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impaladolan · 4 years

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Control Freak - Grayson Dolan

summary: after being summoned to the new CEO’s head office, or rather dungeon, there’s an unexpected twist when y/n becomes, what some would say, mouthy with her relatively new boss..

warnings: smut & swearing, the usual :)

tag(s): @joyfuldolann tehe

a/n: i’ve never really done tags, but if you’d like to participate in them— (such as for future series or control-freak/capture parts) leave a comment on any of my posts or even dm me! (only if you want, don’t feel obligated to do so, it’s just for fun :)))) ily! <3 also, sorry if this is crappy.. i’m not the biggest fan of this part, but i really wanted to get something out for you all!

part one

"I'd like to have a word with you, in my office."

His voice rang in your ears, like a symphony or an orchestra in a small room. So as you slowly walk down the hall, past the secretaries and into his large, barricaded office, you had internally convinced yourself that he's just a guy that's your boss. That's it. Nothing more, nothing less.

So you thought...

"Ms. Y/L/N." He addresses as soon as you shut the large door and turn around, though his eyes were glued to his large computer. "Sit." He demands, looking towards you for a moment and nodding to the chair sat in front of his huge desk. You hurry to answer his command, seating yourself in the cushiony furniture. You take a quick look around the room, the colors and décor a lot more darker and dungeon-y than Mr. Kidman had it. It almost made you sleepy, until his voice snapped;

"You should be a little less intrusive with your own thoughts, Ms. Y/L/N." He had fully turned, giving you his undivided attention with his brow arched and a signature smirk dotting his plump lips. You felt your cheeks go hot from just his voice, and his snippy, cockiness as well. "How're you to know exactly what I'm thinking, if I may ask Mr. Dolan?" You assertively question, crossing your legs as you furrow your brow with intent. You knew what games he was playing, and you'd play them right back if it meant putting him in his place, questionably.

"It's all about body language, darling. You seem to fidget a lot in my presence, which I notice that you don't do in anyone else's.” He begins, watching as you surely begin to run your hand along the ends of your skirt, something you normally do when you’re nervous. “You're a bit more sassy and less reserved when you're talking to me, and your cheeks seem to turn red when I directly speak to you, do they not?" He now had his large hands settled on the tabletop, fiddling his thumbs back and forth while he pursed his lips in question. He had completely caught you off guard and all the more stunned and almost embarrassed. "Sir.. I don't understand what you—"

"Or the way you dozed off that entire meeting. Tell me, Y/N, what were you daydreaming about, hm? Something work related I suppose?" He was quick to interrupt you, adding a fiery anger, much like Kidman's, to your attitude. "Listen, you cocky fucking asshole. I'm tired of your stupid pestering so if you could just get straight to the point instead of me having to sit here and endure your little go-arounds for another half hour, it'd be greatly appreciated." You violently whisper, standing from your seat with your arms crossed and your lips in a thin line.

You're a very tolerant person, but his continuous egging on was bound to make you burst anyway. But what made you even more extravagantly angered was his hoarse chuckle that began to rumble throughout the room. "Cocky fucking asshole, huh?" He continues his girthy laugh, standing from his seat and slowly strolling around to the front of his desk. You slightly gulp when he towers you with his height, his intensity and nonchalantness at the same time a bit too much to bear. "I'd watch that pretty little mouth of yours, princess, before it gets you into some real trouble." He seats himself on the front edge, examining you head-to-toe with his beading eyes. You grew stiff, not wanting to make a sound or remark in his wavering stare.

Perhaps to keep from getting in trouble, maybe?

"I'd say the same to you, if it weren't for yours being rather large, than little." You incoherently scoff, surprising yourself with your own words. His face contorted from his relaxed look into a more furious looking one. His grip on the ledge of his oak wood desk had tightened, making the tops of his hands whiter and more constructed than they would look relaxed. His indented cheekbones grew more visible and his eyes seemed to darken out of nowhere.

He does look very ravishing when he's angry..

Suddenly, you feel his tight grip on your hips, shoving you back down into the chair without a warning. "Y'know, Kidman told me about you," He began, waltzing away from you and around your chair, undoing his tie in the process. All the while you sat there with wide eyes and a fluttery feeling down near the pit of your stomach. It gave you goosebumps clear down your arms and legs. "He said you were a very independent, hardworking women that's quiet and respectable. But frankly, you've proved him wrong." He sighs as he turns to face you, still sat in the chair, with a sharp and pointed look that gave you the good tinglings. "Well, frankly," You mock his tone, "You've only known me for the minimum of three hours, Mr. Dolan. You're just assuming." You point out, with a ghastly smile.

To that, he loudly slaps his hands on the arms of the chair that you were forcefully sat in, his face becoming of close proximity to yours. "Have anything else to say before I smack that tiny little ass of yours?" He questions with the raise of his brow, sending another one of the flooding shivers down your entire body.

Fuck.

If it wasn't for your lack of correct, impulsive decision making skills, you would have walked away and finished whatever work you had left and hurried home. But instead, you flipped yourself over and laid on the chair, ready for whatever he wanted to do to you.

"Take that fucking skirt off." He deeply orders, taking his blazer off angrily after unclipping his belt buckle. You obey almost immediately, shimming the skirt down your legs and unbuttoning the first couple buttons of your white dress shirt. You firstly feel his fingers softly glide over your asscheek, trailing towards your thong and looping his index finger under the thin fabric. With a tight, forceful pull, he rips it in half and tosses the bunched up silk to the side as you gasp with surprise. You close your eyes as you feel his hand glaze over asscheek once again, readying yourself for what would eventually hurt like hell.

But instead of what potentially would have been a slap, you feel his large hands roughly pull your legs apart, and his cock slam down into your noticeably aroused pussy. You loudly yelp, securing your hands around whatever you could while his settled at the valley of your hips. “Fuck, yes.” He breathlessly groans with his head thrown back and his eyes scrunched with immense pleasure. Your eyes began to water and the beginning of his slow, steady thrusts made your pussy clench with the desire of more. You had your teeth sunk into your bottom lip to keep your sounds and contentment as quiet as possible.

You hadn’t even realized how long it’s been since you’ve had real, carefree sex. You honestly forgot how good and scandalous it felt. Though, you started to remember, even in your hazed state of mind, that it was your new boss standing behind you. But before you could even get a chance to agree or take action from your right state of mind, you felt him lift you up and rush the two of you over to the other side of his spacious desk, his cock still embedded inside you and unmoving.

He lays you on your back, grabbing the opened part of your shirt and ripping it off, his teeth gritted and his brows furrowed as he swiftly unclips your bra and pulls it down your arms. Unlike his slowness before, he began to speed up quickly, barreling into you like he hadn’t done it in years. Which would be true if he hadn’t drunkenly slept with a women he had met at the bar almost a year ago, but he faintly remembers that anyway.

You became used to the pressure that once stretched your walls uncomfortably, but now it felt right. The way he entered you, at a slight angle, made your legs quiver with desire and the yearning for more. And when he touched that certain spot, oh god it made you whine like crazy.

“Fuck—there!” He had you almost screaming, which made him all the more aroused and heightened. He continued his harsh poundings, bringing his hands from your hips and softly up your stomach until they reached your perky breasts. He toyed with your sharpened nipple, grinning at the sensation it brought to you when you arched your back. With the sudden shaking of your legs and the unshielded moans you let loose, he could just tell you were extremely close.

“Don’t you fucking cum yet, Y/N. I’ve hardly fucking started with you.” Grayson then harshly brought his hand down to your soaked clit, rubbing it in quick circles. You weren’t really one to disobey authority, but it seems like getting on Grayson Dolan’s, the CEO of the company Choff, nerves were a bit more fun and exhilarating.

So when you felt the extremely bound knot in your stomach begin to want to unravel— you just let it. You came over his engulfed cock that continued to sink into you as you hardly breathe, the overflowing feeling and sensation that numbed your entire body washing over you. You weren’t given anytime to reassess, because he continued his thrusts, speeding himself up with an anger you’ve never seen before. He picked you up again, slamming you against the wall with one of his hands holding your ass up while the other kept your hands above your head.

“That’s fucking it—”

Though, the two of you were too caught up in each other to realize that someone was at the door, stunned and shocked at the scene playing out..

(masterlist)

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watchtheblog · 4 years

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petty cache

thank you for coming to read my diary which masquerades as a blog but is actually just a vessel for disseminating my birthday wishlists. it’s like an event you show up to where the host tries to sell you a timeshare 25 minutes after some requisite, mindless song and dance.

welcome! if you’d like purchase a timeshare, scroll to the bottom. for the song and dance, look no further:

the other day i zoned out on zoom therapy and when my therapist asked where i “went” i had to lie because i had gone to the part of my brain that holds all the things i need to think about forever for no reason (i call it the petty cache — this is an umbrella term for the space that also houses my attitude cabinet) and dusted off a memory of a comment i saw on a stranger’s facebook three weeks ago that said “message me. i lost my password and i have good news to share”.

i don’t know either person, and that’s what i was thinking about. i spend $[redacted] a month on therapy and instead of focusing on one of my numerous unsolved mysteries, i was thinking about the nuances of this comment - like why they wouldn’t just share the news or message the person directly? or what losing their password had to do with anything? or why they would comment on facebook instead of texting or calling the person. did they not have their number? imagine not knowing someone well enough to have their phone number, but still wanting to share your good news with them!

all i want (for my birthday) is to know what the news is that this stranger has to share, and i’ll never know so i have to put that comment in my minutiae repository with all the other things that will plague me until i die from texting and driving, smoke inhalation as a result of purposely leaving a candle lit in my home overnight almost every night, consuming half a dozen hot dogs a week, or a now unnamed disease that will posthumously be attributed to my chronic inability to mind my own business.

i’m constantly concerning myself with things that are none of my concern - no matter how insignificant - because my brain is a commune of sentient pepperoni running instagram polls among themselves to discern if something is worth spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about. and guess what? it turns out absolutely everything that has ever offended, confused, bothered, intrigued, slightly inconvenienced, or merely happened to me is worth spending an inordinate amount of time thinking about.

because i devote so much energy to nonsense, i can often be found persecuting strangers for insulting me on the internet (and for other miscellaneous bad behavior). the information superhighway is my home so i have to protect myself (and my friends) here, and if that means spending 45 minutes to 48 hours trying to find every misstep you’ve made in your life until i have enough ammunition to spray a dozen simulated retaliatory bullets at your virtual head because you called me a “stupid bitch” on instagram, well… so be it!

i am relentless in my pursuit of wasting time, so if that doesn’t work, i will find the cold stone creamery you frequent, seek employment there, be hired on the spot, learn the craft, be promoted to manager, poison you on your birthday, gain access to your funeral, and tarnish your reputation by reading your shitty DM in front of the few family and friends whom i haven’t already made aware of the abhorrent way you conducted yourself online!

there are so many different ways strangers will try to hurt your feelings — an interesting genre of which come from men who (like me) have definitely never had sex before, and mistakenly think i care about the ways in which my body does not make them horny.

