, 3 months after the war, the Animalism had already spread out through hole England, being the main system there. 

"What A Creep" Podcast: Humanity At Its Worst / Sarcasm At Its Best

Sometimes, if you dive into the rabbit hole that is TikTok and watch as Karens are exposed in all their glorious insanity, meltdowns, and temper tantrums, you begin to think that average, non-celebrity people kind of suck.

Well, fear not, because after listening to the What A Creep podcast, you then realize that there are plenty of celebrities who can win the footrace to become some of society's most horrible human beings.

And that's the simple premise behind the What A Creep podcast. Expose celebrities for their heinous actions and words that are too often smoothed over by their P.R. people, legal team, or studios.

 Some of the subjects of their episodes -- AKA Creeps -- are well known and well known as creeps. For example, actor Armie Hammer, who hit the creep jackpot with allegations of sexual assault, rape, and even cannibalism.

Then there's the lesser known creep like self-avowed Christian evangelical comedian Steven Crowder, who allegedly exposed himself to co-workers a la Louis C.K., created a toxic workplace, and was seen on a video, verbally abusing his pregnant wife.  

Then we have well-known people who we've had suspicions that they may be a creep.  That's Wheel of Fortune host Pat Sajak on the June 24, 2023, episode. Suffice it to say that Sajak has always curated an air of dismissive disdain and ennui about his game show and especially the contestants. Apparently, Sajak revels in homophobia, climate change denialism (he could probably afford his own personal climate) and whining about people not working hard, despite the fact he only works four days a month.

The latest episode was a "Creeps" bonanza when profiling Robert Kennedy, Jr. Sometimes, it's a case of too much decrepitude. You have to hand it to Kennedy. He spreads his hate and contempt around -- wifi, vaccines, Jewish people, Chinese people, and gay people along with a twisted belief that antidepressants cause mass shootings.

Margo Donohue and Sonia Mansfield chat about creeps as co-hosts of the show, who are not paragons of restraint. These two don't hold back. 

Notably, these co-hosts note their sources and attempt to present factual information before their "editorial" comments fly around like arrows with razor-sharp tips.

On their website, Donohue and Mansfield announce: "We talk about Creeps of the past and the present: It's the who's who of who's the worst. Do you have a story about one of the Creeps we covered? Email us at [email protected]." This show is part of the Spreaker Prime Network, which specializes in distribution, advertising, sound production, and analytics for independent podcasts. That's admirable that there is a ecosystem extant for podcasters who don't have the financial backing of an Amazon or Spotify.

Margo Donohue is the co-host, producer, and editor of a whole slew of podcasts, including Book Vs. Movie and the Not Fade Away podcast.She makes her living as a public relations/marketing and social media consultant and as a part-time fitness instructor. Her new book, “Filmed in Brooklyn” is available for pre-order on Amazon.

Sonia Mansfield is a former TV critic and celebrity gossip columnist for the San Francisco Examiner. She also wrote for a lot of entertainment websites that don’t exist anymore, including Cinescape, IF Magazine, and EON Magazine. She pays the bills working as a content designer.

Donohue and Mansfield excel as a hosting team. They don't rant unintelligibly, like say Charlie Kirk, but often present a "creep" biography before proceeding with the bullet points of pure creepdom.

The duo seem to have a special section of Hell for comedian Chris D'Elia, who has allegedly been accused of sexual assault or harassment by more than 12 women. D'Elia has been accused of threatening to release intimate, adult videos of a woman and making death threats against her. If the requested videos and photos were not sent instantly, multiple women in the exposé claimed D'Elia would become enraged and berate them. 

Donohue and Mansfield roast this creep in a saucy concoction of revulsion, contempt, and utter disgust. 

What makes this podcast so good, and ear worthy are its sarcastic and sharp-witted co-hosts, the sardonic venom they spew on these celebrity douches, and their ability to construct a narrative that is equal parts comedy, satire, sarcasm, and righteous indignation.

Some of my favorite creeps exposed include Scott Baio, Eric Clapton, Josh Duggar, Matt Gaetz, and Pete Rose. 

Check out the What A Creep podcast. You never know what creep will be profiled each episode.

