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#and despite the fact that it doesn’t make any sense to the rules of time travel
moondirti · 10 months
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animalic (1)
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series masterlist
pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader rating: mature word count: 1.9k summary: he won't stop until he gets you warnings: enemies to lovers, injuries, kissing, minor ATSV spoilers, size kink (?), mentions of gore and death, not spell checked nor edited, honestly not my best work but the horny is all that matters notes: stayed up all night for this because i had to get it out of my system before finals. there'll be a few more parts, i promise i'm not this cruel haha
“I thought grace was a prerequisite for your little spider-club.” 
Your quip sounds disjointed – even to your own ears – entwined with wheezes that rattle your splintered rib cage. In all honesty, the circumstances don’t seem to be favouring you; he’s got you confined upon the wreckage of your own fight, hanging off the remnants of a crane that dangerously tips over a quarry. And though this isn’t the worst you’ve faced, Miguel’s presence always seems to make things more complicated than they need to be.
You’d had a stable hold on the beam, ready to pull yourself up and dematerialise to wherever he wasn’t. Until, of course, the asshole kicked your elbows off. Now, your fingers remain as your only attachment to the structure, shaking violently with their diminishing strength. Your torso isn’t faring any better, either – the bleeding both internal and trickling from the gashes in your hoodie. 
(You wonder if he’s toying with you, like a panther with its food. Of the rare times he’s assigned another spiderman to pursue you, they didn’t tend to drag it out for this long. 
But, you suppose, Miguel’s different.) 
He takes a small step forward, lifting his foot over your digits. He could crush them like this, turn the bone to powder and keep pressing until it macerates in the gore. You can’t put it past him, really, not if you utter one more self-sabotaging word. You’ve seen him rip through steel and silk alike, fueled on the resentment that simmers deep within his very essence. Yours is merely the same fate that’s befallen every other obstacle that’s dared to come his way. 
But the tension buzzes between you two, thickening until it’s palpable enough to taste. Miguel is quiet as ever, completely still save for the flickering light of his dimensional travel watch. You envy his position – that resolute stature, brimful of power as his shoulders square, his calf rippling with subdued strength, still stretched over your hand. You blame that, or the mask, slick with sweat and humid as it sticks to your nose. Or the glasses that slowly slip to reveal your squinting eyes. You blame anything apart from what it is; that fear that steadily begins to flood your senses, numbing it all into one, cohesive panic. 
You’ve never been good at life or death scenarios. 
“Or, maybe, the big boss thinks he can break his own rules?” 
The air snaps. With an infuriated roar, he lunges at you, razor-sharp talons swiping at your face. In your frenzied dunk to avoid them, your fingers drop. 
You plunge to the bottomless chasm below.
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Okay. Let’s try to get this right, one last time. 
Your name doesn’t matter. It hasn’t, not for a while now. 
For the past year, you’ve been on the run from the Spider Society. You don’t exactly blame them for it, either. Every world you’ve crashed has gone to shit, despite serious lack of trying. Food-barren wastelands, borderless warzones. Truthfully, after the mantle of Earth 7BB-1 convected in on itself, you were inclined to turn yourself in. 
Independant of the fact that Nueva York seems to be the only place you can’t fuck up. Regardless of the relatability you have with the residents of its lobby. You were bitten by a radioactive spider just the same, and for all the good you’ve tried to do, you’ve never been a spider-hero. If it meant that no one else got hurt, you really would have been able to cope with lifetime confinement.
(Greater good and all that.)
Would’ve. Could’ve. If it weren’t for Miguel O’Hara’s interjection, and his goddamn alternative solution, things just might have turned out that way. 
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You’re not dead. 
The realisation whips your consciousness into high alert, eyes snapping open to survey your surroundings. You process the light first, its brilliance piercing through the bromine-doused cotton that stuffs your skull. Then, it’s the pain that, up until this point, had been thrumming in the background. It crackles, marrow-deep, tearing down the tendons in your shoulders to the throbbing area around your ribs. They’re in doubtlessly worse shape than they had been at the quarry, the ache searing across to engulf your spine too. 
He had let you fall on your back, that dickhead. 
But– 
You’re not dead. 
It doesn’t take you long to figure out why that is. 
A red forcefield entraps you, droning its monotonous hum, partially obscuring everything beyond your own reflection. You can see the faint impression of a silhouette – no, multiple – stalking you on the other end, a great shadow court. They warp and grow with every passing second, gorging on your offered vulnerability, awaiting some wordless signal from the harbinger of death, to execute justice upon the one who’s been causing them so much trouble. Jess Drew. Hobie Brown. Ben Reilly. 
(They’d been more forgiving, once. Willing to negotiate peace, to treat you more than the screw up you’ve proven to be. 
His voice overrode theirs. Always.)
It’s easier to make out the devil himself – more so than the others. You’ve come to memorise the slope of those shoulders, how his fists clench at his sides as he circles you. You imagine the smug set of his jaw and those eyes, just as luminous as the cage you curl within. The puck at the base is recognisable, akin to the capture weapons he’s thrown at you previously. He’d saved your life, then.
On a technicality. You’ll bury that thought to rage over later. 
“How–”
The question hardly forms before you’re ripped in two, the atoms of all but your spirit splicing into one another in a defect of blue and orange. The glitch exacerbates the fractures that threaten to knock you out, racking through your system as it rearranges your matter into amorphous forms. It’s only when something is thrown into the enclosure do you snap back to. A bracelet clatters to the floor. 
“Didn’t know whether you’d be used to the glitching yet.” A disembodied voice remarks. It’s at a particularly whiny pitch – you assign it to Ben. 
“We… tried to get it on you, kid. But you–” A feminine inflection crops up. Jess sounds the same since the last you spoke. 