“no tits” one will say. and i’m like, how do you want me to respond to that? my boobs are indeed small, yes. did you come here to shoot facts back and forth all day? ok: you’re going to start balding way sooner than you’re prepared for, i bet your childhood dog is dead, your time on the internet should be supervised, your closet is full of vests, and you wait on line at nightclubs… good day?!

while i will obviously engage with anyone if they want to fight, i prefer when the unsolicited criticism is personalized, and not just thoughtless, lazily devised tripe.

a year and a half ago, a man who looked like he exhales smog DMed me to let me know - among other things in a paragraph long rant - he’d “lost brain cells” watching my story. knowing he had likely never had an adequate amount to begin with, it seemed like an emergency, so i started a group DM with his wife. because his message had come just three days after a “fuckkk [heart eye emoji]” response to a photo of my ass, i included a screenshot as evidence of his devolving mental state.

being - presumably - gainfully employed, neither of them responded.

luckily, the consolation prize for insulting me is that you gain residency in my brain and stay in my thoughts and prayers for all eternity, so i checked in on them a few days ago. they’d unfollowed and wiped their feeds clean of each other!!

because i’ve never “moved on” in my entire life, i fired up our long dormant group chat, and sent my condolences: “aw. sorry your trip to positano - where you were going to attempt to repair your ramshackle marriage - got cancelled because of covid and so you just got divorced instead :(” i wrote before being blocked by both of them.

then i headed right over to my therapist’s facebook and commented “message me. i lost my password and i have good news to share”

i spent an entire therapy session detailing this monomania before my therapist thoughtfully suggested i “pick [my] battles”.

to which i thoughtfully responded: yeah, babe. i pick every single one.

***

timeshare time! it’s the same list as this post, with a few additions (at top) (and edits based on availability).

places to donate food education fund pretty brown girl the okra project

some furniture stuff a side table a pointless, laughably tiny little thing this website is calling a “drink table” a lamp one of these benches i do not want this but it’s important to me that at least 2 other people know it exists

this plant that obviously does not need to cost $165 but idk how to shop economically

air pods

gifts from the previous post - all still v much in play!

a pair of shoes (size 8 or 38) one pair, another pair, yet another, these are on sale, these are not, and a final pair

a specific clutch with three color choices they allege this color is called sand but it looks white to me, pink, green for those who do not know what malachite means (it couldn’t be me. i learned it 3 hours ago when i began compiling this cursed list)

something everyone with money to waste needs this

dresses i’ll never be able to wear until there’s a vaccine because unlike someone tacky who knows me, i won’t be having a birthday party in the middle of a global pandemic (hi, you fool) white polka dot, not white polka dot, also not polka dot, a red dress, a skirt (aka half a dress), a black dress

this sweatsuit xs in this, small in this

is sephora cancelled? i want this hair dryer which i’m sure you can buy elsewhere if sephora is cancelled, which it v well may be

this item which you may think is cheap but actually it’s not soooo a hairpin

earrings one pair, another pair, and another

this dress which i’ll never wear anywhere even when there is a vaccine because… what?! but maybe. you never know. size 34. lol when i get this far into the list i’m always blown away by how insane it is that i do this every year to no audience. so i’m just laughing alone at that. :) i am v funny to myself. another dress i’ll never wear ;)

the nicest weighted blanket you know of i’m depressed!!!!! if you can’t tell!!!!!!!

every year i have asked for a weekend bag and every year i have not received one, so alas, we try again this is not a weekend bag actually but it will do. this is!

a peloton but just venmo me the cash (@merce212) because i have a hookup

an assortment of ridiculous things a $500 body scarf a $580 beach towel with an octopus on it for no reason besides “art” i cannot tell analog time but it’s never too late to start!! how mad would you be if someone bought you a roulette table for your wrist? be honest. (THIS WATCH IS FOUR YEARS RENT!!!!!!) they won’t say how much this costs :( i’m losing my mind and must be gifted a chanel watch or else i will perish. to put my salami on when i am eating salami in my bed “24k gold crocodile [?!!) teddy bear”. the website says there’s only one left, which begs the question “why did someone buy one of these rather than buying me a chanel watch?!!” *real ‘billionaires shouldn’t exist [unless they’re buying me a watch]’ energy* to put my new watch in this is ugly but it’s on sale :) idk wtf “secret box pendant” means but i wish this necklace was also a USB with every season and spinoff of 90 day fiancé on it hi yes i’m stupid but i draw the line at $1500 connect four…

#things i want #things I want for my birthday #lists of things #lists of things i want #my birthday #birthday lists #9/26; never forget #invidious consumption

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silvrwore-blog · 5 years

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---------- OOC.

hi im mitch : ) im a big f*king idiot, too. let me preface this by saying it is currently uhhhhhh 6 AM est and i still haven’t slept yet !!! i thunk i started this around 10 PM last night but im slow. really slow. everything about this ??? a hot mess ™ . it isn’t going to make a lick of sense !! but thanks for stopping by sdkjsadklsd. anywhomst im mitch, i’m twenty, in the est, and im ready to rock and roll buckaroo. my guy here? he’s an idiot. but he’s my idiot. therefore, i have to love him. the history is long ( i know because i started there first ) so ill make a little tl;dr with some simplified notes on him. i think that covers ??? everything ?? so far ? im always down to plot in the DMs or i have discord at oovoo javer #4855 mwuah !!

---------- APPLICATION.

( jack lowden, twenty-seven, cismale, he/him ) – have you seen bennett sharpe, the financial strategy student around oxford yet? i hear they can be conforming and convivial, but those who know them insist they’re reminded of beige turtlenecks and plaid blazers, eraser shavings on an old oak desk, and eagerly belting out the latest tunes when they’re around. rumor has it that due to stress, he had a breakdown in high school that put him a year behind his peers and his family has tried to cover it up. is it true? only time will tell… ( mitch, twenty, she/her, est )

---------- HISTORY.

THEY’D ALMOST STRUCK GOLD with bennett sharpe. smart enough not to have to buy your way into college, but not smart enough for his peers to despise him. the gusto of an entertainer and the charm of a damn good politician ------------ but they’d never been quite able to buff out that chip on his shoulder.

the sharpe’s were an interesting case. too good to slum it with the poor folk but not rich enough to always be able to sit at the BIG table. a family who paved their way in law and then literature. blood in the supreme courts and in those scandelous little novels that housewives sipped a glass of wine over. at least that had been his mother’s contribution to the family fortune ----- a wonderful dinner conversation.

--------- “ oh mother, what raunchy debauchery are you slaving away at now ? “

bennett was the oldest of three ( followed by one girl and then another boy ). he was a good son. would have been a real golden child to anyone else --- well, with a little love, care & patience. normal family things. from a young age he had a memory unmatched and a love of strategy games. a youth who loved to test his brain. which was fine and dandy, however, it wasn’t quite leading up to being a judge. he wasn’t following in his family’s footsteps. he’d gotten a little... off track. he had just been better with numbers. money crunching. equations. it had been a tough pill for his family to swallow but swallow it they would. afterall, it hadn’t been their biggest concern when it came to their oldest son.

it had always been there. carefully covered up with the occasional “ he’ll grow out of it “ or “ stop it. nothing is wrong. “ maybe that had been the real giveaway to why he’d never amount to anything big. “ he’s FRAIL. no spine. “ a good and competent doctor would have had him diagnosed and taken care of. seventeen and he’s missing classes but not for normal rich kid things. the world’s bigger and scarier than it ever was. college and a future right around the corner, parental pressure, it snowballs until it is all too much. one day of important testing and bennett sharpe never shows. he had not been on campus at all. sometimes when the panic became too much, it did him well to distract his mind ---- go outside. count the blades of grass or the birds in the sky. breathe. it’s what he had done that afternoon. left and tried to sate his mind. but nothing had done it for him that day. nothing to cure him. the world? bleak. the future? uncertain. weapy and tore down. the little devil on his shoulder named ‘ desperation ‘. he needed out. his parents phone and the message becomes crystal clear...

--------- “ i can’t do this. “

so he’d ‘” turned tail and ran “, branded some sort of listless coward. he didn’t know what was wrong with himself, nor did his parents. the only thing they were certain of was that they would not have a son coming apart at the seams. they’d grilled him. no one was going to take him seriously or he’d never find himself in any important position if he was always going to go chicken. a breakdown never looked good. it did not matter to the rich or the poor, one would still be ridiculed. but corporations wanted someone steely, confident, put-together. all the things bennett was not becoming. so they’d contacted his school - wrote it off as a vacation. save face. “ oh i got bored. decided to go to switzerland instead ! couldn’t miss it, you see a chance of a lifetime had just presented itself to me, so.... “. however, no donations or pleading on his parents part were going to make up lost time. bennett was held back a year for being unable to complete the necessary testing and exams. oh how he would have to sell that vacation. but it hadn’t quite been a vacation, had it? long days trying to put together the pieces. some days were easier than others. some time to try and buff out that chip. the chip remained.

years down the line and one enrolment to oxford and he’s a lot better than where he started. he’s found ways to cope. some good. some bad. he’s more indendent than ever which has led him to branch out and take care of himself. no watchful eye of mother and father needed. perhaps that’s why he now has therapy pamphlets tucked away inside untouched textbooks. away from prying eyes. just an idea, maybe one day he would water it and watch it grow. go see someone. anyone. now he’s cheery. lively. a staple at parties. heeds his father’s advice and brushes shoulders with the right people. finds himself in the right places. the future is looking bright. oxford may soon to be a closed chapter in his life, but the years had been good to him. until, well, they weren’t.

the riot club had been for the best. extravagant. a little bit of chasing the finer things in life. that had worked out just well for him. death had never been a thought --- or at least it was always kept at a distance. never upclose or personal. a relative here or there, miles away, he’d barely given it a thought. a funeral and they were gone. parties and death were not supposed to intermingle. maybe that was why it was so jarring. the world is a little heavier, bearing down on him once more. he tries not to pay it any mind when he has to excuse himself twice more than usual for a smoke outside. brushes off clammy hands like they’re nothing. accidents happened. he’d find solace in that word --------- accident.

