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credince--writes · 1 year

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Jitters (Remastered) Chapter 2: Knuckles

Chapter Two: Knuckles

Chapter 1

Jitters is a PMC brought onto the support 141 operations, much to the distaste of the 141 group of PMC's.

The Remastered version of the original Jitters.

A/N:

Oop, the second chapter is out now! etehehe, let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

GIF by whumpetywhump

She let out a breath that she didn't really recognize that she was holding.

She could find herself with a breath caught in her lungs more often than not, following a trail of thought leaning too close to a computer screen and spacing out. Only to lean back and let out the breath trapped and as quietly as she could gasp for air.

The team was home safe, but they were 'home' for real this time, the mission was a success. Intel had been secured, and everyone made it out in one piece with very minor injuries. She’d hide back in her corner of the office, fidgeting with something she’d found and stashed away. Collecting trinkets coming a fun game, collecting one thing from each base she found herself at and clinging to it.

The team was back at home base, she supposed that she should correct herself on that. There was no real home in these situations. Just waiting for the next call to be sent out somewhere- the new place to desperately root as fast as possible, gather your bearings, and make sure the mission went right. But it’s all that mattered, really.

Getting back in one piece.

Without much thanks to Miles.

It was time for a debrief of the mission, and afterward, the team would be released to something akin to a kindergartners recess.

Free time.

The room would always be tense, even if everything ended right there was bound to be some kind of fuck up to pick apart and asses once everyone had been herded into the room and sat down. It just usually wasn’t this tense, Jitters had experienced her fair share of tense meetings. The hard eyes of COs cover their good intentions, weight carried heavily atop their shoulders as they try, emphasis on try, to prevent mistakes from happening again.

Mistakes kill people, after all.

But it was tense, more so than usual with the added men in the room. All too hot but too cold smashed into a room with everyone at once, the not-so-subtle burning glare of Mactavish and the icy cold stare of Ghost sweeping the room it felt like every other moment. Gulch heading the table next to the Captain and prepared the debrief as she scuttled into the room and took a seat as far as she could get from Miles.

She’d laugh if she didn’t feel like the bile rising in her throat from stress was going to make her yack onto her shoes. The room was split down the middle, back into the original teams. Miles puffed his chest up and leaned over to murmur something to Mactavish while Ghost sat rigid- as if he was still ready to lash out and strike at an enemy lurking in the shadows. She’d sat at the end of the table, left shoulder to Gaz who glanced over and gave her a nod as she sat. A mild comfort knowing that maybe one person in the room- other than Gulch- was on her side. Either sitting next to her at the table or hopefully willing to not throw her under the bus as the issues from the mission unfolded onto the table.

"Can someone elaborate on what the fuck happened with triggering the security protocol?" Gulch questions eyes flickering from one side of the table to the other, narrowing on Jitters and Miles. She could feel the tension in her shoulders- the constriction of muscle as her throat tightened trying to find the correct way to explain that once again, this hadn’t been her fault. Stepping into action to solve the problem rather than sitting back and watching it happen.

"I'm sorry L.T. You know I'm not comfortable working around distractions, additional liabilities." Miles spoke, his voice smooth as he leaned forward with the audacity to nod his head over to Jitters as if she had been the issue in the mission. Her eyes narrowed on him, as if the venom from her glare pooled at the corner of her eyes and welled up only to stream down her cheeks in hot tears.

Gulch stared at miles, the all-familiar deadpan finding its way to his face as his eyes bored into the two of them. It was always like this, ever since she had been working with Miles. Something would go wrong, and he would throw out the fact she was new- a distraction or a liability because she was a PMC. That she didn’t know what she was doing and that more than anything was why something went wrong, not his own incompetencies.

Maybe he was right though, she didn’t belong here. And to a degree, she didn’t know what she was doing. Her fingers dug into her palms as she tried- and most likely failed- to not glare daggers at him across the table while pushing her fingernails into the skin of her palm. Angry red crescents bloomed when she unclenched her hand from the pinch of pain.

Did he really just do that? This.

This...

This bastard.

Her jaw tightened and she ever so slightly tilted her head over to look at him, the feeling of her teeth pressing against each other in her jaw providing some kind of familiar comfort. The clench of her jaw grounded her in a way- helping her keep her mouth shut and preventing an argument that would lead to her crawling over the table and wringing his neck. She saw as she shot her a side glace, noticing the amusement dancing in his eyes as he leaned back in his chair smugly.

She was never a fighter. And he knew that.

Smug prick.

Gulch eyed them up and down, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t. It was silence as he stared them down as if waiting for one of them to crack and start rambling, before letting out a soft sigh. "I'll be expecting an incident report."

After a few more closing statements, the meeting had ended and people began to quickly filter out of the room.

"Jitters." She heard Price call her name.

She felt her heart plummet at the sound of her name being called, stopping in her tracks and staring forward, as if her body refused to turn around and face Price.

Almost as if he was a school child, Miles pushed past her and mumbled a subtle "oooo, Someone's in trouble."

"Yes, Captain?" She looks back and asks, shifting her body to walk back over to him. The tension in her throat to keep her voice even, to not allow it to waver as she ran through the many scenarios of how this could go wrong, how he could be mad. Why would they take her word for it? She’d never even clarified what actually happened and it wasn’t like they would know- they were out in the field while she shoved Miles out of his chair and took charge of the situation.

Like a pit of dread opening up in her gut, regretting even standing up and making the moves she did to stop the protocol from activating.

She should’ve just sat back and kept her mouth shut.

"Good work today. Enjoy your night." He smiles and then gives her a nod.

She blinked a few times as if what he had said had been hallucinated. She hadn’t been expecting anything close to praise, expecting some kind of chastizing or another Captain threatening to call Laswell if she didn’t shape up. Constantly danging the connection over their head and watching her jump, laughing the whole time. Her mind reeling in confusion, she forces herself to give the Captain a nod before leaving the room, trying to ignore the swelling sense of pride rising in her gut.

...

The warehouse was full, and people celebrating the victory achieved today. Commonplace after a successful mission, a celebration everyone would jump on to even with no involvement. Any excuse to gather around, drinks in hand, and have fun. It would go like this long into the night usually, trading off as people came back from patrols and woke up, leaving their shifts and entering the revolving door of celebration taking place in the warehouse. She navigated her way through the people, trying to find Gaz in the crowds of people. While Price had dropped it off- Gaz never returned the buzzer (which she quickly renamed from the vibrator, after spending a sleepless night wallowing in the fact she let the title slip). Seeing him sitting on a crate, she set her target on him, and soon enough she was behind him. She didn't seem to catch his attention when she came up behind him, awkwardly shifting trying to wait a moment more to see if he’d turn around and acknowledge her.

"Ahem." She cleared her throat- trying to speed the process along. She never stayed for these functions. She didn’t need to be here.

She wasn’t one of them.

She didn’t belong with them, and quite simply-

She wasn’t wanted here.

Gaz sat with some men from around the base engaging in mild conversation. Light laughs, grimaces, and smiles were exchanged as they all leisurely sipped from their bottles. Soap leaned up against a wall across from him taking a generous swig from the bottle he held in his hand. Turning to look at her, giving a little surprised flicker on his face. "Oh, Jitters, what's up?"

"I uh, I need the thing." She says, slightly unsure of herself and her presence in front of the group, who were now staring at her in silence.

"Thing?" Gaz echoed, his eyebrow arching in confusion.

"Yea." She lifted her arm, tapping her wrist twice. “You know, the thing.”

"You should come up with a better name for it, dontcha' think?" He mused, a friendly smirk gracing his features as he leaned back and crossed his arms. It was teasing.

It was friendly.

It was kind.

It was unfamiliar.

She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, her eyes immediately falling to the floor, and memorizing the texture of the cement beneath her feet. "Yea. I know. Don't remind me."

Gaz laughs, a light exhale, reaching out and patting her shoulder in dismissal. "I already gave it back, Miles got it from me a bit ago. Sorry, I forgot to bring it back to the armory." He apologizes, Giving a slight shrug at her request. Soon after, one of the men in the group pulls out his phone to change the topic of conversation showing some kind of sports clips before Gaz turns his attention back to it, closing Jitters out of the group and ending the conversation.

Jitters eye twitched.

It didn't belong in the fucking armory.

It was hers.

Miles had no reason- no authority to be picking up her shit.

"Alright, sorry about that. Thanks." She responded, trying to keep her voice level. Much to her own protest, it came out as a stiff remark, obviously hiding tension in her throat as she left them in search of Miles. Her hands clenched at her sides once more, the familiar feeling of the crescents being dug into her palm, jaw clenching as she scanned the room looking for the man in question.

Over here?

No.

Over there?

No…

Oh wait, he's over there.

He was sitting with a few others- natives to the base essentially. Heavy machinery specialists and a Sargeant, all mingling and exchanging friendly conversation. She approaches the group, unclenching her hands and jaw and rolling her shoulder back to stand tall. She can’t falter- it is what he’s always waiting on, expecting. A stutter and he’s invading the conversation and stuffing his words down her throat before she can retort. Any awkwardness in her posture and he would pick it all apart until she retreated from the conversation and fled to the barracks to hide in the dark silence of the women's quarters.

She squared her body up before reaching a handout, tapping on his shoulder to catch his attention. He turns, a smirk present on his face and quickly morphing into a sneer as his eyes land on her. "Miles." Trying to keep her voice firm and calm as she speaks to him. Professional, firm, not bitchy- but persistent. "Give it back." A few of the others in the group give him a confused look, and he straightens up his posture before responding.

He shoots her a confused glance. "What are you going on about now?" The mock innocence in his voice dripped with confidence as her jaw clenches once more, ear popping in the process.

"Dude, just give it back." She sighs, her foot beginning to tap against the cement floor as she brought her arms up around her chest to cross her arms. Irritation is more than obvious in her tone as she shifts back and shoots him an annoyed glance.

"I don't have whatever you're going after, stop being such a bitch." He bites back, puffing up his chest and sneering at her before turning back around and starting back up a conversation with one of the mechanics spectating the ordeal.

Her gaze morphs into a mixture of disbelief and rage. The overwhelming urge to spite in silence as she unclenches her hand she hadn’t even realized curled in on itself throughout the conversation. Lifting her arm and taps a button on her wrist. Two seconds drift by before a 'ping..... ping..... Ping.....' starts to emanate from his pocket.

Miles' eyes flicker down to his pocket, back over to her before he crosses his arms defensively and shifts his stance intentionally making himself taller as he leans forward.

Making akes a satisfied noise, she reaches out her hand expecting him to give up and just set it in her hand. Admit defeat after being obviously proved wrong- she just made it sound off in his pocket and he still had the audacity to act as if she was in the wrong.

But he doesn't.

"Are you calling me a liar?" Miles spits. "Don't forget I'm technically your superior. Now go on and fuck off."

There it was.

That stupid ‘authority’ he would always throw around even when he was dead wrong.

But he was always like this, this childish, infuriating, liability of a man.

She'd be sitting at her desk, typing away on some paperwork, or a file, or something decently important when Miles would stroll by and shut her laptop. The slap of the computer shut automatically deleted all of the files due to the programs installed clearing all caches so that if anything were to happen a tab accidentally left open wouldn’t blow an operation and leave an opening for malicious endeavors.

Every time she would find her shit upturned, the duffel back that held her life upturned and all of its contents spread across the shitty little bed

The time her sleeping bag was full of garbage.

The constant shifting of blame.

"I'm sorry L.T. You know I'm not comfortable working around distractions, additional liabilities."

All of the incidents where she kept her mouth shut, she just kept dealing with it. Was it because she was fine with it, too afraid to speak out against him in fear of what could happen if they called back and sent her home?

It was mainly because she was scared.

Scared of what would happen if Laswell decided she was too much of a pain in the ass to deal with.

Not worth the hassle.

"Are you gonna leave, or are you gonna stand there and keep looking at me like a moron?" Miles sneers, knowing just like in every other situation she would fold. She would give up- turn tail and run away just like she had done every other time. Letting him win, keep the cocky smirk on his face, and just try to keep her head low and avoid any further confrontation.

But she was sick of it.

Laswell be damned.

He was a fucking bully, and as small as it was- it compounded. The crushing weight of each instance swelling up in her chest gave her a sudden surge of anger- confidence within it to stand up against him at least once more time and get what she deserved.

The little device at a minimum, but in hopes of earning his respect.

Proving she belonged here just as much as he did, and that she wouldn’t be walked all over anymore.

"Give it back." She says again, her voice slightly cracking this time.

"Or what? You'll go cry to Gulch?" He mocks, the familiar tone of him curling his words up in mock concern. Leaning forward and pushing into her space in an attempt to get her to take a step back.

Her teeth clench against each other, and she can feel the pressure on her cheeks- catching part of the flesh of the inside right up to the point she knows she’d make herself bleed. "I'm not the one who goes bitching and crying whenever their feelings get hurt Inch." She emphasized that word and made sure it really stuck him in the side.

She could be just as mean.

She would be, if it meant proving this point.