You glower at them from the corner of your eye – unsure if they can actually see you – and snap the day pass on. Your spectral abilities were handy at the best of times; to shift from the corporeal, coming into immateriality, makes the most complicated situations evadeable. You credit it for your continued survival, if nothing else. Yet to speak like you could control it, especially while unconscious, was pushing it. You clearly weren’t able to activate it when you needed it the most.
And now you’re here. 
“I’m not going to ask what you want, so let’s keep this short– y-yeah? Either you let me go, or this Earth’ll be the next to unravel.” Despite your intentions, the demand escapes you in a long-winded croak. You hear Hobie snicker, the laugh teetering the edge of approval. Anyone can tell the promise has no foundation.
“That won’t be happ–” 
“Leave us.” 
The room clips into white noise. You fail to focus on anything but that echoing order. 
His voice comes across clearer than all else, too, cadence resonating past any natural boundary, tugging your heart right where it’s tender. There’s that fear again, that singular dread, only ever triggered by his indifference. Perhaps more potent than fury, his patience gives away an all-assured determination. Deadly. 
You bite your cheek, steeling your expression into one of similar apathy. It feels like a child’s attempt at dress up, grubby hands clutched around mother’s lipstick, painting on a clown’s complexion. Crackling apprehension brushes across your most vulnerable parts; layer by layer, you’re skinned as the group files out. Bare nerves are all that’s left for your faceoff with the hulking man.
He throws another puck to the floor. His own forcefield conjoins to yours. 
His cheeks have gotten hollower, you notice, emphasising the cheekbones that are just as keen as everything else about him. He offers no smile, no grand boast of victory. Instead, he breathes – calmly, fixedly, and lets you absorb the overwhelming magnitude of his size once more. He’s aware of what it strikes in you, can see it in the way you falter upon every reintroduction. Miguel is colossal, a reality that has never been more apparent than in this cramped enclosure. 
You know that if you stop to ponder it, it’ll ruin you. 
Rearing on your heels, you bounce from your place on the ground, making a grab for his watch. He anticipates it, having caught the decision blaze in your pupils, and side steps, pivoting to gain the upper hand while your back is still turned. You rebound off the field wall, stumbling back when he yanks you by your hoodie. Your shoulder presses into his chest, and he moves to wrap himself around your form.
Your skin prickles. His body passes right through you. 
His recovery time is nearly nonexistent relative to your last fight – quick learner – but you’re still swift on your feet, bolting to his watch again. It’s a millisecond too slow, for his talons sink into your forearm when you start to pull away. 
Your pained yelp loses momentum as he slams your back against the wall, using a knee to pin your other arm in place, his free hand wrapping around your neck. 
He’s close. Too close. Your stomach flips, pushing up on your oesophagus until you choke with the bile that sears its lining. Your breaths are as deep enough as his clutch will allow, index and thumb cutting off the circulation on both sides of your neck.
Ichor blooms from the puncture points at your wrist, the warmth puddling at your palm, not yet heavy enough to drip down onto the floor. You don’t think he realises how deep his claws are, how near he is to scratching bone. You don’t think you do, either. It doesn’t hurt as much as it should, and while you’re sure you’ll regret not prioritising it sooner, you don’t think– Don’t think–
“I-I’m not goi…going home,” You gasp. 
“It’s not up to you, Wraith.” Miguel growls, chokehold loosening.
It hits you, then. Animalic. He smells addictingly animalic. Like musk, a blend of brine and hot air and hints of a patchouli aftershave that still clings to his jaw. Your eyes flutter, seeking all you can get of the latter. Unwittingly, you move in closer. 
You haven’t been this close to anyone in a long time. 
His expression oscillates between a sneer and a grimace, nose pulling up to reveal the very pointed ends of his two canines. Set side by side with plush lips, you zero in on the thought of experiencing the contrast with your own. 
He’s huge. 
Closer. 
Completely overwhelms you, in size and presence and–
Closer. 
Your ribs ache. Your back groans. You’re quickly losing feeling in your fingers, and movement – soon – if you don’t do something. 
Your breath weaves with his. He doesn’t reciprocate when your lips brush, but he doesn’t pull away, either. 
You kiss him for longer than you should. Longer than you need to. It’s firm, and not unlike what you expected. 
(World-shattering, all the same.) 
Your skin prickles. It takes all of your rationale to pull away – dematerializing out of his grasp, and into the portal you’d activated from his wrist.
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chapter 2 →
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montygatorshusband · 10 months
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Glamrocks X Reader Headcanons
This includes Bonnie and Foxy!
No one requested this I just really wanted to do this :>
Also so sorry this took a while :< I’ll be sure to do more faster 🩵
General Information
“Sleep mode” is basically like a human sleeping, and their new charging system.
They can do stuff like eat, sleep, drink, shower etc. 
🧸Glamrock Freddy🎙️
We all know he’s a big sweetheart himbo.
I feel like he doesn’t like PDA, but does enjoy being around you. He just feels it’s very unprofessional!
But if you're upset, he’ll make an exception.
Oh, but if you're alone with him and his friends? He’ll probably just give you silent affection. Just stand behind you and nuzzle you.
When he’s on full battery, he’s a busy bee and often checks up on you before going back to work. If he’s on low battery though, he generally gets kind of sluggish and gets really tired. During those times, he just wants to cuddle you and is quite needy and clingy.
Loves it when you wear any Pizza Plex merch. Whether it be of his friends or himself.
He finds stars and space in general absolutely fascinating. Despite his wishes to not break rules… he’ll put that aside to go out to see the stars with you. 
I feel like he loves retro games. Mario and Sonic and stuff. He finds newer ones a bit complicated, and his big hands make his gameplay clunky, but he’ll happily play any you sneak in.