---------- SPARKNOTES / TL;DR.

voted most likely to be that annoying fuck outside your dorm at 3 am who doesn’t know how to turn down the volume

dumb enough to try anything once

despite some tough times he’s just ??? full of life ??? life is a PARTY. and he’s making the most of it now, thank you very much.

“ are you not ENTERTAINED ? “

he’s not the worst,,, but he’s not the best. yknow?

nice enough to get drunk and talk to just about anyone but snobby enough that you bet he’s going to make some insensitive comments. it’s that -- not rich rich enough to be totally elite, but not hurting enough to be able to sympathize with people who aren’t bringing in a f*ck ton of money.

his family ( on his dad’s side ) has always been involved in law. typically judges, and some who have made it to be top dog in their fields. his mother is a writer who does rather well. she’s published a handful of book and his father has also published law-related books which brings in money. his dad is pretty high up in the field but bennett’s got his suspicions that some of the income might just be payoffs. i wouldn’t envision his father as being someone hard to be bought. he might want to grill his son for being spineless or weakwilled but i’d imagine that’s just a family trait inherited.

which uhh brings me to my next point. bennett can be a bit of a follower. there’s not a whole lot of “NO” in him. which may also hurt his relationships because he’s not going to stand against injustices or anything if it is going to put him in harm’s way. which may help perpetuate that rich or snobby idea surrounding him because he’s not about to stand up for the common folk if they’re being belittled for their threads or schooling.sure, he might talk to them here or there in the right occasion but he’s not going to stand for them. he’s sitting pretty. he’s not looking to ruin that.

essentially he’s not going to have your back unless it benefits him.

as far as his secret goes, i think he’s worried about the stigma around mental health and how he’d be perceived but i think a lot more has to do with his family. because he knows they won’t be happy if it gets out or if something further happens. they just ain’t supportive in that department, chief. but he doesn’t want to be cut off or anything and not just because he’d be worried about who was putting money in his pockets. he just doesn’t want to stir the pot any further, even though he should really seek help. i kind of vagued on it but i’d say he has gad ( generalized anxiety disorder ).

---------- CONNECTIONS.

am i picky?? nah. if he can fill something, slot him in. we can chit chat. mwuah

i already know this section is gonna get so neglected because im too tired to think

uhh give me an under the wing sort of relationship ?? listen if bennett can’t repair himself maybe he can touch up someone else. someone he might see something in. buds ? who knows ? not me. but it could b cute.

long time friends !!! doesn’t have to be since childhood but someone(s) he’s known for a while now and they click.

anything angsty ? is good too.

typical friends / enemies plots too !! spice things up.

i need sleep : ) good night !!!!!!!!!!

#no amount of hair gel #suits or ties #will ever cover up the fact he's a f*cking moron #mental health tw #smoking tw #drinking tw #ive been awake 17 hours #sounds like a good time to call it quits #oxfordintro #i will be back in a bit to do dms !! :')#after i snooze a lil

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shmisolo · 6 years

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Some recommendations for showing your appreciation for fic

I never know how to make this post, largely because I write fic and so I don’t want it to come across as a “do this for me.” But I see my peers and friends routinely stating that they don’t know how their fics are being recieved and feel as though they are shouting their fic into a void and that it is wildly disheartening.

So since I had time on my hands this morning, I’m writing up some suggestions for you. This is long. I’m not putting it under a cut for Reasons.

Tumblr

Reblog fic.

That’s the biggest one. Hitting like feels great. I, as your fic writer, enjoy it when my fic is liked. I, as an author, get really excited when someone is recommending my fic.

Reblogging is not just showing your appreciation; it is recommending it to the people who follow you. It’s a double whammy.

Most fic readers like fic recommendations. There’s a lot of fic out there, and so someone saying “Hi, I liked this and enjoy it, you might too” is really appreciated as a reader who is trying to figure out what to do.

Comment on fic.

Commenting is a great way to show support for a fic and an author. It’s talking to them and showing your appreciation for their work. It can be finger mashing, it can be something longer. Tumblr comment culture tends to rely on sending shorter notes, but I’ve never seen an author complain about getting a long comment ever in my life.

Tag Commentaries - One of the things I like about tumblr is that tag culture has turned, over the years, into a way to add some subtle commentary while reblogging. So you can tag things functionally (#fic is my functional reblogged fic tag), and then add anything you want in the tags. Adding a simple “I loved this” in the tags makes an author feel great and might motivate them to write more.

Replies - Replying to the fic is another great way to show an author you liked their story. The author (and the person you might be getting the reblog from) will get a notification of what you are saying on their post. So even if you don’t follow the author, you can still say you appreciate their work.

Reblog additions - You can also add your own commentary to the caption of the fic as you see fit! Different fandoms have different conventions on this, and authors have different preferences. Similar to replies, the author will get a notification in their activity feed that you’ve said something and be able to check it out.

Sending asks or DMs - This is another way to reach out to an author and let them know you liked their story. It’s more private and personal, which means it happens rarely. But especially if you’re shy, sending a nice anon (especially when most people’s associations with anons are p r e t t y n a s t y, can be really a day-brightener).

Some general recommendations

Commenting is hard, especially when you don’t know what to say but have a lot of good feelings about a fic.

Things not to do: “When are you going to update?” / “More please!” - Sometimes this can be well recieved; other times it can have the opposite effect. Some authors might take it well, others might take it as demanding and it might kill the joy they have in their story and so, far from getting the update you want, you won’t get anything at all. Recommended alternatives: saying what you liked to make you want more from the story.

Tone is a tricky thing to navigate generally online. Something that might sound right in your head might be read very differently by the reader, so sometimes comments that are well-meant can come across as sarcastic/caustic and thus insulting when the author is reading them. Be mindful and aware--we know you don’t mean that, but that doesn’t mean your words don’t hurt unintentionally.

Didn’t like something? Or something grated you? The author got canon wrong? Take a deep breath. It’s just fanfiction and you are not entitled to their work. If they are not asking for critical feedback, your providing some unsolicited is crossing lines in an editorial process that you might not be aware of as a non-writer. Just take a deep breath and keep scrolling.

Something as simple as a “this was great!” can go a long way. If you want to go even further than that, pick a line you liked or a moment and say that you liked it.

Like fic.

If you’re not going to reblog fic but you enjoy it, I strongly recommend hitting the like button. Not everyone uses the like button on this website the same way. (I use tumblr across multiple devices and so I hit like on most posts I reblog just to remember that I’ve already seen the post; I know not everyone does this though.) But if you’re someone who uses the like button fairly liberally, this is a strong move.

Following.

Obviously--you get to choose who you follow. But if you like a fic, check out the author’s blog, and consider giving them a follow.

There are also frequently fic-amassing blogs within larger fandoms. Those are good ones to check out too!

AO3(/FF.N/Other Platforms)

These are mostly recommendations based on AO3, though some may apply to other fic publishing platforms.

Comments

I’m not going to type all that up again. I’d say the suggestions I made in the tumblr comment section apply across all platforms.

@longlivefeedback has a comment builder tool if you want help with writing a longer comment.

The only other point I’d say is there’s not time-limit on when to give a comment. Someone posted the fic three years ago? Five years ago? Drop a note! I’ve never seen an author complain about getting a comment on an old fic. On the contrary, most of them are thrilled when it happens.

Kudos

Kudos are not like the tumblr like function. They aren’t a way to save a fic you like--they are an easy way to show appreciation for a fic you’ve read. If you liked it, and don’t regret the time spent reading, I recommend hitting the kudos button. Most authors have daily emails turned on with Kudos updates from fics on AO3 and will get a note saying a fic got a kudos. That feels good: some read their fic and enjoyed reading their fic.

Bookmarks

You can have both private and public bookmarks on AO3.

Private is good for things you....might want to keep private (like that kinky fucking porn that you really enjoyed and might...want to...find....again later....) (Or whatever else you want to keep private.)

Public will appear on your AO3 profile. If someone is checking out your profile, they might see bookmarks as recommendations of good fic they might enjoy. Since AO3 doesn’t have a reblog function, this is as close as you can get to having a catered fic recs section on that platform.

You can add additional tags and commentaries to your bookmarks as you’re saving them, allowing you to organize as you see fit. Additional commentaries are something the author can also see and which might make their day in the way a comment might.

Cross-Platform

A lot of authors have multiple platforms they engage with. Some will post directly to AO3 (or another platform), some will post to both tumblr and AO3.

If you find something on AO3 that you enjoy, a good number of authors will link--either in their profile or in their fics--how you can find them on tumblr. If you want to spread an AO3 fic you find to your followers, see if the author has an original post they made about the fic that you can reblog--that way the author knows what traction their fic is getting, and where it’s coming from. (We like to know that shit. Trust me.)

If the author doesn’t have a post you can find, I strongly recommend @-mentioning them here on tumblr so they get a notification and know that they’re getting recommended.

If you’re making a post that lists out AO3 recs and you put the AO3 author handle--but know that the author has a tumblr, please also @-mention their tumblr. They love knowing they’re getting recommended.

If you see an author you follow is posting a lot of tumblr fic, check out their AO3--they might have more! If you don’t see a link for their profile on their blog, ask after it! Chances are you’ll make them feel warm and fuzzy because that’s an ask that says “I love your writing. Is there more of it I can check out?” Even if they don’t have an account on AO3, you might get links to more fic for you to check out.

Some Notes for Authors

I read (and reblogged) a post a while back that talks about social media and fic writing. The thing that’s hard about all this is that, even if AO3 doesn’t feel like a social media (we all know that Tumblr is one, for better and for worse) that doesn’t mean it’s not still beholden to some of the same laws that affect all web platforms, regardless of content or purpose.

I’m gonna quote the first post that I linked above (thank you @obotligtnyfiken for adding info to that post):

1 % are very active. They are the fans. They create their own content (hello, fanfic!), they cheer you on, they protest. 9 % may respond when you ask them to do something, but they will not take initiative. And they will not engage every time. 90 % will never engage, whatever you do.