Inch wasn't something he had been called in a while, she hadn’t ever heard him be referred to it except for once. A task force had come in with Miles after being somewhere decently exotic for a few weeks. How cocky he had been when he was selected to be sent out with them rather than her because it just further proved how much better he was than her. Apparently, on his trip, he had acquired a fairly exotic disease to his nether regions, the close quarters the task force had been in with him. A futile attempt of hiding his discomfort and at some point or another someone seeing his diseased dick ended with him being jokingly referring to him as 'Inch'. The name stuck, and it took quite a while for him to live it down, she imagined it was still a decently fresh wound.

That it would hurt when someone said it.

Which was perfect, seeing the open wound it was on his flesh- scabbed over and trying to heal.

And she just ripped the scab off.

She’d said it loud enough for others to hear, suddenly having eyes back on him and laughing at the recently forgotten nickname. Refreshing it in everyone’s mind and for those who didn’t know the story about it- having it quickly explained with a rushed story and vivid details.

Miles was silent.

And for the first time in a very long time, Jitters could confidently say she felt smug.

Before she could really register what happened she was sliding back on her ass onto the cold cement, everything starting to get fuzzy as she looked up and saw Miles above her screaming. The feeling of fresh scrapes on her arms from the rough floor and the daze of the sudden movement as he charged forward at her.

Suddenly cheering was all around her, the loud sound of it mixing into her disorientation as she scrambled up onto her feet trying to find some way out but quickly being caged into a circle of bodies all cheering. Big grins and bared teeth exclaiming for a pit

"Uppies are out!"

"We gonna have a pit?"

"Pit!"

"Money's on Inch!"

It was like being caged in, an animal trying to desperately escape a cage and avoid the loud noise of drunken cheering and the too many eyes on her. Expectant stares to see a fight, and a good one at that. The techies- the computer nerds duking it out in a pit for other entertainment. Finding and opening and slinking back, trying to avoid the confrontation and get out, fighting against the hands grabbing for her and pulling her back in. Miles takes post in the center of the forming circle raising his arms and acting as if he were a reining champion defending his title.

They’ve been winding down their conversation, shot from the mission and ready to crash and sleep until the morning that felt like it came always too soon. Until the room erupted in cheering, bodies swarming towards the center of the room all calling out for a pit to form. Gaz shot Soap a glance, both meeting with an equal look of confusion on their faces. The men sitting with them joined in, standing up and starting to move their way toward the center of the room. "The hell is a pit?" Soap asks, leaning over and half yelling to one of the men they were chatting with.

A man leaned down with a big grin plastered onto his face as he pulled out his wallet and threw some bills at his friend who was standing up and calling out a bet.

"Gulch left the base to go drinking with the Captain brought in for the task force- if anyone gets into a fight while we are celebrating we get a Pit. It's like gambling- kinda- but more fun." The man is all but radiating in excitement.

Another man nodded his head, waving bills around and calling in his bet. “Looks like the techs are gonna duke it out finally.”

The man next to Gaz chimes in. "We make a big circle and they beat the shit outta' each other until someone yields or the L.T. gets back. More or less.”

Gaz gave a cautionary shrug to Soap, who stood up with him and moved over to the center where the circle was forming. If you were rooting for one side, you'd stand on the right, another, on the left. A solider had already taken it upon themselves to begin collecting bets, cash in both of his hands while he called out.

Her head was reeling as if the room itself was spinning as she continued to try and claw her way out of the pit, constantly being thrown back in if she were able to breach the wall of people. amount of noise- hands grabbing her by the backs of her arms and dragging her into the forming circle in the center of the warehouse. She was desperate, trying to leave, get out of the center, and get away.

She couldn’t get into a fight.

Miles would win regardless.

It was a perfect plan.

She had only ever been around for one Pit, and it was a fistfight ending in blood splattered on the cement floor.

Bloodied knuckles.

She felt like a dog getting let loose into a dog fight- but she didn't want to fight. Miles started this.

She couldn’t fight.

"I don't wanna fight." Jitters tries to yell, voice straining in her throat as she throws her hands up in some kind of mock white flag. One more futile attempt of leaving the pit, breaching the wall of people but two arms hooking beneath her own- lifting her and tossing her back into the center. Stumbling backward, fell to the ground, and extended her arm to catch herself and pop back up as fast as she could before spinning around to Face Miles who was standing in the center with a smile plastered on his face. Pivoting around the circle trying to call out to Miles once more to stop this, that she didn’t want to fight and that she won’t fight. Circling each other waiting for the first person to lash out and make the first strike. As soon as she gains her footing, hands push her from behind sending her stumbling forward into Miles who is ready, arm pulled back and punching her in the gut.

A harsh exhale pushes out of her lungs as she hunches forward into the punch, arm gripping around his arm exclaiming one more poor attempt to stop- not follow through with this.

He knows what would happen if she got into a fight.

He knows to some extent why she is here.

He knows the rules.

He knows she can’t fight back.

He takes a step back and her knees crumble from underneath her, her body collapsing onto the ground as her knees scrape against the concrete below her. Her hand clutches her gut, gasping in breaths as if her lungs couldn’t fill with air- that the oxygen she was wheezing in and out wasn’t real and she was choking on nothing.

She tilts her head back and looks up, watching Miles take a few steps back before fishing something out of his pocket- the familiar sneering grin plastered on his face as he pulled out the buzzer. Lifting it up in front of his face and inspecting it between two fingers as if he was actually interested in the device before tossing it down onto the ground in front of her.

“You wanted it so bad.” He says, laughing as he tosses it. “Pick it up then.”

The metal and plastic cover clatter against the ground, the sound of the metal tinking on one side then the hollow clatter of plastic against cement.

The sound isolates from the cheering and yelling in the room, attention completely zeroed in on the little device. Jitters eyes fixate on it, stares down at it, reaching her arm out and grasping it in her hand before looking up and watching everything around her move in slow motion. Miles's foot stepping out, the weight of his body shifting as his torso twists and his arm extends, aiming directly for her face.

When he hits her in the face, it feels almost like when she was a kid, in a pillow fight. The connection of his fist against her head is a solid, dull thump that makes her see white for a moment. Her body was thrown to the side with the weight behind the hit, her head was completely tossed to the side.

She’s back at some sleepover with girls she didn’t know all too well, the connection of a pillow against her face sending her flat into the floor. Her cheek landed on the carpet, dragging against it and leaving a light carpet burn before she plants her hands in front of her and stands back up. She gripped the corner of the pillow before she screeches out in glee before lunging forward and getting back into the fight. Her head cocks back up at him, staring wide at him like a deer in headlights. A light ringing in her ears as she leans forward onto her knees and stares.

She can’t fight back.

She can take this.

She won’t go back.

But that isn't fun to watch. It's just watching their slightly overweight tech beat on a little girl. Her kneeling in front of him and taking it.

"Fight that fucker!" someone yells in the crowd.

And just like that, she's sucked back into her own head.

"Fight that fucker! " She's little- she's in the schoolyard. She's kneeling in the grass looking up at her bully as he gets ready to land another hit on her. Her jeans are damp from kneeling in the dirt the morning dew soaking in through her pants and leaving dark circles on her knees. Her mom would probably get mad at her about this later. Something how grass stains were always so hard to get out of clothing- but grass wasn’t the worst.

Blood was.

Kids surrounded her circling, yelling similar things.

To fight.

To entertain.

To perform.

But that's what Miles is, isn't it?

He's just a big bully.

Jitters blinks, and she's back in the present. The lights are too bright in the warehouse, and the feeling of her fingernails scraping against a divot in the cement rattles through the bones of her fingers and up her arm. It smells like sweat, beer, and gasoline. Everything moves in slow motion as she comes more attuned to her surroundings. The dull throb in her head, the ringing in her ears, and the scream of her guts as she plants her foot forward and starts to stand. He's shifting his weight forward, pushing forward to attack again. Her body weight pushed off of her toes and she springs forward, catching one of Miles' legs and sending him toppling to the ground.

She shouldn’t be doing this.

She couldn’t do this.

She’s going to get in trouble.

But just as she begins she starts to rethink her actions, she’s back in the schoolyard.

She had turned and ran, only to be tackled to the ground a few feet from where she’d started. Wood chips dug into the skin of her palms, her shirt riding up and stabbing into her back as she squirmed against her assailant’s blows.

When their first connected with the side of her head, she felt her vision turn white- ears ring.

As if her head were a bell that’d just been rung- a grandmother on the porch calling children in for supper.

Her head snapped to the side, the woodchips mussing into her hair. The cheering and yelling merged together into some kind of deafening silence.

And she was hit again.

But it didn’t hurt anymore.

Her hand pushed forward, palm smacking against their nose with a sickening ‘crack’ sound. Blood immediately poured from their nostrils and back down onto her. They stumbled backward, and as they fell back she crawled forward, springing on top of him and digging the whites of her nails into their skin, forcing their body onto the ground and raising her own fist.

The connection of her fist against the bone of his chin felt like a dull throb against her hand- undoubtedly punching the wrong way.

But how was she supposed to know?

She never wanted to fight in the first place.

But it felt good.

The sticky warmth of blood against her hands in the cold morning air.

She wouldn’t get off of this kid until the teachers pried her off of their body.

Miles shifts his weight and rolls on top of her, pinning her down by her shoulder and lopping another punch down onto her face. It still doesn't feel like the sharp pain she assumed it would be like.

It's dull.

Like a thump.

The pillow hit her head.

The connection throws her head sideways.

She lays on the floor of the sleepover giggling, pushing herself back up to stand and get back into the ruthless pillow fight broken out into the living room of her middle school friend’s living room.

And she was hit again.

But it didn’t hurt anymore.

She never had any proper training on how to fight, she was never supposed to be in combat.

Shit, she wasn't even supposed to be here.

But if fighting in the schoolyard taught her anything, it was how to fight dirty.

And she could fight dirty well.

"You're constantly in my way, and you get brought on here for no fucking reason." Miles hisses.

She pushed her hand up quickly, the meat of her palm nailing him in the nose. Just as quickly as his body began to pull back her other hand grabbed hold on his ear and pulled as hard as she could, throwing both of their bodies to the left. Miles let out a strangled cry and began to roll to the side, Jitters moving with him and quickly pulling herself up to place on top. Lifting her hand up as if it was instinct- bringing her hand up, closing the fist, and bringing it down onto his face.

Her hand let out a cry of protest, but the demand was quickly filed away somewhere in the back of her head.

She hit him, again.

"Are you calling me a liar?" Miles spits. "Don't forget I'm technically your superior. Now go on and fuck off."

And again.

"Come on- you can't take a hit?" Jitters hisses out.

And again.

"You fuckin' pussy." She sneers, teeth bared, and raises her arm again. The muscles in her shoulder burn.

"I'm sorry L.T. You know I'm not comfortable working around distractions, additional liabilities."

And Again.

"I'm here because you fuck."

"Or what? You'll go cry to Gulch?" He mocks, the familiar tone of him curling his words up in mock concern.

And Again.

"Everything."

"Don't. Ever." He pushed her shoulder against the wall and leaned up to her, "Pull what shit again in a meeting again." She could feel the heat of his breath on her skin, the venom that dripped out of his words, and the anger that flashed in his eyes when he spoke. She almost wanted to laugh- him making a fool of himself in the briefing and acting big and strong and smart. Only for it to blow back up in his face.

And Again.

"Up."

She’s in the schoolyard again, a teacher pinning her face down against the wood chips as she kicks and screams, legs flailing as if she were the one in the wrong. They pry their body off of the ground- wailing and crying clutching their nose while they sob about how they didn’t really want this to happen-

That she had taken it too far.

His head was lax against the floor. Pushing off of his chest she stepped backward, slightly stumbling. His breath was ragged, his eyebrow spit, nose bleeding, lips bleeding as blood trickles down the side of his face. Miles rose, and looked up at her, spreading his arm out behind him trying to grasp some sort of leverage.

She loomed.

Staring down at him with his and her blood smeared across her face, backing up and standing casually as if she’d never been in the fight, to begin with before speaking- as if to tell him I’m not scared of you anymore.

You’re weak.

"Come on then!' She yelled, voice rough and cracking. Raising her arms and motioning for him to fully sit up, to get back into the fight he wanted so badly & started. The sounds of the cheering meshing together, morphing into some kind of mutilated white noise. "Fight me! Act like a fucking man!"

She takes a rough step forward, pointing at him and yelling once more. "Get up pussy!"

He got onto his knees, and just as soon as he got up she stepped forward, swinging her leg over and connecting her foot to the side of his ribs. Miles let out a wheeze before turning and trying to stand again, grimace present on his face as she lobbed her fist across his face again.

He dropped.

Hard.

And he didn’t move.

"Get up!" She yelled again.

Maybe it was to spite her, or the blood pounding in her ears didn't hear the sound of the door opening, Gulch, and Price stepping into the scene before them.

Jitters standing over a hunched-over Miles, a circle of now silent soldiers surrounding them. The echoing sound of the door closing behind them as the white noise filling her ears ceased, and all she could hear was her heaving breathing and the juicy, sputtering breaths of Miles below her.

A soldier stuffing bills of cash into his jacket, the sound of crinkling paper a dead giveaway to what he’d been doing- trying to not look as blatantly obvious as he was now.

Gulch could bring a room's temperature down ten degrees, it would seem. As soon as the hot breaths of the soldier's yelling ceased, the room fell into an uncomfortable, cold, silence.