If your having trouble sleeping or just had a bad day, he’ll sing you My Little Sunshine until you fall asleep… probably even afterwards.
He loves singing for you, and loves it even more when you sing with him. He finds your voice hypnotic and even if you think you're bad, he’s not shy to let you know how much he loves your voice.
Plant daddy. Change my mind.
Loves it when you get along with Gregory.
Giant bear boobies. Touch em.
CHUBBY. GLAMROCK. FREDDY. SUPREMACY!!
Loves baking with you. If you don’t know how, he’s happy to teach you!
One of his all time favorite activities to do with you is just cuddling and relaxing after a looong day… watching TV or YouTube or a Movie or whatever. He loves it.
Calls you honey bear. 
If he was one of the Seven Deadly Sins, he’d be Envy. (Listen, I know it doesn’t fit. Like, at all. But, the way the rest of the Deady Sins fit with the other Glamrocks is perfect.)
🐊Montgomery Gator⛳️
He’s a complete blockhead. I love him, but he’s dumb. He’s a little stupid. A bit of a fool. Has a small amount of brain cells. Smooth brain. A himbo. A dumb jock. A-
He does have anger issues and destroys his room… but I see it as him being mad at Fazbear Entertainment. Bonnie promised him that when Monty finally got his part on stage, he and Bonnie would play together. Not replacing him. And now everyone sees him as a fame obsessed maniac who wants to dismantle Freddy. Sure, he’s very popular with people, probably one of the most popular, but… does that matter when the person you care about most is gone..?
He’s still a bit sad when Bonnie comes back, since he’s not up on stage with Monty.
Ok angst and stuff aside.
I am completely aware animatronics working out makes no sense but I really don’t care. Like I said, Monty is a Dumb Jock. (Don’t worry, he won’t bully you like the others. In fact he’ll beat ‘em up >:(
Yeah once Bonnie comes back his passion for pranks gets even worse.
A big prankster. Bonnie is his main target.
Flirty. And he’s not good at it.
When he’s confused or focusing really hard on something his tongue slips out of his snout. You got a picture of it and he threw a HISSY FIT. But he reluctantly let you keep it.
Oh dear Lordy. The way he gets oh so embarrassed when he sees you wearing his glasses…
He’s dragged you into the pools of Gator Golf on countless occasions. But after your initial shock, he likes just floating around in there with you.
He’ll happily teach you to swim and play golf. I mean, he’ll always beat you in golf, but the least he can do is give you a chance.
Y'know how people say Roxy is so sure of herself as a coping mechanism? Yeah Monty is like that except he’s just that confident. He thinks he’s the best, and while he doesn’t show off to the point of Roxy, he does crave praise and often boasts about himself to you, trying to impress you. Especially flexing for you.
MONTGOMERY GATOR STOP GETTING HIGH OFF MONTY MIX!
If he was one of the Seven Deadly Sins, he’d be Wrath.
🐓Glamrock Chica🍕
CHUBBY CHICA SUPREMACY!
Yes I’m completely aware her attraction is based around Fitness. I feel like part of her job is to teach kids being a bit more chubby than others is a-ok and comforts those who don’t feel confident for that reason.
So yeah if you're chubby she definitely comforts you if you're insecure about it better than anyone else.
She actually has some anxiety. But you generally make it better!
You're gonna have lots of lipstick on your face. She gets all pouty when you wipe it off.
Listen, if a guest is giving you a hard time, she WILL enter Mother Hen mode. 
An absolute pop diva. She’s just swag like that. (Can we bring back swag? No? Oh. Ok :(
While she doesn’t have many songs where she sings, she has an absolutely beautiful voice.
I hope you can handle lots of affection, cause she’s a real affectionate chick!
Watching Soap Operas or Dramas while eating pizza and cuddling you is literally the best thing she’s ever been introduced to.
I hope you’ve got an appetite, cause she makes food that will make you want to gorge yourself! Believe it or not, she will be more than happy to share!
Eating is her coping mechanism, and when she’s very upset and doesn’t want to cook, she resorts to eating garbage. You have to be firm with her about it, but she appreciates you not letting her go to those extremes.
Your personal lil cheerleader. 
Man, she soooooo wishes she could have social media! Too bad the higher ups are such party poopers…
Such a giggly lil thing. 
If she was one of the Seven Deadly Sins, she’d be Gluttony.
🐺Roxanne Wolf🛞
She’s gotten used to praise for the smallest things, and just because she loves you doesn’t mean you're an exception!
Despite that she’s probably taller than you. (Buff Woman make my knees wobble 🫢)
Y’know those tight outfits race car drivers wear? Yeah, imagine Roxy in that.
Despite being the most popular, only behind Freddy, she has so many self esteem issues and doubts in herself. Many nights are spent consoling her as she cries and yells before wearing herself out and finally settling down and letting you hold her, brushing her hair and tail, cleaning any runny mascara and makeup.
Reluctantly lets you put ribbons on her tail. Might even keep them on.
I feel like Roxy doesn’t use that many nicknames. But, she might call you something every once and a while. 
That anxiety of hers means she’s got comfort items, fidget toys, food, drinks, music etc in her room. She’ll add any stuff that helps you, regardless if you have anxiety or not.
Y’know how she compliments herself? Oh good GRIEF I hope you can handle compliments towards you. She CONSTANTLY praises you. But… it’s more so you don’t end up like her. An anxiety-depression ridden MESS. If you're already there though, she’ll help you the best she can. Which luckily, she is the best at!
Whether you be playing racing games, or be in Roxy Raceway, she WILL go all out. Yeah, Rip you. 
Despite what you may think, she’s VERY open and VERY proud about her relationship with you. Carrying you around, your neck covered in bite marks and purple lipstick doesn’t leave much to the imagination…
She obsessively reads fan mail in the evening. Even the… ahem, weirder, mail doesn’t bother her. Well, as much as comments from people during the day do at least.