Let me first say: it sucks to think about your fic in terms of marketing standards when you might not have any experience in marketing. Considering what a success rate is based on what social media success is considered to be rather than the more nuanced forms of “I got a bunch of reviews and they were heartening” sucks. But if you’re looking at hit counts and kudos counts, the above is important to bear in mind: most of your readers might enjoy but not engage because that’s how internet users engage with internet content across the board. (Think about all that stuff you see on Facebook because you follow a page. You might see it. You might even appreciate the information. You might not hit the like button.) It sucks that the same is true of fic but...the same is true of fic.

Readers: You’re reading this. You see what authors are balancing when they’re posting their fic online. Please be mindful. And I encourage you to engage with things you like. Don’t be that silent 90%!

Because of this, bearing in mind that if you have a 10% kudos:hit ratio on your fic, that’s doing pretty well.

@longlivefeedback has a good breakdown of how the AO3 hit counter works. I recommend checking it out since it was more protective of authors than I had initially thought.

People are engaging with your fic, despite the fact that 90% of people don’t necessarily engage with content on the internet that they might still enjoy. If you’re writing a chaptered fic, that number might get skewed so the percentage seems even lower.

That being said, there are still ways that a hit:kudos ratio might get skewed in ways that might actually be kinder to your fic than you think: let’s say that someone goes back and rereads your fic after a few weeks or months or years (or days tbh). You’ll get fresh hits from that. They might not necessarily say anything--they left a kudos and a comment last time. They gave their feedback. But you’re still getting hits from them.

Readers: authors welcome “I’m rereading this and still love it” reviews. If you’re reading through this section and want to support your authors, be aware of all the different feedback inputs they’re contending with, and what seem like happy fun fic time to you might come across as “no one likes my stuff,” to them which could be flatly untrue.

#fanfiction culture #fanfiction

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solarpunk-gnome · 6 years

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For every picture-perfect tent shot on Instagram, there is an entire gallery of images you should see — but rarely do. When we share a photo on social media, we can’t monitor who it reaches, and a lack of knowledge (or worse yet, a blatant disregard for the rules), can ruin some of our favorite campsites, trails and parks. From garbage to human waste, I’ve dealt with all kinds of foul things when setting up camp, and it only seems to be getting worse.

Platforms like Instagram are directly linked to this problem, but they can be just as effective in educating people and encouraging them to behave more responsibly outside. I was thrilled to see Leave No Trace (LNT) recently share a set of social media guidelines, concerning both geotags and the message a photo can send. As lovers of the outdoors who sleep in the dirt in the digital age, it’s important to keep this discussion going — and understand how we can better preserve the places we cherish.

I made my first trip to Bears Ears National Monument in May, and I loved the towering rock formations just as much as the sense of solitude I felt there. However, I was bummed to see a number of fire rings all over the primitive camping sites, along with dirty toilet paper and plastic trash. There are numerous signs stating that you’re not allowed to have fires anywhere in Valley of the Gods, and this information is posted online as well.

So, what can we do? If you see something, SPEAK UP. And this goes beyond approaching fellow campers and politely explaining fire restrictions. When we see illegal fire/camp/drone shots on social media (and I found a handful of campfire shots from this particular section of Bears Ears), it’s important to say something there as well. Send someone a DM or leave a comment, and if it’s an especially flagrant violation, alert local authorities. Parks have busted people in the past after being tipped off about social media posts, and I fully support that. I don’t like that we have to go out of our way to rat (and call) people out, but I also don’t want my favorite places being destroyed.

And it’s not just about others. What you do is equally important, and while location tagging your campsite may seem harmless, it can cause a lot more damage than you might think. Even if you only have 300 followers, a geotag still shows up for everyone, and if you also use hashtags and a large account shares your photo, it can potentially reach millions of people. And one of those people might go ahead and burn a fire somewhere they’re not supposed to — after seeing your camp shot online. It may sound far fetched, but it’s not.

From hot springs to lakes, I’ve seen far too many spots blown up on Instagram and subsequently trashed by careless individuals, so these days I rarely include any sort of exact location information when I post. I will often tag a state, and occasionally a national park, but that’s it. While Instagram is a great place to connect and inspire others, if you really want to protect a place, you must consider the implications of what you share. Think before you post, and there is also something to be said for finding your own adventure. I don’t plan most of my trips based on Instagram geotags; rather, I look at maps, I ask friends/locals/rangers what they’d recommend, or I just (gasp!) stumble across these places while rolling down dirt roads.

When camping at an incredible primitive spot at Organ Mountains-Desert Peaks National Monument last month, my friend and I enjoyed a few sunset brews and set up our tents. We debated having a fire, but decided it was too much work, as we were exhausted from a long day in the car. Before tucking in to our sleeping bags, I cut my big toe on something next to my camp chair, and the following day I noticed gashes all over the bottom of my tent. Unbeknownst to me, in the dim evening light, I had set my beloved Tufly tent on top of a sea of broken glass. And it was then that we noticed the poorly constructed fire ring near our tents, which was overflowing with ash, charcoal and all kinds of trash.

The ring was probably 6 feet across, and the previous campers appeared to have extinguished their fire with rocks and dirt — and probably not enough water. I removed about two large dozen rocks and put them next to the “NO VEHICLES” sign at our campsite, and then got to work picking up inside of the fire pit, which was full of dozens of nails, more glass, shotgun shells, batteries and dirty baby wipes. We ended up packing out one large garbage bag of trash, and I shared the photos above on social media. While I received quite a few messages of support, I wondered: For all the trash we see (and gripe about), how often are we actually picking it up?

I first visited White Sands National Monument when I was 12, and this May I finally made it back. Though you cannot camp on the dunes, if you obtain a backcountry permit from the ranger station, you can pitch a tent right next to them in one of ten primitive sites. The designated camping areas are on flat patches of land and clearly marked with numbered posts, so it’s pretty hard to miss. Fires are not allowed, and not only is there signage at every campsite and the trailhead, but it’s written on the wilderness permit you sign in front of an NPS ranger.

I spent four nights camping in the monument, and I was very disappointed to find food scraps, dirty toilet paper and a burnt log at my campsite. I brought the log back to the ranger station and packed out the trash left from the previous campers, and while I realize that this is something most of us would do, there are still plenty of individuals who wouldn’t make the effort. Just because you didn’t leave litter doesn’t mean you shouldn’t pick it up, and if you care about a place and want to see it thrive, taking action is far more effective than talking about it.

Just a few days after I left White Sands National Monument, LNT released their social media guidelines, and I found the remark that we should be “mindful of what [our] images portray” to be especially relevant. I’ve seen quite a few shots from White Sands of tents either on the dunes or Photoshopped in, and while they are stunning, it’s putting the wrong message out there. Some argue that staging tent shots and not “really” camping there is OK, but it’s actually just as bad, because you have no idea who you might encourage to recreate your photo or experience. I’d like to challenge some of the bigger accounts, whether they’re personal, community or brand pages, to understand the damage staged shots can cause — and to stop sharing anything that could give someone the wrong impression.

I wish I could leave my favorite campsites and trails and trust that others will treat these places with the same level of respect as me, but it only takes a few individuals to ruin a spot for years. We can do a lot more than we might think to clean up our wild lands — and motivate others to follow suit. If you agree with me, please share this post and take action, whether it’s picking up trash or speaking up against something you see on social media. You CAN make a difference.

Elisabeth Brentano has been sleeping in the dirt with Big Agnes for a handful of years now. She’s a writer and photographer who lives out of her Jeep in the wild west, searching for the perfect cup of coffee and dreamy landscapes. See more of Elisabeth.

#solarpunk #nature #Leave No Trace #Social media #Instagram #beautiful #camping #hiking #wilderness #trash #waste #cleanup #lunarpunk #ecopunk

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zephfair · 6 years

Text

Day 9 Bleach fic Grimmichi

I’m tired. Is anyone else tired? I’m also tired of being a hack writer, and I’m sure any of you still reading would agree with that one! ;D

So Day 9 of the 30-Day AU Challenge is the D&D AU.

Only I know nothing about D&D (there are dungeons? and... dragons?) beyond what I see on Tumblr. All I can imagine is Ichigo and Grimmjow making their characters stronger and stronger and more outrageous to try and top each other, and poor Rukia is the long-suffering DM who just wants to lock them in a closet until they get it out of their systems.

Instead, I’m going to offer a conclusion to Day 2’s Knight AU. If its weak attempt at a plot bears any resemblance to Bleach’s Hueco Mundo arc, well, then congratulations, you’ve found me out. I totally borrowed it.

Did I mention how tired I am? xp

Grimmjow and Ichigo stared at each other over the fire. Thoughts were racing through both their minds, somewhat along the same tracks. Neither wanted to be the first to look away.

Orihime looked from one to the other. “So what do we do now?” she finally asked.

Grimmjow snarled and finally turned away. “I don’t care what the hell you do. As long as you’re far away from here when the bat gets back.”

“But you can’t stay with Lord Aizen,” she pleaded. “Now that we know what he’s doing, you can help us fight against him.”

“Fight against him? Why would I? He made me what I am, gave me all this strength and power. As long as I fight when he orders me to, he leaves me alone,” Grimmjow said.

“But what if it’s true that you weren’t always an animal...” Orihime stopped when Grimmjow stood and started growling, a low rumbling sound that spoke to the part of the human brain that feared things that made noise at night and lurked just out of sight in the dark. He was gratified to see them both shiver.

“I’m an Arrancar, no matter what,” he said proudly.

“So you’re happy just being his house cat then?” Ichigo challenged. “His little lap pet? Do you purr when you cuddle up to him?”

Grimmjow growled louder and spat at him. “How dare you, you weak little human. The only reason you’re still alive is because I felt the power on you and got the woman here to heal you. I thought you would make for a good fight. Let’s go now so I can end your life myself.”

Ichigo unsheathed his sword and stood up. “Then let’s go. I’ll kick your sorry ass.”

“Please, stop this!” Orihime’s raised voice may have been ignored if she hadn’t called forth her glowing helpers. Grimmjow watched in frustration as they flew between him and Ichigo, creating a brightly glowing force field he knew he couldn’t cross.

“Please, listen,” Orihime asked again and Grimmjow deigned to swivel his ears in her direction. “That Arrancar that injured Ichigo is coming back sometime soon. If we let him take Ichigo, who knows what King Aizen will do to him. He’ll be in the castle all alone. They’ll probably take me back to the tower all alone. And Grimmjow—”

“I will be left here in my peaceful cave all alone.”