"Clean this mess up." Gulch says calmly.

Too calmly.

The kind of calm that leaves prickles on the skin.

That makes hair raise on the backs of necks.

Jitters it heaving, trying to get as much oxygen into her lungs as possible, trying to make up for the difference, never seeming like it was enough as her eyes frantically scattered around the room.

"Don't get off of them until you're fuckin' pulled off."

That's what her dad used to say.

And if she was gonna listen to one thing,

it would've been that.

Lunging forward again, she gripped him by the shirt and swing her hand down.

Again.

And Again-

Until she felt a hand grip her upper arm and pull her backward, securing an arm around her torso and pulling her back.

It was Gaz.

"Hey. Calm down." He spoke calmly into her ear. "You're gonna have to calm down."

Gaz held her against his chest as she fought back, squirming against him until she had calmed down. He set her down, holding her shoulder with both of his large hands, and said something- not registering with her ears as she glanced around the room to dispersing soldiers and the sounds of discarded beer bottles clattering against the cold cement floor.

Almost as soon as she stopped swinging her arms she could feel the passage of her nose tighten up- her chest start to tighten and the feeling of hot tears rip their path across her face.

Setting her down, she shot Gaz a defeated glance and then met the gaze of Gulch. A cold hardened stare. One that said:

'my office.'

'Now.'

Her shoulders sunk, Miles scampering up and being dragged off somewhere, wheezing, groaning, and cursing. She made her way into Gulches' office, and to her surprise- Price followed. Sitting down in the chair directly in front of his desk as he handed her a tissue to at least pinch her nose closed before she bled more over his room.

Great, now she was going to get chewed out by two men.

Great, she’d done exactly what Miles wanted.

She was going to get sent back- they were going to call her-

Once the two men settled, all that could be heard in the room were the sniffles and chokes radiating off of Jitters.

"Stop crying." Gulch said.

"C-Can't." She choked out, trying to calm her breathing. The feeling of her sobs against her bleeding nose made it hurt even more- not helping to calm her down in the least.

"Figure it out. I'm not talking to you until you can be an adult." He replied, leaning back in his chair and staring her down.

And he did wait. Five grueling, silent minutes of Jitters pulling herself together.

Five minutes of death spiraling in her head about what was going to happen.

Wincing from the pinch of her fingers against her nose and the tremor in her hands.

Wiping the tears from her face and wincing at the pain.

"Ok.." She mumbled. "I'm ok." Her voice was hoarse, her breath still a little shaky but she sat back and rolled her shoulder backward to sit up straight. Not ready at all- but still knowing what was coming next.

Gulch nodded.

"That was unacceptable."

She nodded.

"Irresponsible."

"Disappointing."

Ouch, that one hurt.

"But I can't say I blame you." His voice softened slightly.

Her shoulders shrunk forward...

"You're gonna tell Laswell."

Something in Gulch's eyes softened.

Pity.

Hidden behind a hardened layer, it was clear as day.

"Yes." He stated.

"And I'm gonna get sent back." She choked out.

"Yes." He agreed, Gulch’s stare tainted with the haze of pity. It didn’t fit him, and it made her stomach churn at the look of it on his face.

"Unless." Price says, breaking his silence. His face was unreadable. She couldn't see past his wall, wasn't familiar enough.

It was like a thick fogged layer of glass.

But it was dark inside, and she couldn't even make out the shapes or colors.

"Unless." Gulch agrees, nodding his head and gripping a manila folder on the side of the desk, sliding it across the top and in front of him.

Her eyes look up, a strand of hope dangled in front of her, looking back and forth from Price to Gulch.

Price leans forward, arm resting against the desk- eyes boring into her before blinking. Breaking the heavy eye contact and speaking. "You tell me exactly how you ended up here, and you promise you'll keep my teams back like you did for us last time."

She stared at him in a dumbfounded awe.

"And I'll watch you back." Price concluded.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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emistations · 6 months

Note

Just saw your Eggamy Revamp and I ADORE IT! I already have a few questions:

What's Amy relationship with Eggman's creations? (Cubot, Orbot, Sage, Metal)

Is Amy still the one to help Shadow remember his original promise to Maria?

What's her dynamic with Sonic? Is it a tsundre thing, or is there more to it?

Would Amy still consider Eggman redeemable during the Metal Virus? And while we're at it: what does she think of Starline?

Hii! Happy you like it!

Amy is friends with Orbot and Cubot, she always is seen hanging out with them, giving them their list of to-dos, and just talking to them since they're the only non-serious ones on the Death Egg (where she resides). With a Sage it's a weird sisterly-like but professional dynamic. Sage treats her as she is- a secretary- and their conversations are strictly professional, but there are slip ups where she shows some humanity and they have some sisterly moments. Amy is scared of Metal because he kidnapped her so she stays away from him at all costs.

Yes! Eggman took her aboard the ARK with him in SA2, so it still plays out. Only part that's different is that Eggman threatens to hurt Tails instead (Amy's in a completely different area during that). So when Sonic gets shot down to earth Tails feels like it's his fault, further fueling his dynamic!

Her dynamic with Sonic would be based off of some doodles that @sherrydoodlez made me a year ago! Where Sonic's not threatened by her nor does he see her as an enemy, so he casually greets her & treats her kindly. Amy finds herself flustered anytime she tried to start fighting him because she has a MASSSIVE crush on him! She keeps daydreaming about him & swooning but has to remind herself he's Eggman's nemesis.

4. If she was in IDW, her belief in his redemption would weaver slightly. But it won't go away because he helps fix it all at the end. If he does push her like how did canonically, leaving her to get zombified, she would drop him and any hope of his redemption in a heartbeat.

She would hate Starline, because he took away Tinker- Eggman's happy ending as a redeemed person. And corrupted him & brought him back to his ways. She also distrusts him for acting behind Eggman's back & making things worse. Starline would hate her too, thinking she's naive and a liability for having a soft spot for Sonic.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic #sonic the hedghog fanart #emi rambles #eggamy lore drop whee

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tinyozlion · 10 months

Text

“True Friends” - Understanding Mr. Treize and the Contradictions of OZ

“Treize himself has a tremendous disdain for any tactic that allows for excess casualties. Ignoble behavior on the battlefield sullies any victory, and civilian death makes a mockery of what a True Soldier fights and dies for. For Treize, there is nothing more hateful than removing the human component from battle, or the cowardly avoidance of responsibility for human death.”

Gosh! What a great quote! I wonder who said that? Oh right, that was me! I did. I wrote that in the entry about “True Soldiers: Aesthetics, Honor, and Chivalry”.

Let’s examine that a little more, shall we?

“His Excellency doesn’t want battles that involve civilians.”

Everyone who knows Treize best, his “True Friends”, who grew up with him, who were trained by him, who understand him, all seem to agree: His Excellency wouldn’t stand for needless casualties. OZ may be ruthlessly pragmatic and underhanded, but that couldn’t be Treize’s fault– no, it’s always Lady Une! It’s his fanatically devoted colonel who always chooses the path of greatest violence, heedless of any collateral damage– she’s the one to blame! Treize would never give an order that risked civilian lives.

…Right?

Surely he would stop her, admonish her, make her face serious consequences for the atrocities she was willing to commit. He’d leave no room for doubt that she had failed him and disappointed him.

...Right?

Yeah, that’s right, a firm slap on the wrist oughta do it. Tell her to try a little harder next time to understand the value of human life. Just do better! It’s alright to use mobile suits to attack a school, but we’re going to put a stop to it because I’ve changed my mind about killing a teenage girl, as a personal favor to a friend.

–Friends of His Excellency would certainly like to believe that he would never knowingly sacrifice civilians, but he sure doesn’t seem to mind benefiting from someone else doing it for him.

How well do Treize’s friends really understand him, when they seem unaware of how wide a margin of error he finds acceptable in pursuing his ideals?

Well, ideals are fine and all, but war is war, and some amount of pragmatism is necessary to stay on top. Treize isn’t the one calling all the shots (yet), and the organization he reports to expects results. You have to break a few eggs to make an omelet, right? That’s why it pays to have a Chief Omelet Maker working for you, so she can break all the eggs, and murder school children, and threaten nuclear assault, and you can come away still smelling like roses.

…But what sort of effect does that have on her?

It’s better for a ruler to be feared than loved; being hated is the perfect motivation to stay strong; fighting will never disappear from the world, so the strong should rule it for the sake of damage control; God was too lenient when he gave mankind the free will to rebel; people find comfort in being controlled by the powerful.

--These are some of Treize’s stated ideals.

So Lady Une devotes herself to fulfilling those ideals unflinchingly, no matter how much blood ends up on her hands. Better her hands than His. OZ has to be the strongest. OZ has to win. OZ must be victorious at any cost. Damn the Colonies, damn the politician’s daughter who made herself a liability, damn the wounded soldiers left behind at New Edwards Base– she’s going to make OZ so absolutely unfuckwithable that their enemies shit themselves at the mention of its name, and she’ll do it herself if no one else will. Because THAT is what His Excellency wants. She understands him.

...So why does he keep telling her– ever so gently, ever so gracefully, that she’s wrong? If making sure the strongest rule and the weak obey isn’t what pleases him, then what will?

Killing is simple– anyone is capable of killing anyone, so you mustn't abuse that capability. The Earth is fragile and infinitely beautiful. Human life is fragile and infinitely beautiful. One must always take responsibility for the fates of those who fight for you, and honor the sacrifice of those who die. Tragedy in war is inevitable.

--These are some of Treize’s stated ideals.

So Lady Une devotes herself to fulfilling those ideals with grace and empathy, to bring an end to needless bloodshed. The world needs a strong, compassionate leader, who is capable of loving humanity and guiding them to a peaceful future, where loss and war are tragedies of the past. Order and peace can be maintained without sacrifice, by using technical advancements to replace soldiers on the battlefield and keep them out of harm’s way. That is what His Excellency wants. She understands him.

...So why does he tell her– so sadly, plaintively, that she is wrong? That he is not who she thinks he is, that the future she has so carefully laid out for him is a fantasy of her own making? Why does he plead with her to come back to him, as the person he once knew so fondly?

Civility and honorable conduct on the battlefield is worth more than victory. To fight for something one believes in with perfect clarity is the purest endeavor of mankind. The tragedy of loss is what gives a battle meaning. Honoring the sacrifice of those who have died for your cause means being willing to die for it yourself. To fight, to lose, to die for a noble cause is to move the hearts of all humanity, to touch immortality.

--These are some of Treize’s stated ideals.

And so she does– she sacrifices herself to save the Gundam pilots and turn the tides in outer space, rejecting Romefeller, rejecting the Mobile Dolls. At last, she understands him.

…But didn’t she always?

Except perhaps in the case of using Mobile Dolls to replace soldiers (an idea that was easily manipulated by its inventors to fit into her worldview at the time), her understanding of Treize’s ideals wasn’t ever wrong, just fragmented. She focused on a single facet at a time, each time excluding the contradictions of the other sides– light bouncing off a solid plane without revealing the rest of the prism’s convoluted geometry.

She isn’t mistakenly interpreting him– HE is a mess, and she is representing him accurately, one dimension at a time.

What is more significant is that he finally understands this about her.

Treize is mortified to realize what sort of effect he has been having on someone he cares about, during a period where he is questioning the validity of his own beliefs and significance. He may mistakenly believe that he is responsible for having fragmented Lady Une’s personality– which is not how the condition she has operates– but he is not mistaken in taking responsibility for her distress, and the danger he has put her in.

Losing her, or believing that he has lost her, is devastating. Rather than moving him to action, it moves him to inaction; aware that he has come to represent ideals that are too easily manipulated by people who he fundamentally disagrees with, that the idea of him is too powerful to be used responsibly by the current rulers, he withdraws.

Treize cannot switch off the magnetic field of his charisma or its continuous pull on the soldiers who take inspiration from him, but he refuses to willingly lend himself to a cause that he finds irresponsible. In fact, he refuses to join any cause until one presents itself that he can have complete faith in– and complete control over.

The people whom Treize considers his True Friends are the ones who “understand” him– this includes his enemies, the ones who oppose him but nevertheless espouse values that he can respect. In fact, ANY strongly held ideal, even ones in opposition to him, and ANY display of courage, is more admirable in Treize’s estimation than lip service to his own ideals or those of his organization. The “fighting spirit” that is of paramount value in his worldview is not limited to combatants– he expresses immense respect for Relena Peacecraft, more so even than his respect for the Gundam pilots, who he comes to idolize. What matters is the strength of conviction. What matters is courage.

He respects and admires Lady Une, even when her errors in judgment have megaton consequences, because she is so singularly and ferociously dedicated to her goals. He tolerates the violence and inhumane actions of the Specials and OZ soldiers because they are fanatically ambitious and ready to die for their ideals. As long as the ultraviolence isn’t cowardly or self-serving, then Treize can and will overlook the body count– noble sacrifices, all. He’ll memorize their names later on today.

Treize’s ideals are flawed and contradictory. There is a tipping point in the series where he gains enough self-awareness to recognize this fact. This does not stop him from believing in his ideals– he can’t simply turn away completely from what he values and loves about humanity and its “fighting spirit”– but it does allow him to appreciate those who see his hypocrisy for what it is, and who despise him for it.