Just… don’t play Monopoly or UNO with her… or Monty. Or Chica. Yeah, just don’t play with anyone really.
If she was one of the Seven Deadly Sins, she’d be Pride.
☀️Sundrop🖍️
He’s a little hyperactive. Ok I lied he’s the most hyperactive.
So if you're quite a lazy person he’ll just be trying to encourage you to play with him and the kids. He genuinely does not realize if you're tired unless you tell him, or it’s SUPER obvious.
I feel like he strictly follows rules, yes, but he also likes pranks. Nothing that will make you upset, maybe just a lil annoyed.
Let’s you, and other kids, draw on him. Just know if you do, A. You have to clean it off and B. He’s not a still canvas. Will be moving the entire time.
Not really a romantic headcanon, but I feel like he and Chica are real good friends.
Wraps his arms around you several times over to hug you.
He hugs you. A lot.
He obviously loves cartoons.
🌑Moondrop💤
I dunno why people see him as a little feral touch starved gremlin. I see him as a constantly sleepy boi that loves cuddling. I mean, I’m sure he cuddles plenty of kids to sleep every day!
In other ways, SOFT MOONDROP SUPREMACY!!!!
Yes, I am aware of how he acts in SB, but I see that more of a side effect of the Glitchtrap Virus rather than his general personality.
He doesn’t enjoy not having a movable mouth. He wishes he could eat candy before bed…
If they were one of the Seven Deadly Sins, they’d be Sloth. (Moondrop more so, but I can see Sun being Sloth after a long day.)
Sorry Sun and Moon don’t have a lot, I don’t really know what to say about them.
🐰Glamrock Bonnie🎳
An absolute DILF of a bunny with that ever loving Aussie accent.
He generally has that energy where anyone will do anything he says. Intimidating and quite good at manipulation (ONLY for your best interests. And his.) (Inspired by : @theodorevg923, who generally also gives me inspiration for all of this, alongside many other Tumblrs :)
He couldn’t care less about not being in the band anymore. He comes out at night and hangs out with everyone. As far as he’s concerned, the stress is taken off of him and he gets more time teaching kids bowling.
Flirty. He’s really good at it.
Loves himself some P to the D to the A.
If someone tries making fun of you for him giving you those public displays of affection, he will tell them to F out of his bowling alley. In a bit of an… angrier way.
Loooves Ice Cream. His favorite way to relax is to eat Ice Cream and go bowling with you. He pretty much has a sweet tooth in general. The public will never find out though. He’s got too much of a public image.
But… kids melt that image. He’s got a real sweet spot for the little rascals.
Monty definitely had and still has a crush on him.
He calls you Clover. I know I know, how original.
If you put on a bit more of a… ahem, reavealing outfit, he will stutter and blush like a mess before going back to his usual calm and relaxed self.
And if you pet his ears? He will absolutely melt. You usually don’t see Soft Bonnie, so take your chance!
If he was one of the Seven Deadly Sins, he’d be Lust.
🦊Glamrock Foxy🏴‍☠️
He’s a small grumpy old man. Ok, I’m exaggerating but I see him as the oldest, and shortest, animatronic in the Pizza Plex (Not including general animatronics like S.T.A.F.F. Bots or the Robot Wet Floor Signs. And Chica, who between you and me, doesn’t realize she’s short.) 
But he’s real sweet when he’s not a salty sea dog. 
He’s got worse anger issues than Monty, but he doesn’t show it. You can still tell though. His nose and eye twitch. Don’t call him short either, that will get them WAY worse. 
Oh yeah, the eyepatch isn't just for display. He only has one eye.
Has a taste for alcohol, specifically rum. Obviously, he can’t get drunk, but he’ll drink with ya, if you're of age and he will cut you off at your limit. 
A Bloody Irish Pirate. I will hear nothing else.
He has to rest a lot. Don’t get me wrong, he’s fast, but after he runs or something he has to rest up a little.
Unlike Bonnie, he doesn’t know his place now he’s been shafted from the band. He doesn’t even know why he’s not in the band anymore… but considering you found him pretty much erased from history aside from the odd poster, no recollection of any animatronic even being a fox… he fears the worst.
Yeah you pretty much had to throw a FIT before Fazbear Entertainment fixed Foxy up. An even bigger fit was needed to reintroduce him to the public. An even BIGGER one for him to have his hook during work hours.
Man loves gold and money. He is a pirate.
And if you give him other gifts, he’ll cherish them just as equally. 
He’s very jealous. A lonely pirate needs to keep his greatest treasure after all~
Nicknames : Sailor, Captain (Only when you’ve earned it. And only in private.), Sea Star, Pup
If he was one of the Seven Deadly Sins, he’d be Greed.
ALRIGHT ALRIGHT TIME TO WORK ON ACTUAL REQUESTS!
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charliemwrites · 5 months
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Hello, hello! Per ceilidh's request - a Soap x Reader ficlet from the prompt thingy.
#11 "You tricked me."
I was heavily inspired by that tiktok sound (iykyk)
Rating: M CW/TW: brief/vague torture, threat of SA (doesn't happen), manipulation, dark!Soap
Being a medium in the military isn’t that much different from being a medium anywhere else.
The rules are roughly the same. Don’t talk to ghosts in living company. Don’t join idiotic 2am summoning circles. Try to help the ones you can; try not to lose sleep over the ones you can’t.
Oddly, there aren’t as many ghosts on a base as any given suburban house. Depends on the base, of course, but a reassuring number of former-military souls continue to their final rest. Even if their bodies (or parts of it) don’t make it back, tags and a symbolic burial usually suffice.
The 141’s main base only has a handful. A few you’ve already gotten closure for, sent off into the beyond. The others you’re working on, or already know they’re a lost cause. Most of them are even friendly!