“But wouldn’t you rather have a good fight?” Ichigo said suddenly. “I can’t risk letting them take me captive and probably kill me without warning my kingdom. And I refuse to leave an innocent in King Aizen’s hand anymore either. I will fight to keep Orihime free.”

“I only want to fight someone strong enough to challenge me,” Grimmjow threw back his head and roared. Orihime covered her head with her arms and Ichigo flinched, but the force field didn’t even flicker. Grimmjow paced the width of the cave, still between the two others and the entrance.

“What if I promise you that I’ll fight you just as soon as Orihime is safely away from here and my message is sent to Seireitei?” Ichigo yelled.

“Bullshit.”

“I swear, on my honor as a knight of the Shinigami, that if you let us go, I will return and fight you before I fight even Aizen himself.” Ichigo did a complicated motion with his hand and fist that Grimmjow assumed was some sort of ritualistic vow.

Grimmjow turned away and sat down abruptly. “If you don’t keep your vow, I will hunt you down to the very ends of the land and kill you wherever you are, even if it’s hell,” he said. Ichigo nodded solemnly.

“Then we can go?” Orihime asked. Grimmjow nodded once and remained turned away. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Orihime recall the glowing flies and dissolve the force field. She and Ichigo hurried to pack up the few belongings she had brought with her.

“You have to be careful going down the cliff. There’s a large open field ahead but once you enter the forest, go straight west. There’s a track… never mind, I’ll just show you.”

“Oh Grimmjow, thank you,” Orihime said but he stood up and went to the cavern entrance.

“Don’t thank me until we see if you survive the night.” And he turned to slide down the face of the cliff.

Grimmjow led them as far as the trail that started them through the forest in the general direction of where Ichigo had been captured. He had said that Ulquiorra killed his horse and there was probably no hope to find his old campsite or supplies, but at least they would be moving in the right direction.

Grimmjow stood by the trailhead and waited for them to catch up. For humans, he was pleasantly surprised by how well and quickly they traveled. But there was a long way to go and the darkest part of the night to come.

Ichigo walked by him with a nod but Orihime stopped and would have said something if Grimmjow hadn’t turned abruptly and just walked away.

He didn’t go far. Once he’d judged the two would be far enough down the path, he followed. It wasn’t that he cared if something happened to them—whether it was an injury from a fall or an attack from another Arrancar—he just wanted to ensure that nothing came between him and his eventual prey.

He trailed after them throughout the night and lurked behind the trees when they took brief breaks for rest. He prowled around them then in a wide circle, senses on high alert for any potential predators. But the small, mortal predators knew he was there and stayed away. And there was no sign of Arrancars out that far in the wilderness.

Still, Grimmjow went after them. He was surprised how far they traveled by morning, but it wasn’t far enough. Ulquiorra could still find them in no time. As the sky lightened, he began to watch it more warily than the forest, scanning the sky toward Las Noches, dreading the moment the bat might appear.

But he didn’t. By mid-afternoon both humans were walking slower and the woman stumbled more than once. Grimmjow’s ears perked when he sensed a spring nearby. He was wondering how he could push them toward it when Ichigo gestured. Orihime stayed alone on the trail while Ichigo pushed through the underbrush toward the fresh water.

“Good boy,” Grimmjow thought. He lay low in the brush until Ichigo returned, excitedly calling to Orihime and helping her back the way he’d come.

Grimmjow took the opportunity to go find himself something to eat.

After satisfying that need, he cautiously approached the spring, wondering if the two were still there or if they’d continued their journey. He wasn’t really surprised to see they’d decided to rest at the spot. After a night with no sleep, they must be even more exhausted than he with his enhancements.

He crept close enough to the spring to hear the sleeping breaths of the woman but he couldn’t sense Ichigo. He turned his head from side to side but only had an instant’s warning when Ichigo said, “I knew you were following us” from behind him.

Grimmjow just turned slowly. Ichigo didn’t have his sword drawn but his hand was on the hilt. Grimmjow grinned a toothy smirk. “I decided to make sure that no one else got to lay a hand on you before I do.”

“Don’t you mean paw?”

“Or fang.” Grimmjow showed his.

Ichigo crossed his arms over his chest. Grimmjow realized that he was still only wearing the rags and shreds of clothing that had survived his battle with Ulquiorra. Not that Grimmjow had any kind of clothes to offer him, but he saw now how much of the man’s body was exposed.

“Aren’t you tired, little human?”

“Orihime needs the rest more than I do.”

Grimmjow snorted. “You were almost dead this time yesterday. Go sleep, asshole.”

“I need to keep watch.”

“I’ll take the first watch. My senses are greatly superior to yours anyway.”

Ichigo glared at him. “I don’t trust you.”

“Not asking you to. I said I’d let you get out of Aizen’s territory and I keep my promises. If you keep yours.”

“I will fight you.”

“Then go sleep. You’re going to need all of your strength.”

“You still don’t have an answer for what we’re going to do about Aizen.”

“We?” Grimmjow said. “I’m not doing anything.”

Ichigo opened his mouth but gave up. He rubbed at his face for a moment then nodded. Grimmjow watched him cross over to Orihime and settle down on his side near her, one hand still on his sword.

Grimmjow took a long drink from the cool, fresh spring and went on sentry duty.

The humans slept until after sunset. Orihime stirred first but as soon as she sat up, Ichigo was springing up as well. After some discussion and several acerbic comments from Grimmjow, Ichigo decided they could risk a small fire for warmth. Orihime shared the little food she had left with Ichigo and they sat in companionable silence, Grimmjow prowling outside the cheery circle of light all the while.

Once the fire was put out and Orihime lay back down, Ichigo approached him. “I’ll take over watch now.”

“I’m fine,” Grimmjow told him haughtily.

“Don’t you need sleep?” Ichigo looked skeptical.

“Arrancars don’t need as much rest or sleep as you pussies, especially if they’re as strong as I am.”

“Well, good for you. I’m still going to stand guard for a while, so if you want to take a break, now would be the time.”

Grimmjow stalked away into the cover of the trees. If he were going to shut his eyes for a few moments, it would probably be safe. Just for a bit.

After his nap, he moved back toward Ichigo who refused to give way again. They were having a heated, whispered argument when Grimmjow’s hackles suddenly raised.

“Something’s coming,” he hissed.

“Where? How can you tell?”

“Arrancar,” Grimmjow got out before Ulquiorra struck. He dove out of the trees into the tiny cleared area around the spring. Ichigo ran at him, sword threatening, while Grimmjow outstripped him in a few bounds.

But Ulquiorra ignored them both. He swept directly down to where Orihime was sleeping and scooped her up, taking off into flight with barely a delay. Grimmjow leapt and snapped at his heels, but he was already gaining distance vertically. He glanced down at Grimmjow and his look threatened murder the next time they met.

His huge wings flapped with a vengeance and he was soon just a darker smudge against the dark sky.

Orihime hadn’t even had a chance to wake up and scream.

Ichigo was livid. With a roar that could have equaled Grimmjow’s, he slashed his sword into a tree. “How could he do that? Why didn’t we know he was coming? We should have stopped him.”

Grimmjow was panting from the brief but intense chase but he still snarled at Ichigo. “We’re made for stealth. And speed. And strength, dammit. But why would he only take the woman when before he wanted you?”

“I don’t know.” Ichigo stood panting too, his anger waning as frustration and anxiety settled in. “I don’t know what to do. I’m lost in a hostile kingdom with no food, no clothes, no horse and no idea how to get back to Seireitei.”

Grimmjow sighed. He’d known this was going to be trouble but he was already in well over his head. Once Ulquiorra told Aizen that Grimmjow was aiding the humans, his life would be forfeit anyway.

“I can find your camp from before,” he said. “From there we can find the nearest abandoned village and resupply you. Then I can point you in the direction of the Seireitei.”

“But what about Orihime?”

“I don’t know,” Grimmjow admitted. “But if Aizen has kept her alive this long, then he must have a damn good reason. He would have ordered Ulquiorra just to kill her here if he wanted her dead. And you too.”

“And now you.” Ichigo leveled a look at him that made Grimmjow shrug.

“Do you want to leave now or wait ‘til morning?”

Ichigo sighed and started picking up the few things that lay around the ashes. “We might as well go now. I won’t be able to sleep.”

They traveled quickly but well together, Grimmjow was happy to find. He would break off the trail periodically to hunt and search, but Ichigo didn’t want to take very long breaks. Grimmjow was able to sniff out his old campsite just before the sun went down.

The worst damage was to Ichigo’s horse, but it appeared that even the local predators were nervous about the scene of a fight that involved an Arrancar. Ichigo seemed relieved to find his packs unharmed and quickly changed into different clothes.

Grimmjow sat nearby and watched.

“It looks like some of my food supplies are still here,” Ichigo said, going through another pack. “But it’s probably not enough for more than a day or two. And I don’t have much water.”

“There’s a village that we cleared out a few hours away,” Grimmjow told him. “The survivors were scared off so they should’ve left behind things.”

Ichigo checked through the rest of his things then sat back. “Do we dare light a fire?”

Grimmjow’s ears flicked. Even though his senses were telling him that things were okay, he didn’t want to chance it. “Probably not.”

“Okay,” Ichigo said and pulled out his blanket and bedroll. “Are you okay with taking the first watch?”

“Of course. Sleep is for the weak. And humans.” Ichigo rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. And Grimmjow didn’t move away until Ichigo’s breathing settled down and evened.

Ichigo woke up all by himself in the middle of the night and offered to take over the guard but Grimmjow shook his head. “If you’re done sleeping, let’s go. I’ll rest when we get to the village.”

Ichigo followed him in silence. The village was a little further than Grimmjow remembered. It had been months since Aizen had sent him and two other Arrancars to clear out the place. They’d been ordered to kill the young men who could have posed a risk of fighting, but they could let the elders and the women and children run, as long as they left the territory.

Grimmjow was content to follow those kind of orders, but he’d worked with other Arrancar who took pleasure in killing entire villages, not even leaving any survivors to spread the word of the vicious attacks.

Ichigo was looking around at the wreckage left by the panicked survivors. House doors were still open, broken carts sat on the street. Several pets wandered freely, although when Grimmjow hissed at one dog, it slunk away. There were no horses or other large livestock, though, so either someone brave had returned for them or another desperate village had made the trip to look for anything they could salvage.