“You’re only capable of looking down on others; you’re only fighting to satisfy your ego. How many people have died because of you?”

The fact that Treize has memorized the names of all 99 thousand people who have died for him does not do anything to improve Wufei’s opinion. For Treize, that number is a sacred personal burden; to Wufei, it is evidence of offensive, monstrous egotism.

Wufei, of all the Gundam pilots, is best acquainted with how wide the margin of error is in Treize’s ideal of chivalry. Nataku herself, the namesake for Wufei’s gundam, fell neatly into that margin and died in it. Long before they met and dueled, Wufei knew of Treize as the OZ official jointly responsible for an attack on his Colony. While General Septem of the Alliance (then in control) would have murdered everyone on the Colony indiscriminately with biological weapons, Treize’s solution was more sporting: OZ sent in Mobile Suit troops to directly eliminate the rebel element, who were armed with nothing but a single decrepit prototype Leo and an unfinished Gundam with no ammo-- a much more chivalrous way of sterilizing a Colony, allowing the largely unarmed group of dissidents to die fighting rather than be killed with the push of a button.

Would the deaths of the Long Clan have been meaningful sacrifices in Treize’s eyes? Was exterminating civilians for the sake of convenience a noble cause to fight for?

One could argue that the existence of the then-in-development Gundam was enough of a threat to justify an attack, but at the time the idea of gundanium mobile suits was no more than a rumor. Could Treize, back on Earth, have reasonably predicted its invention?

Not if we are to believe his own words, which clearly indicate that the Gundam’s existence was unknown to him until reported after the attack.

For those who fall outside of his cult of personality it is easier to see past the charisma to the reality: no matter what his soldiers think of him, Treize is not a god. He is only a man, and no one person has the right to decree some deaths necessary to the future.

–And Treize, for his part, would agree. He is a single individual, whose ideals people put too much faith in without fully realizing the essence of what they mean. But the belief people place in him gives Treize a level of power that must be acknowledged and used responsibly, and to the best of his ability, he tries to use it for the good of Earth and humankind.

As a symbol, he is far more influential than he could ever be as a man, and his awareness of that fact leads him to choose the path of martyrdom, knowing that his very existence is a threat to peace. The only way he can neutralize his own power as a military icon is to join the sacrifices to the cause. And what more iconic way to do that than with a duel?

Treize may have resigned himself to being an anachronism and a dreamer, but if he is going to die for the sake of the future, he will at least go out according to his ideals: gracefully, nobly, at the hands of an enemy he respects.

For personal and aesthetic reasons, Milliardo is Treize’s hopeful first choice as a dueling partner, but Milliardo had his own role to play in their final performance, which prevented him from participating in a duel for their mutual actualization. So Wufei is the right choice; Wufei both understands him and has a justified reason to want him dead. Besides, it’s an elegant, symmetrical solution– the continuation of a duel that he predicted they would be destined to finish in mobile suits.

--And what effect does that have on Wufei? Perhaps expectedly, a fracturing one.

It shouldn’t be surprising that Treize’s ideals resonate so powerfully with someone who was raised in a warrior culture, especially someone who only knows how to express his beliefs and sense his self worth through combat.

Wufei, too, lives with contradictions that he cannot fully unify.

Treize Khushrenada cannot live in the world he wishes to see realized.

If he were to win the war against White Fang, the cycle of oppression and resentment would continue. Even if he were to immediately relinquish his power to Relena and demilitarize the Earth Sphere, the end result would lead to more conflict; his refusal to take control of the Colonies would be seen as capitulation, and a betrayal of those who fought for him against the threat of annihilation from space. Even the considerable power of his charisma would evaporate overnight if he were to appear to be turning his back on the soldiers whose fanatic loyalty had allowed the unified mobilization of Earth’s military forces under his banner. But, as a general leading from the front lines in a noble defense of Earth, dying gloriously in battle for the sake of peace lends all that charisma to the future he fought for.

--The message left to the surviving soldiers is not: “His Excellency led us into battle and then abandoned us when he won”, but instead: “this is the peace His Excellency died protecting.”

Indeed, after his death, Treize’s name IS used in an attempt to lend legitimacy to the argument that soldiers have been devalued in a time of peace, and that continuous war to determine the strongest victor to lead humanity is his true legacy. But it doesn’t stick– the would-be dictator who tries to use Treize’s name in service of his military takeover is killed by a nameless soldier, whose change of heart is motivated by the memory of what Treize actually died for.

--It is not a victor who moved the hearts of the people, but a glorious loser.

#Gundam Wing #Treize Khushrenada #Lady Une #Chang Wufei #Endless Waltz #gundam wingtionary #wing watcher's toolkit #tinyozlion pgw #parsing post

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lily-drake · 6 months

Text

The Demons Queen

Chapter Fourteen

First <> Previous

“Excuse me?” Marinette asked, shock written all over her face. She was still too expressive, she needs to be weary of that.

“I will be escorting you around the village down the mountain today.” Damian replied stiffly. He wasn’t fully sure how this was supposed to go. Every time he left his bases it was for a mission of his own, never for frivolities. But he had promised his mother that he would take Marinette to the village as a reward for how well she’s done these past months.

“And you believe that I would willingly go with you ?” She asked incredulously, her accent makes the words come out more like a sharp hiss.

“I believe that you would want to explore places outside of the mountains. I have noticed the distance in your mind when you spar outside.” He watched as she shifted slightly, giving away her unease. They would need to work on how open her body language is. It would be a liability.

“When would we be leaving?” She asked, eyes staring defiantly at the wall. Even after all this time, she still kept hold to her defiant spirit, it was endearing as it was frustrating.

“Preferably, now. However, if you need time to get ready, I understand.” He watched as she bit her lip—another tell—as she thought over his proposition. It was a reasonable request, it gave her a piece of what she obviously longed for while it also showed what she would receive if she became loyal to The League, loyal to their cause, loyal to him .

The town itself, while being independent from The League, was a great resource. They kept the League’s secret, provided food and shelter to his followers, and provided tales and legends that would keep the odd traveler away from the mountains, and thus their base. In return the League would protect the village and provide a small salary to the village as a whole. While they were not loyal to The Demon’s Head, they were loyal to those that kept the city financially stable and thus, alive.

“Fine, I‘ll go with you.” Then she slammed her door right in Damian’s face. Damian blinked at the door, though he made no outward reaction he could feel fury course through him at such blatant disrespect. He had been too tolerant of this type of behavior from her. She needed to learn her place. But now was not the time, first he needed to fulfill the promise he had made to his mother.

A few moments later Marinette reemerged from her room in her training robes looking him in the eye. The nerve of this girl. “Tt. Let's get going.” He could hear her sigh, and it took everything in him to not strike her. If it were any of his other operatives they would already be dead for insubordination. Maybe he should force her to watch the next execution, though he hadn’t held one of those in years as the ninja had learned quickly that while he wasn’t his grandfather, he wasn’t afraid to uphold his methods.

He watched Marinette out of his periphery as they traveled through the halls. She was tense, her brow furrowed as if she were planning something. And knowing her, she very much could be. Truly a shame that it wouldn’t help her. The cool wind of the mountain brushed past them as they walked through the training yard.

As he walked he could feel Marinette’s presence fading off causing him to pause and turn. Marientte wasn’t trying to run, she was simply standing there, basking in the faint sun, eyes taking in everything they could. He turned away, it was her own fault she couldn’t come outside sooner. If she had simply just agreed to pledge her loyalty to the League and the cause she would have been allowed to come out sooner. Did she not understand that they shared the same goal, the goal of restoring balance to this twisted and corrupt world?

“Hurry, I will not wait for you.” It only took a few moments for her to catch up, and as they neared the gates he made sure to keep a closer eye on her. It may be Spring, but the mountains were still cold and unforgiving, and if she tried to survive up here by herself, well they’d have to wait until all the snow thawed to find the body.

With a flick of his wrist the gates were opened on silent hinges and without a thought he started down the steps missing the way Marinette’s eyes lit up for the first time in the seven months she's been here. “So, you’re not going to chain or leash me to you?” She questioned, quickly matching his steps.

“There is no need. If you attempt to flee you will either be caught or die.” He stated.

“Wow, aren’t you confident.” She mocked with a roll of her eyes.

“I have lived in these mountains for nearly all of my life. I have watched it happen numerous times, it is simply a fact.” He could feel her eyes on him. Unsettling wasn’t the right word, but the feeling of her eyes put him on guard all the same. They were silent after that with the only sound being the crunch of the white snow.

“When can I go on a real mission?” She asked, shivering as a sharp wind passed through them.

“When I can trust you not to run away and betray us.” He remembered when Cain’s daughter was given her first mission. Grandfather had seen her hesitation, but believed Cain when he said that she was ready to serve. She had never returned, her hit was still alive, and in the end The Bat had taken her in. He had only seen Grandfather that angry a handful of times. He still had nightmares about it.

“And what do I have to do to prove that?” She asked with forced calm.

“When I sense you are no longer plotting my demise.” She hesitated only for a second, but it was enough. “Believe it or not Miss Dupain-Cheng, but we are quite similar.”

“We are nothing alike.” She growled, eyes narrowed to slits. Damian never faltered, still walking down the long snow covered stairs.

“That is where you are wrong. You were forced to become a leader and hero, expected to die for a cause with little to no aid at the age of twelve. My sole purpose for being born was to take over my grandfather’s legacy. And because of the self-obsessed actions of another I took over that role at a far younger age than yourself.”

“I wasn’t forced to do anythi-” she hissed.

“Really?” He paused, turning to face her, eyes burning and his jaw clenched. “I watched the footage. You were never given a real choice in the matter, you were left to fend for yourself for six months before you received any real aid. Not to mention the way your supposed “partner” constantly forced his advances and opinions onto you, constantly making himself a target and compromising your plans and status.

“You had no training before you were thrust into the fire, and even when the old man finally decided to aid you, the training you received was abysmal. Not to mention that you no longer have any trusted allies and have decided that the only way to protect that wretched city was to slowly kill yourself.” He could feel the slight heave of his chest, the burning in his lungs as he forced himself not to yell at this infuriating girl.

When would she open her eyes and see the world for what it truly was? He had thought that being Ladybug would remove her rose colored glasses, but perhaps not. Maybe he should take her on a mission with him, make her see the true colors of this Earth. It was silent again, the whistling of the cold mountain air forcing itself between them.

“I still don’t see how that makes us similar.” She breathed, never looking away from his eyes, her blue eyes as cold as the ice around them.

“ That is not my problem. Perhaps you should start looking at the world as a whole rather than the tiny section you’ve forced yourself to live in all these years.” With those biting words he continued his descent. If she ran, he had no doubts they would find the body soon enough and it would not be his problem. The soft slush of snow behind him was the only tell that she continued following behind him.

__________ The village, though larger than Marinette had expected, was relatively small. As spring began her gentle descent to the valley, winter still kept a tight grip with snow everywhere and biting winds. But despite the cold, the village was still filled with life. Vendors were selling goods from their shops and carts, people filled the streets with large smiles, and small fires were spread around to ensure warmth to those outside.

Marinette nearly jumped out of her skin when a small child nearly ran into her, only barely ducking away. Following the child was an older woman screaming at them in mandarin to return to her side. It was…strange.

She had been kept isolated from the outside world for so long now she forgot what it was like to be surrounded by normal people. When she looked up at the boy, trying to gauge what he thought of the town, she was met with his usual impassiveness. Rolling her eyes she continued to scan her surroundings. Red lanterns were strung all around them, other children were running around with long paper dragons on sticks. Nearly everyone was dressed in their best cheongsams or hanfus. She listened past the chatter of the crowd and heard the bands playing in the distance.

“What day is it?” She asked breathlessly.

Damian looked at her for a moment before replying, “January 29th.”

Marinette almost staggered back. Eight months, she had been gone for over eight months . Not only that, but it was the eve of Chinese New Years. The year of the snake–the year of second chances. Maybe this was a sign. Maybe it meant that she would have a second chance at living in Paris, that she would be found and brought back home while this crazy organization was destroyed.

“Let’s go find some food.” She muttered, her brain still foggy as she followed behind him to a small vendor that was selling spring rolls, Jiaozi, Tangyuan, and more. Dragons, lanterns, and coy colored red and gold decorated the streets. She watched in silent amazement as she spotted dragon dancers move through the streets with the giant replica. Movements so smooth it was like the dragon was made of water.

What she found strange was how everyone they met seemed to pay Damian some sort of deference. All of them looked all too happy to see this boy, and it made her blood boil when she saw mothers telling their children to bow and show this monster their full respect.

They didn’t talk to each other for about two hours as they wandered from place to place, taking in the celebrations and festivities. Marinette mourned the time she had been gone, mourned the fact that she would be spending her first new years far away from her family. Seethed with the knowledge that the only reason she can even celebrate today was because he felt some sort of pity for her. It was disgusting.

“What did you do to these people?” She finally demanded when a man got down on his knees to bow to him.

“I have kept this town alive. They are a good resource and deterrent. They are some of my most important informants, and as such I ensure that they are compensated as such.