Egotober #2

I made an Egotober story based on the prompt Stone! Thank @huffletrax for organizing event! Also thanks to @anneliis18​ for kind of inspiring it? IDK I saw your art and suddenly had to write. IDK if you want to be tagged though. I’ll untag if you don’t.

TWs: Nothing too big, but mild manipulation (mentioned) and death (though it’s a red card) This also deals with a bit of ego shipping, so if you’re uncomfortable maybe don’t read this then.

“Come on! I know a place where we can rest!” The young girl, no more than 18, drags the magician up the barren hill by the arm. Marvin the Magnificent, too shocked and disoriented to comprehend his surroundings and too exhausted to complain, follows her up the hill, where only one willow tree lays. Its leaves have disappeared, leaving only grey branches and small icicles. Underneath its limp, deadweight limbs stand three statues as grey and still as the wasteland around them.

All around the highest hill, the valley is nothing but rocky terrain on uneven grounds. Trees barren of leaves show their sharp branches off, as if hoping to scare the intruders away.

The girl kneels down on the floor and flips her book open. She quickly scans over the text. Everything is in place. Now for the spell to be cast.

She turns to the statues. They’re as lifeless as rock, but she knows there’s still life in them. Chase reaches out in mid-scream. Henrik glares, eyes fierce and hands curled into fists, refusing to show any fear as he was turned. Jameson’s eyes are closed, resigned to his fate.

She turns around and faces Marvin. The magician has crashed onto the ground, eyes threatening to droop. Despite his sleepy state, his posture is impeccable. Slowly, he blinks away his fatigue and looks around, taking in the valley for the first time. He turns and notices the statues for the first time. He tilts his head, confused, but says nothing.

The apprentice bites her tongue to keep from spilling the truth. She needs him to be as calm as possible. Jackie should appear soon. She just has to distract the magician until then.

Marvin hasn’t spoken the entire journey. In fact, he looks like he might faint any second. Despite his weak and disheveled appearance, he’s alert and awake.

“Where are we? This place looks haunted,” Marvin finally says. The valley looks familiar, but he’s given up trying to remember places. He needs to rest.

The last hour has been nothing but fear and uncertainty, and a whole lot of running. Running from the sorcerer who tried to force the magician to marry him, running from the angry mob who rushed to defend the sorcerer when Marvin left the altar, and transporting with the girl to get far away from human contact.

On any other day running from trouble, Marvin would sleep, but the valley is way too sketchy for him to rest. There are no leaves giving them shelter, so they could be spotted any moment! He needs to stay awake. The girl is here beside him. He can’t risk her getting hurt.

In the short time that he’s known her, he has grown fond of the girl down the street who promised that he would not marry the sorcerer. She kept her promise and now he is free. He owes her. He can’t risk losing her. Not after he lost Jackie and everyone else...

Marvin’s heart sinks. It felt like only yesterday he woke up in the hospital, shivering and starving, only to find out his family had apparently died by the hands of a mysterious stranger. He spent the entire day sobbing in bed, refusing to get up or eat. It wasn’t until the sorcerer had arrived to pick him up did he finally leave the bed.

The girl plops down beside Marvin, big brown eyes boring into him. She’s hiding something, he can tell by her too wide smile and the book in her lap.

“What are you smiling about?” he asks. The girl’s smile fades and she looks down awkwardly.

Marvin realizes how rude he sounded and shakes his head. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”

“No, it’s cool, I was probably starting to look like a creep, anyway,” the girl says. She falls silent.

Marvin closes his eyes again. A chilly breeze whisks by, making him shiver slightly. There is no sound but the wind. He hasn’t felt this peaceful in months. He begins to hum softly, letting his voice be carried off by the wind.

“Will you sing for me? Please?” The small voice awakes him from his trance. He opens his eyes and looks down at the girl.

“What?”

“Will you sing, please? I hear you have such the loveliest voice!” the girl pleads.

Marvin’s stomach sinks. How can he break it to her? “Those days are behind me. I haven’t sung in so long. The sorcerer… he made me sing for hours on end… it became a chore rather than an escape.”

The girl’s face falls. “Oh… okay. It- it was just a suggestion.” She turns away, hiding her book behind her back.