There’s a corporal that haunts the mess and laments mashed potatoes. A captain appears in Price’s office occasionally, his residual energy glaring down at reports and rustling at phantom papers. On the range, you sometimes speak to the ghost of a prostitute murdered by some piece of shite back in ye olde times. She doesn’t talk back – can’t with a crushed windpipe – but she smiles when you have the privacy to acknowledge her.
Your favorite, though, is Johnny. He’s a comparatively new spirit, by your estimate. Lots of energy, still coherent. You can’t tell how he died by looking at him, but that’s not unusual. It could have been internal bleeding, or a stroke despite his youth. He won’t tell you his last name despite all your asking, always just laughs.
“Yer no’ gettin’ rid o’ me tha easily!”
He always lays the Scottish accent on in a thick velvet blanket. You want to wrap yourself up in it.
Yes, the rules for being a medium are the same, even on a military base. The main one: don’t get haunted by feelings.
That was never a concern, never even a thought, until Johnny. Until you caught his eye around Price’s shoulder during your introductory tour. He followed you for hours, interjecting little asides that put your selective hearing to the test. Always orbited just close enough to send chills down your spine and goosebumps up your arm.
You confronted him when you’d finally been dismissed back to your barrack, whirling around as he popped his mohawked head through the door. Despite yourself, you made quick friends with him.
He’s an unusual ghost. Doesn’t seem tied to a particular place or thing on base. Isn’t trapped along the same paths he walked in life. He’s always solid or near solid, doesn’t waver at certain times of day. You’re utterly charmed by his unorthodoxy, by his miraculous non-existence. And by the fact that, while he knows your secret – as all spirits do – he seems more intrigued than solicitous.
It's not that you blame other ghosts – the coherent ones – for wanting help. It’s torturous to toe that line, not alive but not at peace. Stuck and dwindling little by little. You can’t imagine what it feels like, but you can sense from some that it’s frightening, and cold. No, you’re not bothered that they ask for help. Or with the ones that are just angry; they have every reason to be.
Johnny, though… he’s special. You don’t feel so alone with him, even if the room looks like it to an outsider.
“Oh, aye, that’s pure dead brilliant. You know they’re sending you to Russia?”
You flick Johnny a glance. He’s leaning over Price’s shoulder, peering at the briefing docket that’s actively being explained. You don’t mind the extra or early info. Saved your ass a couple times before.
Your lack of response ruffles his feathers though. He stalks through the table to Gaz, flicks his pen right off the surface. You snort softly as he curses under his breath and ducks to retrieve it, trying not to interrupt Price. You make eye contact with Johnny, blink and minutely shake your head. He can see the twitching at the corners of your mouth anyway.
He smirks and wades through solid objects back to you. His presence looms behind your shoulder, an uneasy flicker at the edge of your consciousness. Like this he seems bigger, inhuman beyond ghostliness. Rougher and darker in the corner of your vision. You’ve done a double-take and gotten teased for skittishness enough times by now to quell the urge to check. It’s always just Johnny.
You’re paired with your lieutenant, Ghost. He’ll be watching with his sniper while you’re on infil. Usually, you’re paired with Gaz, but he and Roach will be at the other end of the compound taking out a target.
When the team is dismissed, Ghost only pauses long enough to give you a nod before skulking off. Not unusual for him; you take no offense. Johnny, however, is scowling something fierce after him.
For whatever reason, he’s never been a fan of your LT. The one time you asked, the lights started flickering and Johnny dismissed the question with a sharp “just don’t like him.”
You suspect that it’s because Ghost was your mentor when you joined the 141. The two of you spent the majority of your time together, training you up to run with the rest of the squad. Due to his constant proximity, your ability to respond to Johnny was greatly hindered.
Still is with how observant Ghost is. Have almost blown your cover several times and had to really watch yourself, and your reactions. You think Johnny might resent him for that.
Back in your barrack, though, Johnny happily chatters while you gear up for the mission. Base gossip and bits of intel he shouldn’t know and shouldn’t tell you. It’s standard ritual for you two; he likes to talk, and you’re accustomed to listening. You hum in the right places, storing tidbits away for your own amusement later.
A playful tug to your bitch-strap makes you yelp, then laugh when you catch Johnny’s grin. He does it again, loosening one of the buckles on your thigh. You swat him uselessly, retightening it only for him to pluck at your bootlaces while you’re occupied. He’s got so much energy, for a ghost. So adept at interacting with the physical world.
“Quit it!” you giggle, trying to dodge his darting hands.
“Why should I?” he chuckles. You curse as he gets a finger in your harness and jerks, misaligning it with the rest of your gear.
“I’ll banish you,” you lie, wriggling various straps back into place.
“Oh, sweet girl, it would take a lot more than you’ve got to get rid of me now.”
It’s an odd turn of phrase for him, but it’s the tone that draws your gaze. There’s an unfamiliar, inky darkness in his voice that pools in the pit of your stomach. You frown, open your mouth to ask what he means. But just like that, his electric smile is back, eyebrows arching as he nods to your bedside clock.
“You’re gonna be late.”
“Shit!” You snatch up your backpack and fling it across your shoulders. “I’m gonna kill you, Johnny!”
“Can’t kill something that isn’t alive,” he cackles as you sweep out the door.
You make it the transport just short of reprimand, though that doesn’t stop Ghost from narrowing his eyes as you duck into your seat. Gaz has already started a lively conversation with Roach, and Price is staying back this time.
You miss Johnny already. He may not be trapped in any particular part of the base, but he can’t come with you on missions or leave. The spaces where he’s absent feel colder and quieter. Everything seems just a bit… off. A song missing an instrument, a rainbow lacking one color.