“So you buy their loyalty,” she barked.

“Believe what you wish, but I have earned it. I would not waste my funds nor would I put my trust in the city if I did not believe they are loyal to me for loyalty's sake.” How could he always be so calm and composed? She had only seen a small flicker of any other emotion when they were on the stairs. She wanted to see more of it, to draw some kind of reaction from him. Make him feel just as angry as she felt.

“Why did you even bring me here? To taunt me, to assert some sort of dominance over me, to teach me some sort of lesson that I’ll never be free enough to experience this with my family again?” She growled. People turned to look at her, but then turned away, ignoring her completely.

None of these people would help her, she was sure of it. Any hope she had of escaping with their aid vanished when the first person bowed to him like he was their emperor.

“That was not my intention, no.”

“Then what is your oh so noble intention,” she mocked. Her throat burned as held herself back from screaming at him.

“You have been training well and have made great progress. You can consider this as an award.”

“Oh, so now I’m some pet that gets a reward by doing your training.” He didn’t answer her, but she could see the crease in his brow. She was getting to him, she just needed to push a little harder.

“Makes sense, after all I’m just another tool, you only want me for my apparent usefulness to the league.” She bit out, the words tasting like one of Tomoe’s poisons.

“No.” He forced out, a scowl replacing his stoic facade.

“Right. That’s what you first told me, remember? When you uprooted my life, took away charges, and told me directly that I had no choice but to train to become one of your generals.”

He didn’t respond to that, instead taking longer strides down the street, forcing her to almost jog to keep up with him.

“You can’t run from yourself.” He came to a halt where Marinette almost ran into his back from the suddenness of it. The anger frustration she had seen only moments before vanished back behind the icy mask of nothingness.

“One day you will understand that I am not against you. You are still young,” she scoffed, she was nearly an adult, but he ignored her. “You still need time to adjust and see things. But you will not see them solely at the league.

“I will arrange for you to go on a mission in a month's time. When you return, I expect you will at least start to open your eyes to the reality of this world. I am not the villain here. We have the same goal.” Without a pause, he started to walk forward. They didn’t talk to each other for the rest of the day and he had made sure to return to the base before sunset.

The walk was long, with the cold winds and even icer silence that hung between them. When they reached the base he walked back inside, not caring as she stayed in the middle of the now empty training field to watch the distant explosions of color and celebration. Today was a new beginning. She would take her chances. She would be going on a mission in a month from now where she would make her escape, even if it killed her.

Taglist:

@aespades @adrestar @astrynyx @doll246 @queenz-z @toodaloo-kangaroo @crazylittlemunchkin @seraphichana @miraculous-ninja @dorkus-minimus @mysticsoulgirl @ritacrow-blog @snow-leopard-777 @fidget-eep @sometandomstuff333 @lady-phoenix-of-tardis @shreeing @achaoticmess1 @liquid-luck-00 @buginetye @stainedglassm @prettylittlebutterflie @laurcad123 @iloontjeboontje @heartsong18 @raeuberprinzessin @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @jennifer-rose123 @moon5608 @corporeal-terrestrial @skitarii-alpha-c6-555 @saltysugarysembei @phantom120 @kking13 @depressed-bitchy-demon @a-slytherinish-gryffindor @iamablinkmarvelarmy @fleursroses @buginetye @humanoid606 @ev-cupcake @blackroserelina @rainbowbunny0159 @the-ace-reader @humanoid606 @taewinterbear95 @blueberrygeniejam @alex-rebecca @neulosfantacyworld @devilbunny612 @boredteen19 @agentxx92 @animegirlweeb

#maribat #mlb x batman #dc x mlb #marinette dupain cheng #damian al ghul #manipulation #damian is bad at feelings #daminette #romantic daminette #enemies to lovers #the league of assassins #damian is the demon’s head #angst #damian tries to be nice

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captainnightflare · 6 months

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Character Dive of Wednesday Addams, The conflict of Purposeful Miscommunication

So I had a college assignment about conflict and the questions ranged from the problem to the resolve. I choose the character Wednesday Addams as the subject of this because quite frankly she was the first to come to mind. If you guys would like to discuss this further I'm more than happy to (I literally rewatched Wednesday for the 4th time for this assignment to make sure I covered my bases :) please enjoy) P.s. I also just wanted to write about Wenclair :3

What is one example of a conflict situation you have seen in films, television shows, or books? I live by the old saying, ninety percent of problems are caused or indirectly caused by miscommunication. There is so much truth to that statement. One of my favorite conflicting scenes in media came from the Netflix show Wednesday. The show follows Wednesday Addams, from the Addams Family, as she navigates through her journey of murder mysteries happening around the school and newly discovered abilities. Wednesday is an interesting character to say the least, she’s portrayed as this very stoic and standoffish girl. Deeming emotions as nothing but a liability. While we follow the strange murders of a monster, we see Wednesday get increasingly driven to solve who is behind them. She’s stubborn and prideful, not wanting to let anyone have a one up on her. Where this all comes to a head and where a lot of her inner conflict begins is when she tricks her roommate, Enid, into going to investigate a house that might have some clues. Both girls get ambushed by the monster while investigating, nearly getting killed. Obviously, Enid is angry by the events. Sparking an argument between the two, Wednesday not seeing the problem as they both made it out alive, causes Enid to snap at her. Telling her that she has tried so hard to be her friend, support her, stick up for her, and be there for her when she needed someone, but Wednesday is never going to understand that. So, Enid leaves, telling Wednesday that if she wants to be alone so badly, she can be alone.

How could you apply restorative practices in the situation? Luckly for Wednesday she does begin to see her mistakes, even if she is very reluctant about it in the beginning. Enid, luckily being the more emotionally inclined girl that she is, does go out of her way to still check on Wednesday. Knowing that the stoic girl tends to sulk in her solitude, more so now a days with that monster coming around. Although both are still angered with one another they we can see that being away from each other is getting to them. The girls up to this point have built a friendship between them, a trust that quite frankly Wednesday isn’t used to. That’s why it takes her almost losing another person close to her to realize that she needs people in her life. She cries, something she hasn’t done for years because that fear became so real then. She does care about the people in her life, she is just very reluctant to let them in. At one point the girls do resolve their issues, Enid taking the first step after hearing of the unfortunate events. She moves back in with Wednesday and the two talk about their differences as individuals, contrasting each other but do accept one another as friends. Slowly taking down those invisible barriers, one duct tape at a time.

How could being vulnerable, having an open mind, and considering others help with navigating the conflict identified in the situation? In this instance we had a case of purposeful miscommunication, which is equally if not arguably worse than accidental miscommunication. The root of the problem though comes from a seed of mistrust in people that the person of target had no fault in. And that is just life sometimes, we carry bad experiences with us into new stages of our lives and hurt the people that try to help us. Having the chance to be vulnerable though and open to new ideas of repair with the right set of people could be a solution for the miscommunication. This idea does tie back to opening that wound of mistrust, of being honest with the feelings that were buried so deep. It is hard for some people to achieve these steps, but they just have to see that there are people out there willing to take that extra for them. Whether that stems from respect or love, those people are going to be there for them, no matter what mistakes they make, no matter the type of person they are. But you have to meet halfway. Compromise, and respect one another’s individuality for we each have our own strengths in different categories of life.

#wednesday #wednesday addams #character dive #character analysis #enid sinclair #wenclair #the addams family #netflix wednesday #college essay #writers on tumblr #character study #miscommunication #everything is gay tbh..#gaaaaaaaay #what in the wattpad #good girlfriend enid #wednesday can't communicate #ahh lesbians

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hellsbroadcaster · 2 months

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Alastor is not without care. its why his breakdown is so monumental to me. I think its actually extremely dangerous for Alastor to really give a fuck about something.

He has his own agenda, his own goals. He loves being seen as an enigma, he loves that people fear him. He keeps himself purposely detached because love, caring, feelings and attachments all become liabilities sooner or later. I headcanon that his mother died before she ever got to see him becoming a radio star, and it was something he kind of resents. It wasn’t her fault and he doesn’t blame her but he wishes so badly she could see how far he had come. She was his inspiration after all.

she was the one and only person he really loved and felt anything for as a human. He really only knows love through her as a mother. Losing her broke him. His murders started happening after he lost her.

The way I look at it Alastor has a lot of hate and anger, it’s built of resentment he’s grown over the years. The mistreatment he and his mother got from ppl who thought they were better. Who shamed him or called him a half breed for being half white and half black.

He cares very deeply for people that he loves. And it makes it a very dangerous thing. He’ll kill for them. He does. The way he takes care of Mimzy, and honestly women in general.

But he doesn’t let himself get too close. He’s calculating, using everyone around him as pawns. A means to an end. I think his deals are very much strategic, no matter how small or simple they seem on the outside. There’s always gears working behind the scenes of his smile and it’s for his own self interest.

I think it’s very telling why and how Husk is the (that we know of) the only one who knows about Alastor’s deal. He doesn’t know the nature, or with who, but he does know he’s under contract himself. And it’s interesting to think about what Alastor saw in Husk that let him give him that kind of information.

Because I feel like that’s pretty fucking high level trust. Or maybe not, because he is still owned by Al so he probably can’t speak on it based on their deal/terms. But I still think it’s telling. And I do think Al cares for Husk, but it’s just how he is when he keeps everyone at a distance because eventually he knows those bonds don’t last.

His intrapersonal feelings are something I love digging into because it’s not what meets the eyes. His smile, everything about him is a lie. It’s made up, he’s far more darker and sinister than we are lead to believe. He craves freedom like never before? He’s being held back, he’s got one hand behind his back and we haven’t even seen him at full strength. Alastor is downright scary, and he can’t allow himself to reach that goal if he’s held back by compassion and companions.

#⌜the secret memoirs of a serial killer⌟ . // headcanons #thinking a lot about thisssss

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emeraldspiral · 10 months

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So in the Zimverse Irkens are supposed to be so self-absorbed they can't think of anything beyond their own immediate gratification. Irkens don't have sex organs so they don't fuck in order to gratify themselves, there's no romance because there's no love, and the closest thing to friendship is just mutually beneficial temporary arrangements and maybe the attachment one feels for an object in their possession. Irkens seem to be aware that other species have love and sex and families, but it's not a part of their society, it's something "base" that only lesser species indulge in. So an Irken having any kind of relationship, even one with just a platonic or familial type of affection, would seem like an aberration in their culture. So it's not really hard to see how an LGBT storyline would fit within the world of Invader Zim. Like, you would barely even have to change anything to fit the context. You could just have two Irkens holding hands and it wouldn't feel like a hamfisted metaphor if another Irken acted just as scandalized as real-world homophobes because it totally fits within the established lore.

So what if say, after Invader Tenn's mission in Megadoomer was ruined she was captured and imprisoned, and after Tak's plan to steal Zim's mission failed and she got lost in space she ended up in the same prison. They individually manage to contact the Tallest for help but the Tallests' attitude is that if they can't break out on their own they were never worthy of being Invaders and therefore not worth their time to rescue. Tak and Tenn find each other and learn that they were both left to rot and decide to team up and escape. They bond over feeling betrayed by their leaders, mutual respect for each other's talents, resentment for losing out on their dream jobs due to circumstances that weren't their fault, and a mutual dislike of Zim for having his incompetence rewarded while they had to work for everything they got, only to have it taken away in an instant.

Some time after escaping prison Tak and Tenn come to Earth to get revenge on Zim. Zim doesn't understand why Tenn is helping Tak at first. He assumes that Tenn must be jealous that the Tallest gave him the Megadoomer she wanted or that she must be benefiting in some way from her alliance with Tak. He cannot comprehend what Tenn means when she says she's doing it because making Tak happy will make her happy. It isn't until Tenn is put into a vulnerable position and Tak surrenders to save her that it starts to click for Zim that they're in love, even if the idea is shocking beyond belief. How could another Irken matter more to Tak than her own ambitions? How could Tak's ambitions matter more to Tenn than her own safety? It just does not compute. But Dib gets it, and not only does he get it, he gets how special it is if Tak and Tenn can feel something like that for each other if it's really as rare and abnormal as Zim's making it out to be. So Dib's ready to just let them go if they promise never to come back and threaten the earth again.

The experience leaves an impact on Zim. He wants to think that he's normal by his species standards. He says Irkens aren't supposed to have friends and points out that Dib doesn't have any either. But Dib does have his family and can't imagine how shallow and meaningless life would be if he really didn't have anyone at all who mattered to him. Zim insists that attachments just create liabilities while Dib says they make life worth living.

Zim goes through a sort of gay panic where he starts pushing GIR and Minimoose and Skoodge away to prove that he, like all good Irken citizens, is devoid of attachments. He tries to convince himself that he only thinks of GIR and Minimoose as possessions he takes pride in or of Skoodge or Dib as people he sometimes likes having around to appreciate how amazing he is. But overtime he learns to accept himself as a queer Irken who cares about others and craves genuine companionship and that a lot of his dysfunctional behavior came from trying to deny that part of himself.