“But… he’s not here anymore. I don’t belong to him… He thought he could break me…” Marvin puts a fist over his chest. “But I won’t let him.” He stands up. “What do you want me to sing?”

The girl’s face lights up and she stands up as well. “Oh! Well.. anything! Maybe something fun and light-hearted! I’ve had enough sad ballads.”

Marvin laughs. “Alright then!” He takes a deep breath and warms up his vocals. Even though there’s no audience, he still wants to be prepared.

Behind him, the statues begin to vibrate and the tree begins to rustle. Tiny bits of rock and stone crumble and fall off. The apprentice gasps. Marvin startles at the sound.

“What was that?!”

“Don’t worry about it! It was just the tree!” the girl quickly says. “Keep going. Just ignore everything around you and sing!”

Marvin frowns at her insistence but turns back and continues warming up. The apprentice opens her book, heart thumping loudly. She was right! A wizard’s voice can break stone! Who knew?!

Behind her, Marvin takes a deep breath and sings. “You will be my wings… you will be my only love! You will take me far beyond the stars!”

The girl watches amazed as grass rises from the ground and icicles fall off the willow tree. Just how strong is this guy?! The statues shake again and more stone falls off.

“It’s working! Keep going!” she yells.

“What are you doing back there?!” Marvin demands.

“You’ll find out! Just sing! Please!” She is almost desperate. Marvin rolls his eyes.

“You will lift me high above! Everything we’re dreaming of will soon be ours!”

She squeals as the branches of the willow branch sprout leaves and flowers sprout from the ground. A large chunk of stone falls off Chase’s arm. The arm begins to move. She gasps in delight. Marvin sure has a lot of magic!

“Anything that we desire, anything at all… Everyday you’ll take me higher…” Marvin trails off.

“Why’d you stop?!”

“I… I’m tired and I just want to sleep. I’m far from home and I’m a mess and I don’t want to sing right now-”

“AND I’LL NEVER LET YOU FALL!!!!” The two whirl around to find Jackie underneath the tree. More icicles shatter.

“Jackie! Oh, Jackie, you’re alive!” Marvin runs over to the superhero, who grins in delight. He scoops Marvin up in his arms and twirls him around. Marvin buries his face in Jackie’s shoulder to hide his sobs.

“I missed you so much!” Jackie cries.

“They told me you were dead!” Marvin exclaims.

“They lied,” Jackie says simply. “I’m here now… You’re safe!”

Marvin laughs at last. It’s a lovely sound, one that hasn’t been heard in months. Jackie begins to sing again.

“I’ve been dreaming of a true love’s kiss! And a man I’m hoping comes with this!”

“Pure and strong and waiting to complete my love song!” Marvin continues.

The flowers are in full bloom. The willow tree’s branches dance in the wind, pink blossom petals falling off and swirling around the two lovers. The girl grins and turns around. The statues crack and the stone falls off its prisoners. Chase, Henrik and Jameson gasp and stumble out of the rubble.

“GUYS!” the girl throws herself on Jameson, who laughs gleefully and hugs her back.

“You did it, I knew you would!” Chase cries, joining in the hug pile.

Marvin gasps and turns around. “Chase?! Jameson?! HENRIK?!”

“Marvin!” Henrik is the first to reach the magician. He hugs Marvin, only to get a small squeak in return.

“Marvin? You okay?” Henrik asks.

“How did- I thought…” Marvin mumbles.

“They told him we were dead. They weren’t completely wrong,” Jackie says, expression darkening. Marvin frowns.

“The sorcerer dude turned those three into stone and threw Jackie in the lake when he tried to escape!” the girl explains. “I saved Jackie and had him transported the statues here while I went to get you!” She opens her book to the marked page. “The book said a wizard’s voice could break stone, and since you’re half wizard, I figured it would work! And it did!”

She gestures to the three men, who gather around Marvin for a group hug.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t get to you in time…” Jameson signs. “We tried to fight him off, but-”

“It doesn’t matter. We’re all here, we’re together again,” Marvin says, gripping Jameson’s hand. Jameson squeezes back.

The girl bounces on her toes. Chase pulls her into the circle.

“It was just luck that she arrived, clever little thing! Disguised herself as a fly! Henrik told her to go after Jackie and where our statues would be after we turned. She went to get him then they came back to save us!”