You’re not sure when that started happening, when Johnny became such a vital part of how you perceive the rest of the world. When did longing for him become a chronic illness?
“Focus up!” Ghost barks in your ear.
You blink, shake your head, and take stock bewildered. Gone is the transport and the rest of your team. It’s just you now, hidden behind a generator, presumably about to infiltrate the target.
How?
When you try to recall, you have vague recollections of exiting the transport. Hiking to the compound. Splitting off with a few parting words amongst the lot of you. It feels watery at the edges, more of a vivid dream than a waking memory.
“Yessir.” It jumps instinctively from your tongue while you flex your cold fingers, trying to coax the nerves back to life.
You take a deep breath – lungs aching like you’ve held your breath too long – and continue with the mission. There’s no room for error now, or idle daydreams of noncorporeal men with wicked smiles.
The building is only three stories and you’re not meant to clear it. Just get to the server room, collect the information, and slip away with minimal enemy contact.
Maybe that’s why you don’t realize that something is wrong at first. You’re supposed to be avoiding guards, so you don’t notice the lack of them. Things do go right, sometimes, the intel can be good.
But it’s the quiet the finally prickles at your awareness. You may be more attuned to the dead, but you have a sense for the living as well. Always made you the worst to play hide and seek with. Now, you can feel that this building is vacant, deprived of any souls.
“LT, something is wrong,” you whisper, frozen mid-step.
“What is it?” he asks.
“It’s too quiet.”
To his credit, he doesn’t dismiss you immediately. “How?”
“I think the building is empty. Have you seen anyone?”
“Negative.” A pause as he considers, maybe scans the other windows for signs of occupation. “Sit tight, I’ll update Price.”
There’s barely a heartbeat before you hear distant gunfire. Too much and too soon for the plan. Roach and Gaz weren’t supposed to neutralize the target until you were collecting intel.
“Fuck,” Ghost snarls. “Get out of there!”
You’re already sprinting for the stairwell. Nearly pop your ankles leaping down, boot treads catching on the edge of steps. No one is chasing you, but your team needs help. Gaz is shouting in your ear, the channels reconnected for ease of communication. The situation is devolving quickly and violently.
“Almost there,” you report.
Your foot hits the last landing before the ground floor when the building explodes.
---
It takes three tries to get your vision focused. There’s not much to see once you do. A concrete room tinted by bare yellow halogen. There’s a drain in the floor just in front of you and old blood dried in the corners. It smells like rust, infection, and despair. Your head pounds; your entire body aches. Being tied to a metal chair doesn’t help the post-explosion soreness.
You’ve been stripped down to your fatigues, no boots. There isn’t a door in any of the three walls you can see, so it must be positioned behind you.
Confirmation comes about a minute later. Three sets of boots entering your little box. Only one of them walks into your line of sight; a mean-looking man with face tattoos and a gold tooth. He asks if you speak Russian, and though you do, you spew a string of English profanities and threats at him. The backhand you get in return says he understood you.
The questions start as soon as he switches to English. They want information; they always do. What you had been sent to collect and why. Who Roach and Gaz were sent for and why. You don’t speak a word. Even when the pain starts, and then doesn’t stop. You lose track of time, the head injury floating you on the edge of consciousness within the first thirty minutes.
Hours – days? – later, the man takes a step back, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
“It’s alright,” he tells you, “I like taking my time, and we have plenty. Your friends think you are dead.”
That, you think through the haze, is probably true. You thought you were dead too.
“Perhaps next time we try something… else,” he muses, running a finger down your neck. “You are not as pretty now, but… prettier than you will be later, da?”
Ice forms in the pit of your stomach and climbs up your spine. It was always on the table, you know that, but facing it is something else.
Whatever expression you’re making seems to satisfy him, because he laughs heartily and finally leaves you alone.
Alone, with the promise of his next visit looming.
You squeeze your eyes shut. There’s a dripping sound nearby that you realize, vaguely, is your own blood. Maybe you’ll bleed out before he comes back. You time your breaths with it, using it as a count to get your wild and unsteady heart under control.
Reality washes over you in waves. There is no escape. Your team thinks you’re dead. Eventually, you will break and/or die. You might even become a ghost, join the collective that darkens the edges of this very room, a thing of pain and fear and rage without any coherency or singular will.
You didn’t even give Johnny a proper goodbye.
That somehow hurts the worst. Johnny, hearing second-hand that you’ll never make it back. No one to mourn with him, to offer any comfort. He’ll be alone with grief and then beyond, no one to tell his jokes or stories to.
You miss him more fiercely than you ever have. Part of you is glad he isn’t here. You know him, know he’d be too stubborn to leave you. He’d stay and watch, helpless, as you were tortured and killed. It would tear you apart to do that to him even though it wouldn’t be your own choice.
But… an awful, selfish part of you longs for him. Even just being able to see or hear him would soften the pain and fear. Would make this hell on earth almost bearable. You want to leave this world with Johnny whispering in your ear, maybe even join him when your body finally goes cold.
Given the choice, you would want him here.
You want Johnny. No, you need him. Regret ever leaving him behind, even though he couldn’t come with you. You’d do anything to change that now; anything to be with him again.
Anything?
It’s an unbidden thought, almost intrusive. Doesn’t even feel like yourself asking.
“Anything,” you whisper aloud, just to hear something other than your own despair. “Johnny…”
“You called?”
You jolt, head snapping up so fast it makes you dizzy. The world spins but he’s there, right there, crouching in front of you, arms balanced on his knees.
“Johnny?” you whisper.
Were you closer to the brink than you thought? Is this some sort of final hallucination as you slip into death?
“In the flesh.” He tilts his head, snorts. “Well, in a manner.”
“How…?” you ask, eyes already stinging.