#invader zim #dib membrane #dib #tak #invader tenn #space gays #space lesbians #tatr #invader tak

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vanillabourbon · 8 months

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low operative | intro | ongoing narcos series

story summary. javier peña spends several evenings with someone only to walk into the office weeks later to find them working counterintelligence one floor up from his desk - a stranger turned colleague.

chapter warnings. javier should be his own warning (sexual behavior but not too explicit hehe), she/her pronouns in reference to reader; cursing (i literally wrote this like steve's voiceover voice from s1 and s2 lol)

story pairings. javier peña x reader

words. 3150ish

Introduction.

Shortly after Colonel Carillo died, everyone in and surrounding the capture of Pablo Escobar was running from something – bloodshed, murder, secrets that came up to their ears, literally and figuratively, or guilt. Lots and lots of guilt. The thing about blood is that it doesn’t wash away easily, and Colonel Carillo’s left a stain so big everyone anywhere and at any time could see it.

But everyone has their own methods of escapism. For Javier Peña, it was usually women. And lots of them. But he had been had by a fine beauty he got caught up with while trying to escape the pressures of the last faults he took upon himself. He couldn’t bring himself to risk that again. Not for a few weeks, anyway. After a while, he needed something just as badly as he knew he didn’t. The words of his last escape still rung in his head, loud and clear, the conversation repeating itself over and over again like a broken record he wanted to do everything in his power to fix:

“Why don’t you stop?” he had asked her.

“Why don’t you?” she had quipped back. Causally. Playfully.

The thing is, he couldn’t stop. And he knew that. Sooner or later, his habit would catch up to him, just as all habits do. It’s just that Javier’s habits usually came dressed in tight skirts and loose tops close to base and even closer to the case itself.

His resolve was defiant but short-lived, and he was in his car with his tail between his legs in no time. He had just plopped down a time-sensitive find on a dead colonel’s desk, and the night was still young enough to placate himself to do the same thing in the morning. So he figured a random girl, one that wouldn’t matter and wouldn’t ask any questions, would do him just fine. If he could find a woman like that – one that was easy, a non liability – that asks no questions and leaves every stone unturned, he’d count himself lucky. A woman like that would be a gift from God Himself and a chance for Javi to let his guard down.

And he knew exactly where to look.

He drove to a place he’d only heard of, in passing, at his usual spots. Whispers and rumors of the Joya de Colombia. A name thrown around as a sarcastic jest in dark corners of shitty bars and shady corners of the underground. Some woman, you, probably American, that did deeds for men that somehow left them satisfied enough without ever being able to touch you. You were a challenge, and one that Javi took personally. It was a way for him to forget about everything that had yet to catch up to him, or Murphy, or the whole team for that matter. It was something easy – something he knew he’d be able to accomplish, in due time or in no time. And the best part was that your place of ‘work’ was far enough away from the office that Javi felt accomplished in finding someone far, far removed but close enough that he felt safe to wind down.

Guilt aside, or forgotten or whatever term means anything other than gone permanently.

And boy you were a jewel alright.

You were most certainly American, and you’d been hauled up on top of a bar-top counter ever since he’d walked in. Every shift of your hips and smirk thrown over your shoulder sent a thrill so far down south Javi nearly turned himself in early. But he waited. He tucked himself into a back corner and drew a cigarette to his lips while eyeing every exposed inch of your bare skin. This was a stakeout – one he could control. One he knew for certain wouldn’t end up with a bullet between anyone’s eyes or a slew of witnesses asking him for something. This was easy. And tonight – tonight, Javi liked easy. He craved it.

The jewel was anything but easy, but Javi didn’t need to know that. Nor would he ever. You were waiting for your target when you saw Javier walk in. By the time he drew his eyes from you and down to light his cigarette, you finally took the time to eye him appreciatively. The looks you gave one another that night were probably enough to send any sparks flying. But there was nothing calm, sweet, or lovely about it. Just as much as Javi, you were looking for an out – something different but safe enough to take a risk on. You were a risk taker alright. Always had been. But Colombia was no place for your usual risks. You had been warned by your superiors to avoid your usual behaviors.

Behave, They had said. Don’t mess up. Be on your best behavior. And, for God’s sake, don’t make these men kill each other.

The men you had encountered over the last few months were forgettable, faces blurring just so to wipe them from memory any night you were able to convince yourself to sleep. Blurred but not beyond recognition. Most of them were targets – or targets of your targets. Being untouchable, being far removed, was a conscious choice. It was risky enough, but a tactic meant to keep them dangling precariously in front of you should you ever need to reach out and take – take their testimony, take their confessions, take their lies.

But Javi was different. His face wasn’t blurred or recognizable. You didn’t know him, and you liked that. Even better, you didn’t need to know him. No intel required. No details to share. You could eye him easily, lustfully, without any consequence or fear your reputation might wane.

Except it might. It always might.

You had already figured and calculated all the variables. Truth was, you almost didn’t care. Almost.

For what it was worth, Javi could’ve taken you anywhere in the building if he wanted to. It had been a long time since you’d indulged in the touch of another with reciprocated intimacy, and you’d be lying if you said the thought wasn’t tempting. But you had a job to do. If he approached you, you’d already made up your mind that you’d give him a chance. A brief one. One that might leave him wanting more but at least you’d get it out of your system. And, with any hope, he would know what’s good for him and never see you again.

With any hope, this was a matter of luck and convenience. This was nothing more than a man who wanted something to forget, and boy were you ready to be just that.

It was all contractual. Unspoken or not, you knew as much as he did that one night was all anyone ever truly needed. Just one night.

Except it was not just one night. It never is. Javier was hooked on you like all the corporate assholes from New York were on the shit Escobar was funneling through airports like candy. That night he could hardly contain the twitch in his jeans or the sudden tightness of his shirt on his neck when he noticed just how much you were maintaining eye contact with him.

It all happened fast – faster than Javi anticipated. Part of him was disappointed. He wanted the thrill of chasing you, charming you until the only thought in his head was the smell of your perfume or the strands of your hair resting on your pretty, little forehead – until Colonel Carrillo and the shitshow of the mission he’d perpetrated was so far shoved up his memory that nothing and no one could dig it out until morning.

But the chase was still present, still there, even when Javi approached you, and you gave him a pointed smirk when you twisted away from him. You were coy, he’d give you that. But fun — oh so fun. The kind of fun that sent a crooked smile curving its way onto Javi’s face. You were enticing him, reeling him in with every intentional move you could think of. He watched your back arch off the table, shoulders and hips digging into the wood as your fingers trailed up your body and into your hair. At that point, Javi’s fingers were practically twitching at his sides.

You were putting on a show, and it was obvious you were putting on a show for him.

And he loved it.

Which is why he let his mind wander, even if it was for just a few minutes. It had been awhile since he let his mind run rampant with dirty thoughts and lustful intentions – a mind so filled with sin he could easily wipe out the memory of poor Escobar running the streets of Colombia like a madman on a mission. Tonight, tonight, Javi could let himself be what he’d been so desperately discouraging over the last few weeks.

Who was Javi kidding? He couldn’t control himself even if he tried. It was in his nature.

His eyes roamed slowly, painstakingly, across your body. He took in every inch like an undisclosed case file he had no business reading. It was easy to ignore the hands of the men around him, inching towards you but never quite touching you. Javi knew their time was limited. He knew he had you hooked, same as you had him. He knew it the moment he’d walked through the door and felt you eyeing him from the start.

You could pretend now. It was nice of you to play his game. You were nothing if not inviting.

That’s why, when you had stood and hopped off the counter, your walk to a side hallway, away from prying eyes and straining ears, had Javi following behind you like a lost puppy. He had no shame, of course. His walk was still as confident and collected as he’d always been. The other men that had been surrounding you were trudging away with slumped shoulders and a devilish look in their eyes. And as always, Javi was smug about it.

By the time you were far enough away to turn around, Javi had only a few inches between you and another step that sent you slumping against the bar’s tacky walls.

“You’re not my usual clientele,” you noted.

“No, I’m not.”

Your voice did more for him than he anticipated, and his determination to draw this out for as long as criminally possible was already crumbling. He needed you in more ways than one, and he was going to get what he wanted. If you obliged him, of course, but he knew, same as with most all women, that you would. It was a certain skill he had – an ability he had picked up over the years. He could pridefully read a woman’s body in seconds.

“Should I be worried about that?” You drew a finger up to his chest to fiddle with his unbuttoned collar. “You have to tell me, business or pleasure.”

Javi was still in his right state of mind to know you were distracting him, but there wasn’t a part of him that cared enough. His nose was flaring and his teeth were grinding with enough impatience to spur a horse. But, if he had been looking for a red flag, that should’ve been it. He should’ve clocked the real reason for your concern, and just what that meant, before he let you trail your finger down to his zipper. And if dear old Stevie had been there, he would’ve.

But he was alone, and no one knew where he was. Just how he wanted it.

“Give me pleasure, baby.”

And that was all it took for the two of you to go careening into a closet two doors down from where you'd been standing. You were a pile of flesh and bone without any other exchanges. Your breaths came hot against each other’s skin, and Javi was yanking off his jacket and stepping backwards to push you further and further into the room all at the same time. His hands found purchase on your hips early. He was an expert in his field, no one could ever say otherwise.

For a while, you let him. Unlike other men, you let him trace his tongue from your collarbone to the shell of your ear. Your head fell back, mouth hanging wide open at the sensation and leg rising to latch around his hip. It was unusual for the Joya de Colombia to take so much in so little time, but you enjoyed it. If only for a minute.

It wasn’t long before you were pushing Javier back and sinking to your knees like it was some kind of religious ritual. Javi wanted to protest, and normally he would, but his eyes were blown wide and his chest tightened by the minute. He had no idea just how wound up he’d become trying to ignore his need.

It was a bad need, one that got him in trouble more times than he could count, but a need all the same. And, if you were willing to give him what he wanted before he even thought to ask, then who was he to stop you?

His pants were barely to his ankles before your fingers dug into the flesh of his upper thighs. Your lips stretched around him in a way that would make just about any man spill their darkest secrets. And maybe that should’ve been another red flag that tipped him off early, but it didn’t. Javi was too busy with his dark eyes staring down at you and his hands collecting your hair in a makeshift ponytail. He was holding you there, pushing his hips, back and forth and back again, without a single care in the world.

As selfish as it sounded, this was for him. He said he would forget the burden of sin he was carrying around, and he did. Though most people never tried to make up for one sin with another, but it worked for him.

And it worked for you.

Your tongue wander across him in ways he hadn't experienced in awhile. His teeth ground to a rough stop so he could whisper sweet praises to you. A quiet 'good girl' sent a hmm from deep in your throat up to his core, and he reveled in how such a simple praise could send you taking more of him than he thought you could manage.

You could manage alright. You had him curling his fist and tightening his core in no time. His hand found your neck when he pulled you up for a kiss, rough and persistent, like he wanted you to drown with him.

At the time, he didn’t mind leaving like that – didn’t mind taking what he needed, leaving you with a kiss and the pad of his thumb swiping along your bottom lip. It was every night after that that was a real challenge.

You were reluctant to go any further, and it showed. You were the Joya de Colombia after all, and no man had been able to do half of what you’d let Javier Peña do in only two week’s time. Your reputation remained steady, but it became a habit for every man to sulk away from you whenever Javi entered whatever building you found yourself in that night. He was good at that, at finding you when he needed to.

You should’ve been worried. It was bad for business, after all. But the information kept coming and the men never stopped trying.

It was when your team still refused to extract you that made you tip over whatever boundary you’d made yourself a long time ago. You’d done all you needed to do; you could do more chained to a desk back on base than whatever they wanted you to do inside a dark, overly-crowded bar in the darkest corners of Colombia. You were more than livid. You were impatient, upset, desperate to get back to whatever semblance of a life you had before agreeing to this whole thing.

And, when you saw Javi, the change in you really became apparent.

You took hold of him like a wild doe in need of taming. The shock of it all blew well over his head, and he welcomed the change. You became so open to him that Javi found new ways to make you scream than he had ever found in any of the rendezvous you had before now. It was intoxicating, reckless, but you didn’t care in the slightest.

It was your turn to be selfish, and God did Javi give you exactly what you needed. He was entering you, over and over again, like a man in desperate need of air. Every snap of his hips sent your nails clawing at his back, scratching sweet praises across his bare back and earning loud grunts in your ear.

You were finished, done for. Javier ruined you for just about every man after, and you didn’t care. If it meant stress relief and a chance to rid yourself of all the men still trying to grab you for their own personal gain, you’d take hours with Javi every chance you got. You weren’t sure how it happened – how Javi became so integral to your stake in this mission – but it happened regardless. Javi was your out, physically and mentally. Even if your team didn’t give you one, you found one yourself.

And maybe it wouldn’t be enough in a few weeks, but it was enough for now.

And a few weeks did come. You were finally getting extracted from your post, and a bitter feeling ran down your spine at the idea of seeing Javi for the last time in that God-forsaken bar. But he never came. In fact, he hadn’t come in the last five days. It was the longest streak he’d held since seeing you. A part of you thought it was for the best. At least now you didn’t have to put on an act of indifference. At least now you didn’t have to figure out how to separate yourself from him for the last time.

Except, it wasn’t the last time, and it never would be.