“I put the statues in a safe spot, while the girl masqueraded as a wedding-helper until she could break you free,” Jackie says.

Marvin gently kisses her on the forehead. She blushes.

“Thank you. You’ve done so much for us.”

The girl nods. “Happy I could help! So… now what?”

“Let’s go home,” Henrik suggests. “We’ll have a little party to celebrate escaping that horrible place and to thank our new friend.”

Holding each other tightly, the egos and their friend transport home to their friends and family.

Reading Tag (Let me know if you want to be removed or added!): 

@graysun, @florenceisfalling, @miishae, @lonelyseiren, @goldenoceanaart, @egopocalypse, @oasisofgalaxies, @fleecal, @kofi-kiing, @myspatialspace, @jo-ann-ahh-2, @huffletrax, @gemstone6, @dumbasticart, @lunaarmada,@meteorshowersfillthesky, @uhhbeans​,  @the-pastel-kitsune, @bupine,  @climbing-starrs, @the-spawn-of-loki, @jadehowlettthewolf, @obsidiancreates, @rammypaige, @hollenka99, @cest-mellow, @randowaffle, @green-protects, @dezi-popp, @badlypostedeverything, @crystalninjaphoenix, @milo-kno​, @pixelpixie-pix​

2020 Fic Meme

It happens every year like clockwork. The Fic Round-Up Meme. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to it this year because I’ve written so much. As usual, compiled from ancient Livejournal fic memes. I like doing it as kind of a time capsule of my writing. If anyone else wants to take a crack, feel free. I love reading writers’ throughs on their own work. <3 No tagging because that is PRESSURE. 

Twilight

12 Days of Fic-Mas (Twilight, WIP) Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12 + Christmas Eve Twelve days of fic extracts, previews, and drabbles focusing on Alice Cullen and Jess/Jasper Hale: Anathema, the KidFic, Married in Vegas, Daemons, Memento Vivere, Human Alice Kills James, Jess and Alice do Prom, Forgotten, Vampires in Vegas, Shadow to Light Missing Scene, Hybrid, Cowboys and Angel Solstice, and All These Broken Things

Afterglow (Alice/Jasper, AU, Romance, G)  There were three things of which she was certain. The first was that her name was Alice. The second was that she was born an angel. And three, she was getting ready to die.

Against a Wall (Alice/Jasper, Human/Vampire AU, Romance, Angst, PG) If you asked anyone with the surname ‘Whitlock’, they’d tell you that the family was cursed. It was the Whitlock Curse to blame the day the bank took the ranch away from Jasper’s own father.      

And Found (Alice/Jasper, Soulmark AU, Romance, PG) The soul mark appears when Alice is six. It is a twisted ribbon of a mark, from the inside of her left elbow, up her arm, over her shoulder, along her clavicle, over her right shoulder and down to her right wrist. What ugly, soulless individual could inspire such a mark?

Jar of Hearts Pt 1 Pt 2 (WIP) (Alice, Emmett, Seth, MCU xover, Angst, PG) The snap came for everyone - “He said he’d never leave me,” she says in a wobbly voice. “He promised me.”“It wasn’t by choice,” Emmett rushes to tell her. “You were his last thought; he tried so hard to get home before he…”

Never a Question (Alice/Jasper, AU, Angst, G)  Carlisle is quite sure that he’s watching his son’s heart break into a million pieces as he stares at his human mate, slowly dying alone, not a single person allowed to hold her hand.

Hand in Hand (Alice/Jasper, AU, Fluff, G)  “Never,” he swears, pressing a kiss to her cheek that makes her beam -  “There’s not a single moment I can think of that cannot be improved by your presence, darlin’.”

Love & Duty (Alice/Jasper, AU, Romance, G)  A trainee witch is sent to treat a wounded cowboy from her brother coven. 

Shadow to Light (WIP) (Alice/Jasper, AU Angst, PG) In 1918, Jasper lures the newborn known as Mary-Alice back to Monterrey. He is lost to her before it even begins. (Ch 6-8)

The Way of Things (Alice/Jasper, AU, Drama, M)  She truly doesn’t know what comes next. He truly doesn’t know if it will be good or bad. They will live this life for as long as it lasts, long may it last, surrounded by the people they love and trust. 