Ichigo tried several houses before he found one that had dried food supplies and a clean-looking bed. Then he drew water from the well while Grimmjow checked the rest of the village. Definitely no humans recently and no Arrancars since before then.

As long as they were careful, Ichigo should be able to stay there and gain strength for a few days while Grimmjow tried to find him a horse. He put the worry aside while he went to hunt. He thought it was a good sign that he spooked a herd of deer nearby and he took down two without even losing his breath.

After he ate, he took the other back to a surprised but pleased Ichigo who got the best meal he’d had in a month. Grimmjow felt awkward being in the house while Ichigo set about roasting the meat, but Ichigo had invited him in so he stayed. Even after Ichigo was done with his meal and banking the fire for the night, he sat in the room.

Ichigo took a seat across from him by the fire and sighed. “Now what do we do? We just can’t leave Orihime here with Aizen.”

“You have to go get reinforcements.” Grimmjow hated to admit it but, “We can’t do it alone.”

“There’s no one else.”

“You have an army.”

“I don’t even have a battalion! We’re spread so thin since the war,” Ichigo put his head in his hands.

“Aizen has already taken over all of Hueco Mundo and now is heading for your kingdom since he knows it’s weak. He won’t stop until it’s gone and he’s taken over.”

“If I could just get word to the Seireitei. Our mage Urahara left me this magical device but I’d rather not try it.” Ichigo slipped something out of his pack that had survived Ulquiorra’s attack.

“Why the hell not?” Grimmjow couldn’t resist his curiosity and pushed his nose toward the disc and sniffed.

“His inventions aren’t exactly reliable,” Ichigo said wryly. “I could end up blowing up the house.”

“I’d like to see that.”

Ichigo rolled his eyes at him. “I’ll try it, but be ready to run.” He put the disc on the table and did something to it that Grimmjow couldn’t see and then leaned back.

Suddenly a series of noises like chimes sounded from the disc and Grimmjow’s ears flattened. “Is something happening?”

“I’m not sure,” Ichigo admitted.

Then an unknown voice said, “Sir Ichigo, is that you?”

Both Grimmjow and Ichigo jumped, and Grimmjow’s head spun as he searched for the cause of the voice.

“Urahara?”

“Yes! Sir Ichigo, we have been very worried about you!”

“I’m alive.” Ichigo scooted the chair a little closer to the table and spoke toward the disc. Grimmjow took a few slow steps nearer. The voice was very clearly coming from the disc somehow.

Ichigo quickly told the mage about the situation and with Grimmjow’s aid even gave directions to the village. But then Urahara’s voice grew grave.

“I have been told by the royal advisers and the king himself that whenever you checked in to give you this order. You are to retreat immediately and return home to the Seireitei.”

“What!? No! Not without Orihime!”

“Ichigo, I’m just repeating what his royal highness told me to tell you. You are needed here. He fears there may be an attack soon.”

“Of course there’s going to be an attack! Weren’t you listening? I just told you that Aizen is going to come after you! But surely we have enough time, if I could have a band of warriors, we could sneak into Las Noches and stop Aizen ourselves! He’s holding innocent people hostage!”

The disc sighed. “I’m truly sorry, Ichigo. But you know our knights are specifically for the defense of the Seireitei. I can forward your request, but I fear I already know the answer. You must return here.”

Icigho growled almost as viciously as Grimmjow could and slammed his hand down on the disc. The material snapped and the voice ended. When Ichigo got up to pace, Grimmjow nosed at it curiously.

“Fuck them,” Ichigo muttered. “I’m going back to save Orihime if I have to take on Aizen and his Arrancars all by myself.”

“You’re foolhardy and reckless,” Grimmjow told him then slowly gave him a toothy grin. “I like it. But you’re not strong enough yet to defeat Aizen. Not if you can’t even defeat me.”

“Who says I can’t.”

“Me,” was all Grimmjow could say before Ichigo tackled him.

They fought and struggled and it was the best time Grimmjow could remember having since he came aware as an Arrancar. He wasn’t trying to use lethal force but it wasn’t long before Ichigo’s attacks pushed him to really fight back.

It wasn’t until they rolled into the fire that Ichigo jumped up swearing and Grimmjow got to his feet to shake it off.

“Not bad,” Grimmjow said. “But you have a long way to go.”

Ichigo wiped a smear of blood off his lip. “Then we’ll fight every day until I’m stronger.”

Grimmjow wouldn’t forget those days. He spent the mornings hunting and looking for the nearest village with a horse. Ichigo trained and did whatever it was humans needed for their days. In the afternoons, they fought.

In the evenings, they talked. Grimmjow started answering Ichigo’s questions about the Arrancar but soon was telling him everything he could of the 10 Espada and other Arrancar. How Aizen made them from simple beasts to be his guardians and fighters. How he’d had them fight among themselves to determine who was the strongest.

Ichigo told him tales of his own battles and his comrade knights.

Grimmjow didn’t remember his time from before Aizen had changed him but he told Ichigo that he assumed he was a panther grown to super size and strength.

“You’re unlike any animal I’ve ever seen,” Ichigo said one evening as they sat in front of the fire. He reached out and ran his fingers through the soft fur at the back of Grimmjow’s neck. Grimmjow butted his head up into Ichigo’s hand before he could stop himself.

Then they both froze. Grimmjow snarled and Ichigo let go quickly. “I think it’s time for bed,” he said, standing up quickly.

Grimmjow padded out of the house as slowly and proudly as he ever did then started running once he was out of sight. There was no way a single touch should ever have felt so good. He needed to kill something—now.

When he returned in the morning, Ichigo acted like nothing had happened so Grimmjow did the same. Only when Ichigo stripped off his shirt to begin their usual wrestling match did Grimmjow back off. Ichigo didn’t question it and in fact lit up when Grimmjow told him he’d found a village that had several horses. It had taken him all night but running off his frustration had born some fruit.

Ichigo was packing his things when a loud shout haled from the forest. He unsheathed his sword and Grimmjow took a defensive stance beside him.

But to Grimmjow’s shock, Ichigo cried out and ran toward the small group that appeared without any kind of battle tactic. He loped after him then realized the group leading their horses was calling Ichigo’s name happily and he slowed.

Ichigo offered salutes and shoulder slaps around the group and actually smiled as he led them back to Grimmjow.

“Urahara’s magic actually worked for good for once,” he said. “This is Knight Sir Byakuya and his squire Renji, sorry, he was promoted in my absence, Sir Renji. This is the head of his majesty’s archers Uryu, and the strongest man in the kingdom Chad.” Ichigo leaned his elbow on the head of the last person. “And this pipsqueak is Lady Rukia, who I am shocked to see.”

“Moron,” she told him and batted his arm away. “I told you that going off on your own would only cause more trouble. You are like a magnet for it.”

Ichigo shrugged but Grimmjow could tell from his expression and posture that he was more relaxed than he’d ever seen him. Although the others watched Grimmjow with poorly concealed unease, he chose to ignore them all.

“What do you think you’re going to be able to do anyhow? You’re too small to even be an Arrancar’s dinner.” Ichigo stuck his tongue out at Rukia. She stamped on his foot and when he bent over she nailed the heel of her hand into his chin.

He grunted and fell over. She stood with one foot on him. “I am not without defense,” she said. “And I’ve been honing my magical abilities. I will be useful.”

“Okay,” Ichigo wheezed from under her weight. Grimmjow huffed and started to walk away. Ichigo let him go.

Grimmjow didn’t return until long after dark, but the door of the house he’d been sharing with Ichigo was closed. Growling under his breath, he turned to find somewhere else to rest. But the door flew open before he was out of sight.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you! Where’d you go?” Ichigo ran over to meet him.

As if you care. “Hunting. I thought you and your friends would be preparing for an attack.”

“Well, yeah, kinda,” Ichigo rubbed the back of his head. “But I really want you to be there. You have a lot of good insight on the Arrancars and you’re the only one of us who’s even been to Las Noches.”

“So my information is valuable to you.”

Ichigo looked into his eyes, and Grimmjow wondered if they were reflecting the moonlight back at him or shining brightly like the eyes of hidden prey. “I want to fight alongside you,” Ichigo said finally. “If you’re going to rebel against Aizen, it would be best if we could do it together.”

“When do you leave?”

“In the morning.”

Grimmjow turned but said, “I’ll be ready.”

“Grimmjow. Thank you.”

Grimmjow didn’t stop as he stalked away to find a place to sleep.

They fell into a kind of routine over the next days. Grimmjow didn’t talk to the Shinigami and didn’t spend any time in their camp unless Ichigo specifically asked. He tried to scout far ahead of where they were going to find the best way toward Las Noches. Ichigo got up early several times and joined him, and Grimmjow was struck all over again how good his instincts were for a human.

One day, not more than another day and night from Las Noches, Grimmjow ran back to the camp as fast he could. Crashing to a halt beside Ichigo, he gasped, “Arrancar. Five of them. Headed this way. Looks like they’re tipped off that an attack is coming.”

“Shit,” Ichigo said. “Where can we fight?”

“No time to find the high ground. We shouldn’t split up though. Defend all together.”

“Got it,” Ichigo turned and began to give orders to the others. They were almost ready when the Arrancars burst out of the trees and attacked.

It was frenzied and bloody and a learning experience for all of them. The Shinigami soon found out just how fierce and blood-thirsty the Arrancar were and how much damage they could withstand. But the Arrancars learned that the humans were crafty and strong in their own way and were never going to give up. They also fought better together which proved the advantage in the end.

Four of the Arrancars lay dead or dying when Ichigo held his sword to the throat of the last injured that was still conscious. The battle had taken a toll on the humans as well and all sported injuries but none so serious as the Arrancar.

Grimmjow watched Ichigo pin Nnoitra to the ground and lean near his face. “How did you know we were coming?”

Nnoitra spit at him. Grimmjow started rumbling and Nnoitra turned his head painfully to look at him. “You traitor.”

“Look at me,” Ichigo commanded. “How did you know where we were?”

“Lord Aizen knows everything,” he panted. “He only sent us to clean you up because he’s heading to the Seireitei to finish off the rest of you.”

“Where is the healer?”

Nnoitra’s leer was bloody. “She’s a piece of fun, yeah?”

Ichigo yelled and Renji had to grab him and pull him away from Nnoitra. Grimmjow stepped up and said, “Get him out of here. I’ll clean up.”