The next time you saw Javier Peña, your blood ran cold and every cell in your body wanted to turn tail and run. The way his eyes widened and body grew rigid you figured he felt the same. Even if you both hid it well, neither of you anticipated this – neither of you anticipated you’d been two steps behind the station’s CIA officer with a badge on your hip and a gun on your side.

For Javi, it was the worst. It was a big lie. The biggest. Javier just had his life turned upside down and his reality with it. You were a fake. A fraud. He’d gotten off on knowing you were too far from him, too far from his work, to be a cause for concern. He selfishly took from you, and gave to you, thinking you were a nobody, a person of no interest. And of course, he’d been had, yet again, because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. Above all, he couldn’t separate what was in his pants from whatever emotions he was constantly running from.

It’s why when you nodded at him and Steve, offering a firm, “Agents,” in greeting, he only brushed past you, bumping your shoulder with his and leaving the building entirely.

“He takes a minute to warm up to new people,” Steve said.

But little did he know how wrong he was.

#javier pena x reader #javier peña #javier pena fanfiction #narcos #narcos fanfiction

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sporadicthingcollection · 2 years

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Hellos! Going thru Dad Bane fic and started to wonder how did Bane react to pregnancy news? Oksana gave the impression that he would choose the dead beat path as he wasnt to be tied down…but here we are four kids after and Irno on his side…

So I already wrote about the first time here and the other time here, so have the second baby!

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23:55 <<🏆 Trophy Husband 🏆>> BE LANDING SOON. HOME BY 2 IF YOU WANT TO WAIT UP.

23:57 <<pays taxes like a chump>> [[reality_theBachelorCoruscant_Lilo_HappyDance.hgif]] yay <3 i'm bushed but i'll make a bowl for you risotto with mushrooms and nerf sausage just pop it in the oven for a minute

23:59 <<🏆 Trophy Husband 🏆>> LOVE THAT SHIT THANKS

00:08 <<pays taxes like a chump>> actually i'll wait up. i need to talk to you about something

00:10 <<🏆 Trophy Husband 🏆>> THIS BETTER NOT BE THE DIVORCE TALK I WANT THE CAT

00:12 <<pays taxes like a chump>> oh maker no. just have news >:( you can have vincenzo when you pry him from my cold dead freshly manicured fingers

00:13 <<🏆 Trophy Husband 🏆>> 🔫🔫🔫 LIKE FUN TABLOID NEWS OR FAMILY NEWS

00:14 <<pays taxes like a chump>> family news kinda

---

Bane can't help but stare at you. "Yer serious."

You nod, mouth set in a line. "I got the blood test this morning," you say. "Roaring positive."

His stomach churns. His head feels fuzzy. His knees lock up and, fortunately, you give him a light shove onto the couch so he doesn't just stand there gawping like an idiot.

He sinks into the cushion, willing it to absorb him. He can't deal with this right now. And yet, based on the cross of your arms and the purse of your lips, he has to.

"So what're ya gonna do?" he mumbles.

You flop next to him. "I don't know," you say. “I wanted to talk to you first.” You give a dry smile. “It’s as much your fault as it is mine.”

Were he a softer man, the conflict on your face would be heartbreaking. He knows what's going through your mind -- you love kids. You love your kid. You love his kid. You'd love nothing more than to have another one running around.

And yet, you're not a fool. You're a criminal married to a crook. Another baby is another liability, another weak link in the chain. Not to mention the havoc it'd wreak on your body.

He's no fool either. The first time was hard enough. He doesn't know if he could handle another mouth to feed. Another diaper to change. Another heart running around outside his body. Another living, breathing creature to constantly worry about--

"Daddy?"

He glances up. A tiny shadow peeks around the corner, red eyes glowing. Speak of the Devil and she’ll appear, her blanket draped around her head and shoulders like a Jedi's robe.

He can't help but smile. He sits up from his slouch and leans forward. "Evenin', li'l miss," he says with a tip of his hat. "It's past yer bedtime."

"Heard talkin'." She yawns, her little needle teeth glinting in the light. She rubs her eyes with the heel of her palm. "Wanted to say hi."

He pats his knee. "Come say it, den."

She lets out a happy trill and toddles over, bare feet slapping against the tile. She hauls herself up into his lap and nestles right against his belly.

He lays a hand on her head, stroking his fingertips along her brow ridges. The purrs start immediately, sounding exactly like when Todo's rotor spins out.

You shift closer to him and lay your head on his shoulder. You've got that expression on his face that he still can't put words to. Serene? Motherly? Exhausted? He has no idea. But whenever she purrs, that's the look you get.

A few moments pass. Maybe more than a few. Long enough that the Little Lady falls back asleep and nearly pitches forward off of the sofa.

You swoop in like a mynock before she hits the ground, catching her with your nimble hands. The sudden jolt scares her, but your tone is gently jovial. "Silly girl," you chide as you stand. "Back to bed before you bump your head."

She keeps her eyes fixed on him as her lips curl into a sneer. "No."

Bane can't help but chuckle. She looks as ferocious as a loth-kitten. "Gotta get yer rest, girl."

Her sneer fades into a frown. "But... But you've been gone so long. I wanna sit with you."

Ow. Right in the heart. He knew she'd be a crack shot, but not like this.

"Daddy will still be here in the morning. Right?" You give him a pointed look, and he nods. "Let's get you tucked in."

The girl hesitates. Her eyes fall on Bane, and she reaches out her arm. "...Can Daddy tuck me in too?"

A golden warmth swells his chest. Plucking his hat from his head, he places it on the caf table as he stands. "'Course he can."

She chirrups happily and settles into your arms, her eyes drifting closed. You smile at her, then at him. "Talk after?" He nods, and you head for the stairs.

Another pair of feet pitter-pattering around. Another set of tiny clothes. Another little baby in his arms, small and sweet and chirping as it stares at its daddy. Not caring who he is or what he does.

His gut stops churning as he follows you up the stairs.

He still likes the name Winrel.

---

"Catch Us If You Can Masterpost" | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar

#thanks for the ask!#cad bane x reader #cad bane x oc #cad bane #dad bane #catch us if you can #99 problems #irno favara #reader insert #x reader #x oc #star wars #star wars oc #mezerel bane #winrel bane #emberly writes

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hitomisuzuya · 1 year

Note

hi suzu. idw to overload your requests so u don't have to answer this if you don't have time, but for these past 2 days i've been feeling down, upset, and mostly disappointed by myself bcos i feel as if im a liability of sorts. i studied hard last sem for nothing only to not gain a merit-based scholarship that could have helped my family financially. it's not fair that my mom can't earn atm due to her being on sabbatical leave and backing off for a while due to her mental health and my dad shouldering all the finances... 😪like, i js feel so useless atm. i still can't work part-time due to immigration laws in the country i live in and bcos the country im studying abroad for uni requires me to be proficient in the language first. my parents have told me that they aren't disappointed at me at all and that i shouldn't feel responsible, but i am naturally an overthinker so... if it's not too much for you, could i request for a SFW shot/drabble wherein Kazuha comforts and assures reader who feels helpless and frustrated at themselves for not doing the "bare minimum" for their family? i fear i am in (desperate) need of the Kazulove and affection bcos my mood hasn't been improving 😭 it really sucks...

-indigo anon

p.s.: sorry if i said too much or if it felt like a ramble 😞😞 i hope this didn't ruin ur day or anyth. you can ignore this ask if u need to.

Kazuha x reader. Kazuha comforts the reader when they are insecure and feel helpless and reassures them. SFW.

a/n: indigo anon, I want to say one quick thing to you. And I am giving you virtual headpets while you read. I am a constant overthinker. Call it a result of my own unfortunate circumstances, but I won't get into that. Being an overthinker sucks. It hurts, and sometimes it makes you feel so heavy that you can't sleep. I'm having insomnia because of it. Even now I feel like I am doing the bare minimum for you. But this isn't about me, it's about you. Please listen to me and your parents. This isn't your fault. It never will be. Please, lean on me or my writing anytime. I'm here for you.

You were crying again. The second he saw you burst into tears, he held you against his chest, petting your head and giving you words of reassurance.

Kazuha would always tell you that you are never useless. Not to him. Not to anyone. You always did your best, it didn't matter who it was in the name of. You heart is always in the right place. And he loves you for that.

You never let him or anyone down. Not even once.

Kazuha would tell you these things as many times as it took. He would stand there and hold you all night until you stopped crying.

You were the love of his life. The center of his world. You were his reason for fighting, loving and existing.

And he would make sure you that. Every day. Every minute he would show you how true his words to you are. He would spend the rest of his life proving it to you.

#genshin impact #kazuha #genshin comfort #kazuha x y/n #kazuha x you #kazuha x reader #genshin imagines

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credince--writes · 1 year

Text

Jitters (Remastered) Chapter 2: Knuckles

Chapter Two: Knuckles

Chapter 1

Jitters is a PMC brought onto the support 141 operations, much to the distaste of the 141 group of PMC's.

The Remastered version of the original Jitters.

A/N:

Oop, the second chapter is out now! etehehe, let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

She let out a breath that she didn't really recognize that she was holding.

Getting back in one piece.

Without much thanks to Miles.

It was time for a debrief of the mission, and afterward, the team would be released to something akin to a kindergartners recess.

Free time.

Mistakes kill people, after all.

Did he really just do that? This.

This...

This bastard.

She was never a fighter. And he knew that.

Smug prick.

After a few more closing statements, the meeting had ended and people began to quickly filter out of the room.

"Jitters." She heard Price call her name.

She felt her heart plummet at the sound of her name being called, stopping in her tracks and staring forward, as if her body refused to turn around and face Price.

Almost as if he was a school child, Miles pushed past her and mumbled a subtle "oooo, Someone's in trouble."

Like a pit of dread opening up in her gut, regretting even standing up and making the moves she did to stop the protocol from activating.

She should’ve just sat back and kept her mouth shut.

"Good work today. Enjoy your night." He smiles and then gives her a nod.

...

"Ahem." She cleared her throat- trying to speed the process along. She never stayed for these functions. She didn’t need to be here.

She wasn’t one of them.

She didn’t belong with them, and quite simply-

She wasn’t wanted here.

"I uh, I need the thing." She says, slightly unsure of herself and her presence in front of the group, who were now staring at her in silence.

"Thing?" Gaz echoed, his eyebrow arching in confusion.

"Yea." She lifted her arm, tapping her wrist twice. “You know, the thing.”

"You should come up with a better name for it, dontcha' think?" He mused, a friendly smirk gracing his features as he leaned back and crossed his arms. It was teasing.

It was friendly.

It was kind.

It was unfamiliar.

She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, her eyes immediately falling to the floor, and memorizing the texture of the cement beneath her feet. "Yea. I know. Don't remind me."

Jitters eye twitched.

It didn't belong in the fucking armory.

It was hers.

Miles had no reason- no authority to be picking up her shit.

Over here?

No.

Over there?

No…

Oh wait, he's over there.

He shoots her a confused glance. "What are you going on about now?" The mock innocence in his voice dripped with confidence as her jaw clenches once more, ear popping in the process.

Miles' eyes flicker down to his pocket, back over to her before he crosses his arms defensively and shifts his stance intentionally making himself taller as he leans forward.

But he doesn't.

"Are you calling me a liar?" Miles spits. "Don't forget I'm technically your superior. Now go on and fuck off."

There it was.

That stupid ‘authority’ he would always throw around even when he was dead wrong.

But he was always like this, this childish, infuriating, liability of a man.

Every time she would find her shit upturned, the duffel back that held her life upturned and all of its contents spread across the shitty little bed

The time her sleeping bag was full of garbage.

The constant shifting of blame.

"I'm sorry L.T. You know I'm not comfortable working around distractions, additional liabilities."

It was mainly because she was scared.

Scared of what would happen if Laswell decided she was too much of a pain in the ass to deal with.

Not worth the hassle.

But she was sick of it.

Laswell be damned.

The little device at a minimum, but in hopes of earning his respect.

Proving she belonged here just as much as he did, and that she wouldn’t be walked all over anymore.

"Give it back." She says again, her voice slightly cracking this time.

"Or what? You'll go cry to Gulch?" He mocks, the familiar tone of him curling his words up in mock concern. Leaning forward and pushing into her space in an attempt to get her to take a step back.

She could be just as mean.

She would be, if it meant proving this point.

That it would hurt when someone said it.

Which was perfect, seeing the open wound it was on his flesh- scabbed over and trying to heal.

And she just ripped the scab off.

Miles was silent.

And for the first time in a very long time, Jitters could confidently say she felt smug.

"Uppies are out!"

"We gonna have a pit?"

"Pit!"

"Money's on Inch!"

A man leaned down with a big grin plastered onto his face as he pulled out his wallet and threw some bills at his friend who was standing up and calling out a bet.

Another man nodded his head, waving bills around and calling in his bet. “Looks like the techs are gonna duke it out finally.”

The man next to Gaz chimes in. "We make a big circle and they beat the shit outta' each other until someone yields or the L.T. gets back. More or less.”

She couldn’t get into a fight.

Miles would win regardless.

It was a perfect plan.

She had only ever been around for one Pit, and it was a fistfight ending in blood splattered on the cement floor.

Bloodied knuckles.

She felt like a dog getting let loose into a dog fight- but she didn't want to fight. Miles started this.