“Told ya, you called. I’d never – hey, now, hey. No need for all that,” he soothes. He wipes the tears from your face. You can feel the warmth in his fingers. “This is a happy occasion.”
You huff in watery amusement, shaking your head. “Did you lose your glasses when you died? I wouldn’t call this celebration-worthy.”
His eyes scan over you, flicker dark. “It will be, don’t you worry.”
You blink, try to focus. Exhaustion and injury and chemical rush are making it difficult, but you know things are off. He shouldn’t be here, least of all because you called. And… something else too. Something in the way he’s holding his shoulders and the twitching around his expression. 
“Johnny, really,” you say, “why are you here?”
“You offered me anything, and I’m here to collect.”
Between one blink and the next, his eyes are black. Pitch black, from corner to corner. You suck in a breath, try to jerk back but there’s nowhere to go.
His grin is sharp enough to cut yourself on.
“I’ve been waiting for that,” he sighs.
He leans in, lips parting. His tongue rolls out, long and split at the tip. Licks a luxurious, burning trail from your chin to your temple. You make a sound borne of confused pleasure and fear, high in the back of your throat.
He shushes you, plants a slow kiss at the corner of your mouth. “My brave little lass, finally offering herself to the demon she’s been courting.”
The word bounces against the walls of your cell and burrows into your brain. Demon, demon, demon.
Johnny is…
“You tricked me,” you sob.
He cocks his head, onyx eyes soft with avarice. “Tricked you? No, angel, I’m saving you.”
His hands pet over the cruel ties around your ankles. The itch of them digging into your skin falls away. Gentle thumbs rub circles over the imprints the left behind. Hope and relief pounds hard in your chest.
“I’m only taking what you so willingly and enthusiastically offered,” he explains in hushed awe. Like you’ve given him such a wonderful gift, the greatest gift. Suppose you have.
“I’m going to take such good care of you,” he croons. His arms wrap around you, almost like a hug. His fingertips trace down your bruised arms to the cuffs biting your wrists. Those too fall away, and you find yourself reaching for him so quickly, folding into his chest, free of that wretched chair.
“There’s my girl,” he murmurs, a hand curling into blood and sweat soaked tangles.
“It… it is you, right?” you ask. “You’re my Johnny?”
“Always, angel,” he replies, “it’s always been me. I will always be yours. All you have to do is say yes.”
You tilt your head back, catch the wicked curve of fangs as he speaks. He smells like heat and woodsmoke.
“Yes to what?” you ask.
“To everything,” he answers, deep and rough. “You offered anything, and I want all of you.”
You should say no, you should throw yourself away from him.
There is not an inch of your mind or body that wants to leave the safety of his arms. This is Johnny, your Johnny, hellfire and all.
“And… in return,” you venture, “I get… you?”
“Eternally.”
Then it really doesn’t need much more thought.
“Yes. Please.”
“Good girl.”
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keegansgf · 2 months
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“modern! mizu hcs”
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Okay finally becoming a BES writer after I convinced myself Mizu would sooooooo be a bassist. This is a combo of modern Mizu relationship hcs and band+uni hcs :3 warning, I hardly edited this because I'm tired. Also I WILL be taking Mizu requests
pairing: mizu x fem! reader
tags: domestic bliss…?, modern! au, bassist mizu, band! au, other characters mentioned 🗣️
Mizu is oddly good at home decorating? It’s not a hobby or interest of hers, in fact, she thinks her room is quite plain, but the cohesive colors and pretty decent-looking fake plants say otherwise. (She would love to buy real plants, but she frequently gets swept up with time to care for them properly.)
A lot of your apartment is decorated by her, but in the sense that you asked her if an item would work with house and she either liked or disliked it. She wouldn’t have really cared about shopping for home decor if not for you.
Mizu gets so upset when it’s hot out since she can’t go a day without wearing layers. The apartment (or her room at least) is cold 24/7 whether you like it or not
She tries to go grocery shopping with you as often as possible despite her lack of cooking abilities. Her memory is perfect, so you rarely ever need to make a grocery list! Plus, she likes doing simple things with you. Her childhood was chaotic, so the normalcy of shopping with someone she loves puts her at peace.
She survives off of snacks; it’s a terrible habit of hers, and she knows. It gets worse when either you’re not at home to cook, or she’s out somewhere else. Normally, she walks into the kitchen when she smells food or when you call for her, but she’ll completely forget to eat a real meal otherwise.
Though Mizu rarely (if not ever) has guests over, she makes sure your space and things are respected. If you’re out and your room door is open, she’ll close it. Any special glassware that you bought for personal use, like mugs? Nobody is allowed to touch them.
She’s gotten mad at Taigen for messing with your stuff before.
She isn’t much of a clean freak, but she’d prefer to have things kept orderly as often as possible. She enjoys splitting the chores with you, especially seasonal cleaning.
She’s extremely mindful of personal space. Even if she thinks you look adorable napping on the couch, the most she’ll do is kiss your face and fix your blanket. She’d love to join, really, but she’s afraid of waking you or making you uncomfortable. The last thing she wants to do is disrespect you.
She’s extremely touch-starved but doesn’t know how to make physical contact with you at first. She opened up when you first got together and started asking her for hugs, etc. Now, she loves the smallest of purposeful, or accidental touches, whether it’s brushing up against her, or her hand resting at your hip or waist while you’re out together.
Though you have separate rooms, you’ll sleep together on most nights (usually in your room– she finds your bed more comfortable, plus your room smells like you!)
The only time she heavily insists on staying in your rooms is if one of you gets sick, no exceptions. She hardly ever falls ill, but she’d rather not risk it. That doesn’t stop her from taking care of you, even if the only hot meal she can prepare is upgraded instant noodles or an easy, fool proof soup.