What You Say (Alice/Jessamine, Canon, Angst, M)  Edward might have thought Aro was their reckoning, but Alice knows for her, it is Jessamine’s hurt.

Total number of completed stories: ELEVEN. 

Total word count: 90,155 words were formally posted - not including snippets, previews (aside from FicMas) or anything that was shared on the Discord server. 

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted? I fucking nailed it. Like, seriously. THREE chapters of Shadow to Light? Every single day of JaliceWeek AND FicMas? I mean, I think the lockdown definitely helped with free time, and not going to lie, the iOS shutdown of Fortnite probably assisted my productivity. 

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January? The Discord has so much to answer for. I wrote porn. Like, what. What. What. What. I find this bizarre and did not have ‘let’s just go full NC17 in 2020′ on my bingo card, but it happened. In fact, 2019 Lexie has just gone full spit-take and yelled, “WHAT?!” at the top of her lungs. 

And to make it more surprising, it’s both het and f/f porn. Like, mind-blown. Who am I anymore?

What’s your own favourite story of the year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you happiest? The Way of Things, What You Say, And Found, & Afterglow. All fics that came together really well, that felt like *me*, and had hopeful endings. I’m really proud of them. 

STL doesn’t get an opportunity to be apart of this til it’s finished. 

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them? The porn. 

Apparently, I can write it. Who knew? 

I definitely threw caution to the wind with JaliceWeek and just went for whatever crossed my mind and stopped worrying so much. Like, whatever, this is what I want to write so I will. I mean, the MCU crossover is happening in a slightly more obscure way than I initially envisaged it, it’s definitely a better fic for it.

I joined the Discord, and that’s been amazing. I’ve spent my last few fandoms existing in kind of a vacuum because of bad experiences and the fact I’m usually doing something niche, so having people to talk to who are so nice and welcoming and are happy to ignore my special brand of obnoxiousness is so lovely and has had such a good affect on my mental health. Sometimes you need people you can be your dorkiest self with. 

My instincts are pretty good as far as fic goes, people are awesome, and I can write sex scenes. It’s been a learning curve, let me tell you that. 

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the New Year?  I have to balance grad school, my business, and my writing, so that’s going to be interesting. I think I need to look at my fic more as downtime than a high-stress ‘job’ because I LOVE writing it. I love writing. I love reading. But I get in my own head and overthink. So my goals are BALANCE and RELAX. 

My best story of this year: Oh man, that’s not something I can judge. I am so incredibly proud of how Afterglow, And Found, and The Way of Things turned out. Especially considering I was so behind with JaliceWeek, and I think I was putting out a fic a day, and freaking out because I was lacking ideas, so when these three just came together exactly how I wanted them, it was a good moment. 

My most popular story: Shadow to Light. Look, if that’s my legacy to fandom, I’ve done pretty damn well. I’m really, really appreciative of how enthusiastic people are about this ‘verse. I don’t always understand it, because I can see how my writing has changed and how the story has evolved massively (first it was supposed to be a one-shot, then five chapters.) I hope that it ends up being satisfying for everyone because I have LOVED writing it, even if I am slower than molasses. 

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: Everyone is always so damn enthusiastic about my writing. I think maybe Hybrid is kind of a big question mark for everyone at the moment because there are so many questions and no answers yet. 

And any of the Jessamine/Alice. That’s a new niche, I get not everyone is into it. But it’s happening and will continue into 2020.

Most fun story to write:  What You Say or Jess and Alice at Prom. Jess is a little snarkier than Jasper, less controlled, and the girls are super fun to write, even high-tension scenes. 

Most Sexy Story: Oh, I can answer this now! Um, maybe The Way of Things or Jess and Alice at Prom? Yup, those are my picks. 

Story with the single sexiest moment:  The Way of Things. This happened before the Discord Intervention, and I’m genuinely not sure if I’m happy with the end of the Prom fic, so it might be reworked slightly in the future. But The Way of Things I was really happy with because it covered so many ideas I had in a way that fit together well. 