She couldn’t fight.

A harsh exhale pushes out of her lungs as she hunches forward into the punch, arm gripping around his arm exclaiming one more poor attempt to stop- not follow through with this.

He knows what would happen if she got into a fight.

He knows to some extent why she is here.

He knows the rules.

He knows she can’t fight back.

“You wanted it so bad.” He says, laughing as he tosses it. “Pick it up then.”

The metal and plastic cover clatter against the ground, the sound of the metal tinking on one side then the hollow clatter of plastic against cement.

She can’t fight back.

She can take this.

She won’t go back.

But that isn't fun to watch. It's just watching their slightly overweight tech beat on a little girl. Her kneeling in front of him and taking it.

"Fight that fucker!" someone yells in the crowd.

And just like that, she's sucked back into her own head.

Blood was.

Kids surrounded her circling, yelling similar things.

To fight.

To entertain.

To perform.

But that's what Miles is, isn't it?

He's just a big bully.

She shouldn’t be doing this.

She couldn’t do this.

She’s going to get in trouble.

But just as she begins she starts to rethink her actions, she’s back in the schoolyard.

When their first connected with the side of her head, she felt her vision turn white- ears ring.

As if her head were a bell that’d just been rung- a grandmother on the porch calling children in for supper.

Her head snapped to the side, the woodchips mussing into her hair. The cheering and yelling merged together into some kind of deafening silence.

And she was hit again.

But it didn’t hurt anymore.

The connection of her fist against the bone of his chin felt like a dull throb against her hand- undoubtedly punching the wrong way.

But how was she supposed to know?

She never wanted to fight in the first place.

But it felt good.

The sticky warmth of blood against her hands in the cold morning air.

She wouldn’t get off of this kid until the teachers pried her off of their body.

Miles shifts his weight and rolls on top of her, pinning her down by her shoulder and lopping another punch down onto her face. It still doesn't feel like the sharp pain she assumed it would be like.

It's dull.

Like a thump.

The pillow hit her head.

The connection throws her head sideways.

And she was hit again.

But it didn’t hurt anymore.

She never had any proper training on how to fight, she was never supposed to be in combat.

Shit, she wasn't even supposed to be here.

But if fighting in the schoolyard taught her anything, it was how to fight dirty.

And she could fight dirty well.

"You're constantly in my way, and you get brought on here for no fucking reason." Miles hisses.

Her hand let out a cry of protest, but the demand was quickly filed away somewhere in the back of her head.

She hit him, again.

"Are you calling me a liar?" Miles spits. "Don't forget I'm technically your superior. Now go on and fuck off."

And again.

"Come on- you can't take a hit?" Jitters hisses out.

And again.

"You fuckin' pussy." She sneers, teeth bared, and raises her arm again. The muscles in her shoulder burn.

"I'm sorry L.T. You know I'm not comfortable working around distractions, additional liabilities."

And Again.

"I'm here because you fuck."

"Or what? You'll go cry to Gulch?" He mocks, the familiar tone of him curling his words up in mock concern.

And Again.

"Everything."

And Again.

"Up."

That she had taken it too far.

She loomed.

You’re weak.

She takes a rough step forward, pointing at him and yelling once more. "Get up pussy!"

He dropped.

Hard.

And he didn’t move.

"Get up!" She yelled again.

Maybe it was to spite her, or the blood pounding in her ears didn't hear the sound of the door opening, Gulch, and Price stepping into the scene before them.

A soldier stuffing bills of cash into his jacket, the sound of crinkling paper a dead giveaway to what he’d been doing- trying to not look as blatantly obvious as he was now.

Gulch could bring a room's temperature down ten degrees, it would seem. As soon as the hot breaths of the soldier's yelling ceased, the room fell into an uncomfortable, cold, silence.

"Clean this mess up." Gulch says calmly.

Too calmly.

The kind of calm that leaves prickles on the skin.

That makes hair raise on the backs of necks.

Jitters it heaving, trying to get as much oxygen into her lungs as possible, trying to make up for the difference, never seeming like it was enough as her eyes frantically scattered around the room.

"Don't get off of them until you're fuckin' pulled off."

That's what her dad used to say.

And if she was gonna listen to one thing,

it would've been that.

Lunging forward again, she gripped him by the shirt and swing her hand down.

Again.

And Again-

Until she felt a hand grip her upper arm and pull her backward, securing an arm around her torso and pulling her back.

It was Gaz.

"Hey. Calm down." He spoke calmly into her ear. "You're gonna have to calm down."

Almost as soon as she stopped swinging her arms she could feel the passage of her nose tighten up- her chest start to tighten and the feeling of hot tears rip their path across her face.

Setting her down, she shot Gaz a defeated glance and then met the gaze of Gulch. A cold hardened stare. One that said:

'my office.'

'Now.'

Great, now she was going to get chewed out by two men.

Great, she’d done exactly what Miles wanted.

She was going to get sent back- they were going to call her-

Once the two men settled, all that could be heard in the room were the sniffles and chokes radiating off of Jitters.

"Stop crying." Gulch said.

"C-Can't." She choked out, trying to calm her breathing. The feeling of her sobs against her bleeding nose made it hurt even more- not helping to calm her down in the least.

"Figure it out. I'm not talking to you until you can be an adult." He replied, leaning back in his chair and staring her down.

And he did wait. Five grueling, silent minutes of Jitters pulling herself together.

Five minutes of death spiraling in her head about what was going to happen.

Wincing from the pinch of her fingers against her nose and the tremor in her hands.

Wiping the tears from her face and wincing at the pain.

Gulch nodded.

"That was unacceptable."

She nodded.

"Irresponsible."

"Disappointing."

Ouch, that one hurt.

"But I can't say I blame you." His voice softened slightly.

Her shoulders shrunk forward...

"You're gonna tell Laswell."

Something in Gulch's eyes softened.

Pity.

Hidden behind a hardened layer, it was clear as day.

"Yes." He stated.

"And I'm gonna get sent back." She choked out.

"Yes." He agreed, Gulch’s stare tainted with the haze of pity. It didn’t fit him, and it made her stomach churn at the look of it on his face.

"Unless." Price says, breaking his silence. His face was unreadable. She couldn't see past his wall, wasn't familiar enough.

It was like a thick fogged layer of glass.

But it was dark inside, and she couldn't even make out the shapes or colors.

"Unless." Gulch agrees, nodding his head and gripping a manila folder on the side of the desk, sliding it across the top and in front of him.

Her eyes look up, a strand of hope dangled in front of her, looking back and forth from Price to Gulch.

She stared at him in a dumbfounded awe.

"And I'll watch you back." Price concluded.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

Taglist (Please let me know if you wanna be added or removed, this has the old jitters taglist on it as well): @averyyreads @jxvipike @evelyn-summers @yeessssirrrr @thychuvaluswife @tapioca-marzipan @amatchasky @wasteland-babe @chibijusstuff @mydogeatscoffeecups @idkhowbutyeah @justherebecausesafarisucks @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @potatos-on-clouds @orbitingjupiter0 @smoggyfogbottom @vonev @lilackat @devilsfoodcake22 @kat247 @devstinyy @fatherfigured @lazy-kari202 @grabmyskeletits @theunknownartistsworld

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chipotle · 1 year

Text

Twitter, failure modes, and your favorite bar

So I’ve been seeing arguments for why, no, you should really stay on Twitter, because of the problems with anything vying to replace it. Most circle around what tech people might dub failure modes in terms of both engineering and policy.

Make no mistake, many of these are solid arguments. Twitter has, as much as we like to pretend otherwise, gotten many things right. They’ve got fast onboarding. They provide a good experience on both mobile and desktop. (Please don’t @ me with your objections to ads and algorithms and whatever; I’m not saying the UX design on Twitter is perfect or free of dark patterns, I’m saying that it’s been developed by UX professionals over a 15-year period and it shows.) They understand the importance of making a service like theirs accessible. They understand the importance of well-designed terms of service that limit their legal liability without taking draconian stances toward users and their content. These are all failure modes that other, newer, smaller services have done little or nothing to address.

But for many people, the real issue isn’t what’s wrong with the other places. It’s that they love this place. Twitter, for all its faults, for all the love/hate relationship you have with it—it’s your favorite bar. This is what most indie creators are feeling, I think. None of the other services have the audience reach; it’s unrealistic to expect us to be on a half-dozen new sites when we could just stay put; and, hey, the likelihood of Twitter really exploding is pretty low. All of those are true, too.

The problem, though, is that just because Twitter’s failure mode isn’t likely to be “closing up shop” doesn’t mean it doesn’t have other failure modes. You might have noticed I didn’t mention harassment and toxic behavior as a failure mode—the things a Trust and Safety Team handles—but it is. As Nilay Patel observed, the product of a social network is content moderation.

To be clear, this is something all the Not-Twitters are going to have to come to grips with in ways they haven’t yet. Cohost, Hive, and OoobyBloobly (which I just made up, or did I, you’re not sure, are you) look good by comparison because they are a fraction of a fraction of Twitter’s scale. Your favorite Mastodon instance this week is even smaller. With Twitter’s two hundred million users, trying to regulate bad behavior is a 24/7 rearguard action.

Well, guess what? Twitter’s Trust and Safety Team is now gone. By deliberate design. It’s not coming back, at least not in any recognizable form, not any time soon.

You think I’m going to mention Musk restoring Trump’s Twitter account. I am. But the canary in the coal mine isn’t the who as much as it’s the how. Musk claimed in October that he’d set up a new “council” for moderation, and that “no major content decisions or account reinstatements will happen before the council convenes.” That was a blatant lie. He polled his followers—hardly a statistically unbiased group—about restoring Trump’s account, and has restored others just on his own. Tech journalist Casey Newton:

At the risk of stating the obvious, this sort of ad hoc approach to content moderation and community standards is completely unsustainable. It does not scale beyond a handful of the most prominent accounts on the service. And, most worryingly, it is not based on any clear principles: Musk is leading trust and safety at Twitter the same way he is leading product and hiring—by whim.

And this is Twitter’s failure mode. All those tweets you’ve seen bitching about how a big problem with Mastodon is that you might choose an “instance” that ends up being run by an anti-woke edgelord tinpot dictator? That’s Twitter now.

Oh, you say the need for advertisers will help rein in their worst impulses, because no sensible advertiser wants to have their “promoted tweets” running in line with alt-right propaganda? Good luck with that: a Twitter that’s only ten or fifteen percent of its original size requires a lot less money to run, and Musk’s been clear he aims to reduce the company’s dependency on advertising income.

And those remaining thousand employees or so aren’t going to push back the way we saw happen in some tech companies a year or two ago. The shakeout isn’t just in progress, it’s almost over. The ones left either can’t afford to leave or subscribe to Musk’s worldview. Anyone who joins Twitter under his leadership will have done so knowing what that worldview is.

The “liberal bias of big tech” has always been a phantasm. Silicon Valley has always had a strong libertarian bent to it, from the right-of-center Hoover think tank at Stanford University to the military/aerospace roots that long predate the 1990s dotcom boom. While many SV libertarians are socially liberal, not all are, and a few of the most prominent conservatives came out of the “PayPal Mafia”: Musk, the openly anti-democratic Peter Thiel, and VC David Sacks, who co-wrote a book called The Diversity Myth with Thiel a couple of decades ago. Along with professional idiot Jason Calacanis, Sacks now advises Musk on how to run Twitter, and the circumstantial evidence suggests they’ve encouraged the performative cruelty Musk’s exhibited in how he’s run things so far.

So here’s the thing. What conservative culture warriors always say they want is the absence of political bias, but time and time again what they mean is bias that explicitly favors them. Everything else, you see, has an innate liberal bias—it’s them against the world, fighting the good fight. They want fairness and balance the way Fox News does. They don’t want an unbiased social media site; what they want is a site with Gab and Parler’s slant, but Twitter’s reach. Now they have it. The product of a social network is content moderation, and Twitter’s new content moderators will be hand-picked by Musk. It’s going to be full of people who won’t object to racism, homophobia, and transphobia as much as object to fighting it, because “free speech”.

If you do believe in the Fox News kind of balance, that I’m wrong about Silicon Valley’s political biases and especially wrong about Twitter’s, this isn’t a failure mode. It’s what you want, or at least what you think you want. It’s clearly what Elon Musk thinks he wants. But for Twitter as we knew it, this is a catastrophic failure. It’s a terminal condition, an unrecoverable crash.

New Twitter will be hostile to anyone queer, or non-white, or slightly to the left of Ronald Reagan. You may be a creator who wants to stay on Twitter to reach your audience, but the audience there will inevitably tilt toward the anti-woke, All Lives Matter, gender critical, Just Asking Questions crowd. If they’re your audience, congratulations, I guess. If they’re not, you have a problem.

I get that, right now, it’s still easy to rationalize staying on Twitter. The alternatives are too confusing, or have questionable terms of service, or don’t have a registered DMCA agent, or have a crappy official app, or have a crappy web interface, or just seem like they’re run out of a college dorm room. We can go down the list and acknowledge most or all of those are great points.

But your favorite bar is under new management, and whether you want to admit it or not, you know damn well what kind of bar they’re making it into. You need to think long and hard about whether you’re okay with that.

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