Renji looked at him but Ichigo just swore louder. The Renji started walking him away and Chad helped lead him down the path and out of sight.

Grimmjow looked back down at the fatally wounded Nnoitra who sneered. “Do you really think the humans will accept an animal like you?”

Grimmjow rolled his head and shrugged his broad shoulders. “Doesn’t really matter to me. At least I won’t have Aizen’s fucking leash around my neck.”

“You bast—” Nnoitra’s curse was cut off by Grimmjow’s cero blast at close range. Once he’d made sure the other Arrancars were truly dead, he limped after the humans.

They had found a clear flat spot by a stream and were spread out tending to each other’s wounds. Grimmjow’s eyes went immediately to Ichigo, but he seemed like he had gotten off easier than some of the others. Once Grimmjow was satisfied that Ichigo’s swearing was from anger and not pain, he went out to circle the perimeter.

When he returned, the camp was more settled and Ichigo was waiting for him, hands on his hips. “Let me see where you’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,” Grimmjow brushed past him but Ichigo clamped a strong hand down on his neck.

“At least let me look you over. Rukia knows some healing kidoh if you need—”

Grimmjow pulled away, “I don’t need anything from you.”

He could feel Ichigo staring at him but he continued walking to the stream. When he was finished drinking, the woman Rukia called out to him, “If you would join us, I think there’s something we need to talk about.”

Grimmjow wanted to walk away, was ready to leave them all alone, but he glanced at the group and only Ichigo was looking away. He walked over slowly and sat at the edge of the firelight, tail curled tightly around himself.

“There is something that Urahara told us before we left. Something he discovered about King Aizen.” Rukia looked at Ichigo. “Urahara has never been only a mage, I’m sure you suspected that, and he has ties to other rulers and figures in the underworld. That’s how he found out that Aizen stole a magical jewel called the Hogyoku several years ago. Grimmjow, have you ever seen something like that at Las Noches?”

“I don’t spend anymore time in that place than I have to,” he told her. “I only went there when he summoned and left as soon as I had orders.”

Rukia studied him for a long moment. “Urahara said those who have wielded the Hogyoku make all kind of claims about what it can do. With enough magical energy, it is said to be able to do all manner of things.”

“Do you think that’s how Aizen made the Arrancars?” Ichigo asked her.

Rukia hesitated again. “Urahara has another theory. Instead of using magic to turn the Arrancar from animals into thinking creatures, he believes it is really the magic that is keeping the Arrancars trapped in their animal forms. He thinks they were all people before.”

Her statement was greeted by silence. Ichigo watched Grimmjow who coolly watched him back. “We’d wondered about that,” Ichigo said softly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Grimmjow said. “If I was a human before or a panther, I’m still just me.”

“But don’t you want to find out,” Ichigo pressed. “Don’t you want to know who you were before?”

“All I am is what I am right now,” Grimmjow said and got up, but Ichigo started after him. He growled lowly and Rukia pulled at Ichigo’s arm to make him sit again. Grimmjow escaped into the peace of the forest.

They planned to push through to Las Noches the next day since Aizen was already aware of their presence. But they were met with a check when they got to the castle and discovered only minor Arrancars and human servants.

Ichigo led the charge to fight their way through the Arrancars and they made it to the throne room.

There stood Ulquiorra in front of a magical portal. A wavering view of the castle of the Seireitei showed through the opening.

“You are too late. Lord Aizen has already gone to conquer your kingdom as well,” Ulquiorra told them.

Ichigo rushed at him with a cry, Grimmjow close on his heels. The others started toward them but then Ichigo shouted at them to go through the portal.

Grimmjow ignored all the distractions and focused on Ulquiorra. His advantage of flight was curtailed by the interior of the throne room, but he still found ways to get past Ichigo’s defenses. Grimmjow snapped and struck at him, using his own tremendous muscle to leap high into the air and swipe at him, chasing him back down to Ichigo.

It seemed to go on too long, for forever, before a scream distracted them all. Orihime ran toward them, calling Ichigo’s name, and Ulquiorra took the chance to strike. But Grimmjow was ready and when he opened himself, Grimmjow caught his neck in his powerful jaws and snapped them shut.

Ichigo lay on the floor breathless when Orihime met him. “You came back for me, oh Ichigo!” She threw out her hands and the glow surrounded Ichigo but Ichigo motioned toward Grimmjow.

“Help him. Ulquiorra got him in the chest.”

Grimmjow was lying on his side, gasping for air as well. He growled at the woman but she only clucked at him and called forth the healing shield. Grimmjow shut his eyes and enjoyed the feeling as the pain ebbed away.

Then Ichigo leaned over him. “If you can’t make it, I’ll—”

“I’ll be fine,” Grimmjow assured him. As soon as Orihime dispensed her magic, he staggered to his feet. He and Ichigo exchanged a look then Ichigo told Orihime to stay close beside them.

They leaped through the portal into the Seireitei.

It was chaos. There was fighting in every direction. Arrancars flew overhead, humans scurried about, cannons boomed, swords flashed. Grimmjow had never smelled so much blood of all kinds in one place.

“Go find somewhere safe,” Ichigo told Orihime as he drew his sword. “Where do you want to start?”

“Aizen,” Grimmjow said and Ichigo grinned as evil a grin as Grimmjow himself had ever given. They took off together.

No matter how many Arrancars tried to stop them, no matter how many times Grimmjow had to throw off misguided humans, they stayed together, fighting their way toward the very center of the battle, where the rulers must be.

Then Grimmjow spotted Aizen’s two lieutenants, the men who helped him rule, and he pushed Ichigo in that direction. Grimmjow ripped into Tousen with a roar while Ichigo crossed swords with Gin as the highest ranked members of the Shinigami king’s guard joined them.

Suddenly Gin stepped away and thrust his sword toward Aizen who was fighting one of the king’s closest guards. Grimmjow missed the rest of that turn of events when Tousen’s sword went through his side.

He roared and surged again into Tousen with all his remaining strength. It was enough. Tousen went down and lay unmoving. A human rushed up to them but all Grimmjow could do was snarl and threaten. The human put up his hands and said, “I only want to make sure he’s dead. I know you’re one of the good guys,” and Grimmjow lost his breath choking out a laugh.

It was from his ignoble place on the ground that he watched Aizen and Ichigo fight. He lay there in the growing pool of his own blood and watched Ichigo pull out all the stops. He fought ferociously and with every dirty trick Grimmjow had shown him, plus some he hadn’t.

Even when Aizen pulled out a small round gem and used it to twist himself into an abomination of a creature, Ichigo fought on. It was when Aizen turned from a despicable but human man into a bizarre version of a butterfly that Grimmjow knew for sure.

He had once been a man. Aizen had changed him.

Grimmjow screamed out all his anger and his wrath, and it seemed to give Ichigo strength. He redoubled his efforts and finally cut Aizen down. Then a blond man in a robe and strange hat rushed forward and did some kind of magic that immobilized Aizen with dark chains wrapped around him.

Grimmjow panted heavily, eyes growing heavier, as Ichigo stumbled and fell. Then Orihime was with him and helping him stagger over to Grimmjow. Ichigo fell again over Grimmjow’s neck and didn’t even try to get up.

“You stupid bastard. You’re too dumb to die like this,” Ichigo said.

“Fuck. You.” Grimmjow got out and butted his head against Ichigo’s clutching hands.

The mage leaned over them and Grimmjow heard parts of a conversation about the magic gem. The mage didn’t know how to use it. Orihime said it might work. The mage said they shouldn’t risk it. Orihime said she had to try.

Ichigo just kept his head buried in Grimmjow’s neck, his hands cradling his face. “Don’t die,” he said again.

But Grimmjow couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer and as the darkness rushed in, he felt the strong hand on his head that he’d come to know and love and he butted into it with his failing strength. And he died.

The next thing he knew was pain—awful and terrible pain—and thought “this is hell, this is what I deserve for following Aizen’s orders.” His body felt like it was twisting and pulling and how did he even have a body? Was this a special part of hell? Just for the doubly cursed like him?

When the searing pain flared, he wished for death again, anything to end the consuming agony. A glow shone through his squeezed shut eyelids. It was surely the fires of hell consuming him.

But then the pain was actually slipping away, receding like a bad nightmare, and he could breathe again, and he felt his body like it actually fit and was finally right.

And when a hand cradled his face, his instinct was to butt into it like he always did. But this time, he felt the calloused hand warm against smooth skin and his eyes flew open.

Ichigo was looking down at him through the glow of Orhime’s shield. He cleared his throat and said, “I’m going to miss the tail.”

“What?” Grimmjow squinted up at him.

Then he saw his own hand reaching up toward Ichigo. He hurriedly moved it down and felt his own chest, warm and flesh, not hard plates.

Orihime had tears in her eyes. “I told you, I knew it,” she said as the tears dropped onto his bare chest and he marveled at how wet felt on human skin. “Aizen didn’t make you from an animal, he made you into an animal to take the throne. YOU are the king and your loyal men are here. Now we can figure out how to turn them back too.”

Grimmjow’s mind whirled and he looked for the only thing that ever made sense. Ichigo was peering down at him and still held the side of his head.

“Maybe,” Grimmjow coughed and tried again, “maybe you can find a way to fix them without killing them first.”

Orihime laughed and it turned into a happy sob. Ichigo smiled down at him, and it made Grimmjow’s natural attitude begin to return.

“I thought the prince was supposed to be saved by a kiss. Dumbass,” he said.

Ichigo’s scowl was a little wet too. “Who’d wanna kiss a giant cat?”

“I’m sure there’re some people that found me hot.”

“Freaks,” Ichigo told him then gave him a slow once-over from head to foot. “Well, you are a better shape now.”

And Ichigo leaned down and kissed him. It wasn’t the best kiss or the most romantic, but it was the very best thing Grimmjow could remember feeling.

Orihime gasped and they broke apart, but she was the only one who blushed. Then Ichigo’s comrades joined them and Ichigo helped Grimmjow to his very human feet and the celebration began.

And they remade Hueco Mundo with the King Grimmjow and his men and the changed Arrancar who wanted their human lives back. He declared peace with Seireitei and opened the borders for trade and diplomacy.

Sir Ichigo and his family went to stay with him as honored noblemen, at least until Grimmjow convinced Ichigo into making a more permanent arrangement.

And they all lived happily ever after.