That’s where she makes good on her unspoken promises from aeons again, of their private victory celebration. She sits astride him, her hips rolling hard against his, drawing out his groans and growls as he grips her thighs almost tight enough to crack. Their gazes are locked the entire time, her tongue skimming over her lips, as she lets her emotions tell him everything that she wants and everything she plans to take.

He remembers fucking her in the dirt in Dacia; his mouth between her legs as she hollered obscenities in a Paris attic; and the urgent, passionate loving-making of a marriage finally consummated.

She remembers bloody emeralds looped around her throat and resting between her breasts as she gets down on her knees and takes him into her mouth, his fingers tangled in her hair; the delicious weight of him on top of her, their sweat mingling and cooling in the frozen night as their flimsy bed creaked against the wall; and his soft encouragement in her ear as he grasps her around the waist, their hands resting together on the gentle swell of her stomach. 

Most “holy crap, that’s wrong, even for you” story: I think I restrained myself from anything too dark or twisted this year, actually. Oh, wait, Vampires in Vegas. That one has some pretty dark implications about Alice’s life, about the vampire underworld, and Jasper’s behaviour, especially as it goes one. No fic that deals with someone being put into sex work without educated consent is going to avoid being dark, and I think it’s logical that vampires would have their hands in a lot of illegal yet profitable areas. 

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters: Anything with Jessamine/Alice because, like, Jess isn’t a name-swap of Jasper, and the relationship dynamic shifts with the slight personality shifts. And then you have to consider the family and social dynamic of two women in the relationship, so working all that out was fun. 

Jar of Hearts is another one, because I had to work out who the fic was going to follow and what was lost. And Emmett and Alice pretty much don’t interact in canon, but they were chosen for a reason. I’ve stripped them down to their worst, most isolated selves without their ‘true north’ (Rose and Jasper) or their moral center (Carlisle and Esme), or even their secret weapon (Edward). Seth, too, has been isolated from his family and friends, and is especially ‘other’ in this situation. This is an MCU crossover, so we’re kind of following a heroes’ journey with the last of Forks’ supernatural creatures.

Hardest story to write: Shadow to Light because of the way I have to use language, because of the plot strands from canon when I hate writing canon material, and how the characters have changed and how this new version reflects the old version. 

Against a Wall, as well, because of the in-verse time crunch I had - I needed Jasper damaged, military-minded, and changed by age 19. And I needed the boy broken. I’m happy with it, the story is done and dusted, but it didn’t quite turn out how I planned. And that’s okay, because I like this version. But I think I tackled something a lot bigger than I anticipated with it. 

Most disappointing:  Look, I love the verse and the set-up, but I think Love & Duty could do with another 2k words for build-up. I just ran out of time, honestly, to build up that mutual attraction between Alice and Jasper. 

Easiest story to write: Anathema, because Alice’s voice was so clear in it. Anathema!Alice knows exactly who she is, and that’s always fun. And the Shadow to Light Missing Scene; it wasn’t as long as I hoped, but it turned out exactly as I imagined it happening. 

Biggest surprise:  Everyone really, really liked Forgotten. And Vampires in Vegas, which I honestly thought were the weakest offerings during FicMas. 

Most unintentionally telling story:  The Way of Things. There’s so little dialogue, and it’s covering such a massive amount of time and story that it’s intentionally written to tell. 

Story I’d like to revise: Love & Duty, and Married in Vegas. A little polish, a little shine, it’s fine. For Love & Duty, it’s definitely the time crunch I need to go back and fix; for Married in Vegas, it’s just reflective of how long ago I started it. I’m a better writer, I know the characters more, and I’m less prone to overly dramatic plot twists. 

Story I didn’t write but will at some point, I swear: Look, let me lay the groundwork now so that no one who isn’t on the Discord isn’t startled. 

There’s going to be a Jess/Jasper/Alice threesome fic, and I regret nothing. 

I really, really want to get All These Broken Things redone and posted because it’s getting silly how long it’s just been sitting there. 

I want to actually write Monster, which is a fic I don’t talk about much but I want to write. It’s a question about who the monster of the story is, and I’m not sure I’m as skilled as I should be, to write it, but I want to try. 

And one of my numerous attempts at a Haunted House Cryptid fic. It has to happen, I have so many ideas!