The end

#my fic #my 30 days #grimmichi #bleach fic #fluff #action

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republicstandard · 6 years

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Northern Ireland Is Ripe For Invasion: Police, Media, Politicians Bow To Islam

Considering the bloody history of Northern Ireland when it comes to sectarian violence, one might understand the reticence there to recognize the threat of Islam. On the other hand, given the bloody history of Catholic versus Protestant, one might expect a greater understanding of what turf wars between religious rivals can look like.

It appears that we must again recognize the power of the Cathedral; what the neoractionaries call the sometimes-self-aware social construct of media, education, and government. The narrative that runs through all aspects of this profane artifice is one of tolerance above all else- shattering the wisdom of Karl Popper and setting the stage for destruction.

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Unlimited tolerance must lead to the disappearance of tolerance. If we extend unlimited tolerance even to those who are intolerant, if we are not prepared to defend a tolerant society against the onslaught of the intolerant, then the tolerant will be destroyed, and tolerance with them. ~ Karl Popper

There is a small pan-Christian identitarian group in Northern Ireland which has adopted the moniker Generation Sparta. One might have imagined a slightly more Celtic influenced name, but in any case, the group is counter-jihad in orientation and have taken it upon themselves to alert their countrymen to the threat posed by Islam to the West. What I am about to describe mirrors almost perfectly both my own experience as a young man growing up in an almost entirely White town in Yorkshire and also that of the YouTuber Millenial Woes in his own White Scottish village.

People in virtual ethnostate conditions have no idea how good they have it. They may look at a pamphlet that bears uncomfortable news and uncritically reject it. We are all, I am sure, guilty of this at some point. We have only people like ourselves to contend with, which becomes boring. Mundane. We might fantasise about the exotic East, or the cosmopolitan cities; far away from the backwards looking troglodytes we are spawned from and fear to become. Islam itself becomes exciting, culturally enriching, and a colorful counter to the dour gloom of the slate-gray Ulster skies.

I will wager good money that I know of someone who feels today as we once felt. So begins the story of Northern Ireland resident 'Meg'.

This insane and terrifying pamphlet was posted through my door yesterday wtf pic.twitter.com/vHWJadJej5

— Meg Brad (@MegMog95) April 3, 2018

Yes indeed, this looks like a scary leaflet to receive if one does not have the prerequisite education -or rather, if one has the requisite indoctrination- to understand the reality of it. It is easy to dismiss as insane and terrifying that which we do not understand. To assist Meg in understanding this matter, let us look at the claims made by Generation Sparta.

CLAIM: Will Britons be a minority in the United Kingdom in 2066?

Yes; at least according to Professor of Demography at Oxford, Peter Coleman and the Migration Observatory.

“On current trends, European populations will become more ethnically diverse, with the possibility that today’s majority ethnic groups will no longer comprise a numerical majority.”

This study does refer specifically to the White British, which as we have written about before are a distinct ethnic group; with a distinct culture and set of values. Generation Sparta are correct in saying that British people were not balloted on immigration- frequently they voted for parties that promised to curb immigration and were ignored. Though I have asked many times myself for a reason why Britain will not become a country where the indigenous population is a minority, I have never received a reasoned answer. Without fail, the question is dismissed as implausible. Without fail, this question is treated as evidence of racism.

The police came round, impressively speedy response from @PoliceServiceNI. They took the pamphlet with them and are gonna investigate

— Meg Brad (@MegMog95) April 4, 2018

Until sufficient evidence is produced that disproves the projections of demographic replacement, we must -if we claim to be living in a somewhat evidence-based shared reality- recognize that replacement migration is real. Generation Sparta are entirely correct to make the claim in their leaflet. We know that the UN itself desires this process.

CLAIM: Nothing is done following terrorist attacks in England.

Can any deny that this is true? The bombing of a pop-concert in Manchester is quickly replaced in the narrative by the tragedy of Grenfell; dealing with terrorism is hard. Blaming Britain for poor constructions that incinerate illegal immigrants is easy. We have seen no steps taken in the United Kingdom to even contend with the difficult questions around Islam as a philosophy. We cannot discuss it, not even in the House of Lords.

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We must agree again that Generation Sparta are correct- in so far as nothing positive is done- we see our civil liberties eroded a little more after every Peace-Stabbing or Peace-Bomb.

With emotive language, Generation Sparta lay the blame for this dire future at the feet of their own politicians. Note that well- there is no mention of violence, or hate towards Muslims- or anyone else. The political elites are whom Generation Sparta blame for the enrichment of Ireland; and if the responses to Meg's original tweet are to go by from Alliance Party members, we must again agree with the pamphlet.

I'd definitely pass that to the police. Goes way beyond opinion to incitement. The fact that it's deranged notwithstanding 🙄

— Naomi Long MLA (@naomi_long) April 3, 2018

I know! And there are a significant amount of Muslim people in this area, I'd hate for them to feel unwelcome because of a few hateful people

— Meg Brad (@MegMog95) April 4, 2018

Alliance's policies also indicate a fatal misunderstanding of human population dynamics; buying in entirely to Lockean blank slate ideas, that all humans are fundamentally interchangeable.

Is the cry of RACIST! unfamiliar? As the Journal reports:

South Belfast DUP MP Emma Little Pengelly and MLA Christopher Stalford have condemned the distribution of the leaflets.

“These leaflets, distributed by an unknown and anonymous group, do not speak for the people who live in that area or the vast majority of people across Northern Ireland,” they said.

“We have seen attempts before to incite racism within Northern Ireland and thankfully they have failed on every occasion.

It is absolutely wrong and dangerous to try and stir up racist sentiment by conflating an entire religion with the vile, violent acts of terrorists, who are just masquerading under the cover of religion."

Once again we are treated to the gloriously myopic bleatings from cuckold politicians who claim to know the minds of religious fundamentalists better than the religious fundamentalists themselves. This, from a hardcore Protestant Unionist party who have campaigned in the past to "save Ulster from sodomy" and advocated for creationism in schools. Let us not pretend that this party is one of tolerance and such fancies- but even the DUP cannot bring itself to say; No- we do not want an Islamic Northern Ireland. Strange then, that over a year ago the atheist community in Northern Ireland submitted a letter to the Home Secretary "raising serious concerns about the UK Government’s ‘independent review’ into Sharia courts in Britain."

Strange that in Northern Ireland the godless will go where the God-fearing fear to tread.

CLAIM: The media tar opponents of multiculturalism as racist

Of course! It's racist to point it out. As predicted in their own pamphlet, Generation Sparta are accurate again. Now, one might say- well, of course, the press will say this pamphlet is racist because it is racist! The counter is simple- there is nothing racist in the pamphlet unless we are to believe that Islam is a race- and therefore immune from critique. This is a fundamental point of contention. If you cannot criticize ideas because it is racist to criticize those ideas, you are living under tyranny. You are living under laws that persecute blasphemy.

I will say that it is wrong to use the image of Fusilier Lee Rigby in this manner. There is no need to politicize his death further- he shall not be forgotten, but sympathy must be shown to his family; who have repeatedly requested that his image is not used by activists. That should be respected- and Generation Sparta should know better. This being said, the words accompanying his image are also accurate- these are the sites of terrorist attacks in England. Far more than 1500 English girls have been raped by predominantly Pakistani men. These facts are not in dispute, surely.

You have seen the pamphlet and read the criticism in the press, but I want to show you the depths to which our media outlets will sink in search of a bias-confirming story. Here are the tweets from the press, begging for a comment from the girl who received the pamphlet.

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Hi Meg, I'm from the @IrishTimes - would it be ok for us to use your pics of the leaflet as part of our coverage?

— David Cochrane (@davidcochrane) April 5, 2018

Can you follow for a DM?

— Arthur Strain (@Fronkenstrain) April 4, 2018

Meg, I'm a reporter with https://t.co/aSXrpCFHE9. Would you mind if we were to share this image with full cred to you?

— Kate Demolder (@katedemolder) April 5, 2018

Hi Meg, my name is Michael and I work for the @BelTel - would it be OK to use these images of the leaflet?

— MichaelSheilsMcnamee (@MichaelOnassis) April 5, 2018

In lockstep, these so-called journalists role out the same talking points with the same downstream thinking. We only ever look at the effect, and never the cause. We may even find out that indeed Generation Sparta are racists or such, but that information will never come from the spineless British press. I have reached out to Generation Sparta myself to obtain a comment, and will update this article should i receive one.

And so we see how a crime is manufactured from the truth.

Chief Inspector David Moore of the Police Service of Northern Ireland said:

"We are treating this as a hate incident at present and we are making a number of enquiries.

"The PSNI continues to make it clear that hate crime, in any form, is unacceptable."

That a pamphlet of relatively uncontroversial statements reveals that Ireland, which spent much of the last century witnessing extreme sectarian violence, can now no longer bear criticism of Islam is truly saddening. It is a hate crime, after all, to say “This is Ireland. This land is of the Irish.” Isn’t that what we were looking for, all those troubled years? Are we so deluded that we ignore that the most likely thing to unite a people is a common foe? I am willing to bet that if this group is bringing Protestants and Catholics together, there might actually be something to be learned; if not from the beliefs of Generation Sparta per se, but surely from how sectarian lines may be bridged.

I suppose as she reported the pamphlets to the police, we should leave the last word to Meg herself. Remember; the pamphlet warns against rape gangs. It is, you might say, an anti-rape leaflet.

If you talk to any woman about rape or sexual assault, the chances are that they will have a story about a time they were raped or almost raped or in fear of being raped. I don't think men realise that.

— Meg Brad (@MegMog95) March 28, 2018

May I suggest that the men of Generation Sparta realize that very well?

It is very easy to just be accepting of everything. To imagine that nothing really matters, and history was backward, dirty. Racist. Homophobic. This way of thinking leads us to value nothing, to preserve nothing of ourselves. The very idea that somewhere a religious person might be offended by a leaflet drives a multi-branch crackdown to root out these evil people who have looked at the world as it is, and not as we would wish it to be.

The establishment is terrified. You can see it in the reaction to wrongthink. It is this lack of thought in the response that will ultimately prove Generation Sparta right, and the media, the police, the political establishment and probably-gender-studies-major-Meg, will all be proven wrong. If you cannot think freely, then you will act as a slave.

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The worst part of that reality is that it is so easily preventable; if we steel ourselves, put our shoulders back, and contend with the problems at hand. All we have to do is take responsibility for our own futures.

Is that really so hard?

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