She has a horrible habit of making confining rules for herself, even if she’s on track with certain goals. You have to put hard work into easing her up to let her realize she has a lot more freedom than she thinks she has.
She doesn’t mind dates that you go out for, but she loves cute little dates at home. She doesn’t dislike showing you off, she just appreciates the private intimacy between you two. Even if she isn’t a great cook, she’s happy to help you measure or chop things while you talk.
Speaking of, acts of service is a huge love language of hers. If she can’t do something well, she’ll compensate for with something else that she’s better at to make your life easier.
"Band + Uni Hcs"
Mizu has a habit of not making herself visible on stage. It’s not completely intentional, but her usual spot on stage has harsher lights and this carries over to every single venue. The constant squinting was giving her headaches.
Following up with that, she’s so light-sensitive. It takes a good minute or two for her to adjust from a dark room to bright lights. At some point, she considered getting darker-tinted glasses but keeps putting it on the back burner.
She doesn’t dislike showing you off on stage, but she’d rather not be all the talk at school when it comes to your relationship. This doesn’t mean she lets your relationship go unnoticed though– she makes it very clear she’s taken and doesn’t participate in flirty behavior with any of the audience
Taigen however
The only reason she’s the band's bassist is because nobody else knows how to play. Taigen could play in theory, but he didn’t want to, plus, he thought bass was too easy.
He says that and can’t write a bassline like Mizu. He does write insane guitar solos though, and he can definitely make up something on the spot under pressure. That's actually how a couple of his solos were made.
Ringo is so good at budgeting that it’s genuinely impressive, but he’s not thrilled at how much of that budget cuts out good quality food to keep up with his uni payments. Luckily, Akemi made sure to let him know he was free to experiment with cooking at hers anytime! He's the only one with a spare key to her house. (more on that later)
Akemi knows how to play so many instruments, but none of which are typical band instruments. Her house has a pretty extensive collection of instruments, just no drums or electric string instruments aside from an electric harp. Her father didn’t really monitor her hobbies in her own house, so she played around with whatever piqued her interest first. She had been playing piano and koto since she was young, so she’s automatically the keyboardist (and vocalist,) but she pulls out an odd instrument here and there during a show for fun.
Taigen does have a podcast. The equipment was bought by Akemi with the hopes that he’d have a new hobby, but… sigh.
Ringo is an insanely good drummer, but he couldn't care less about having a music career. He agreed to join because all his friends were in a band– plus, they needed a drummer. Turns out, he’s a natural!
Mizu knows how to play drums too, and she’s great at it, but Ringo unintentionally disses her sometimes on her technique. He’s definitely said something like “Oh, wouldn’t it be easier to…?” She doesn't care much since she knows he means well. That does NOT stop her from continuing to catch accidental strays from him
Taigen and Akemi sort of live together? Akemi’s dad is a little sour about him not returning her home on time. That got his house key privileges revoked for three months. He’s welcome to stay by Akemi’s word, but she doesn’t keep a spare key for him, so he’ll have to be let in by her. Occasionally, he'll ask Ringo to let him in if he happens to be over to cook or practice at a different location, but if Akemis dad catches them, they're both getting an earful. That hasn't happened yet, luckily
Akemi has a couple of songs with a crazy keyboard solo that she has never in her life messed up. She worked through blood sweat and tears to perfect every solo she's written and has her muscle memory down.
Taigen is actually a really good guitarist, but he does make a fair amount of mistakes that he gets dogged on for– most mistakes being dropping his pick. He doesn’t really mess up chords, but a lot of their fans are waiting for that day to come (it'll never happen honestly)
Mizu could and does definitely show off on stage sometimes, but she won’t be pushed into doing a solo for the life of her.
Nobody can touch Mizus instruments except for you and Ringo (he’s a great bass and guitar tech somehow– he just has a lot of specific things he can pick up.)
Mizu, Taigen, and Akemi do separate gigs. Mizu does a little bit of everything– a lot of the bands she plays for are usually gothic rock or metal.
Ringo makes sure Mizu’s basslines can be heard with the drums while Taigen has a running joke of playing too loudly over her basslines during practice. Mizu isn't thrilled, to say the least.
Akemi gets extremely frustrated whenever she has mic problems. Honestly, she wouldn't mind a keyboard problem, but a mic problem is too much
Mizu’s bass wasn’t decorated until you came around– She wants something that reminds her of you on her instrument, so she had you make stickers of your lipstick print to slap on the body of her bass.
By no means are they a large band– they definitely are a local uni band that probably would get popular eventually, but nobody really cared enough about their popularity enough outside of their other hobbies
Speaking of, both Taigen and Mizu do Kendo
Akemi is a top-tier lyricist– she puts her interest in poetry to work ^_^
Taigen has an insanely expensive pedalboard along with a collection of pedals (From Akemis money)
Every day, Akemi considers using a keytar, but the music shops nearby don’t carry good quality keytars and she gets so upset when they aren’t comfortable enough to play.
Taigen has a set practicing schedule on his own, but he often gets held up with classwork. He also has a set sleep schedule but sometimes takes time out of rest to catch up with practice.
Eji tries to come to their shows, but he isn’t much of a fan of the noise level when it comes to live music. He doesn’t understand Mizu’s more alternative gigs, but he’s happy she’s able to get around. He used to lecture Mizu for not wearing earplugs to her shows when she first started performing.
Taigen and Akemi have their own shoegaze duet act together outside of the band– they're getting quite popular from that!
Mizu has written a few songs herself for fun after Akemi texted the group chat about a delay on lyrics due to writers block. She actually finished up recording those songs herself after you found her notes, and urged her to actually make and post those as songs.
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kingkonoha · 3 months
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Hi everyone, it’s been a rough day.
I posted about this earlier, but I’m taking yet another break from Tumblr for several reasons.
I don’t know for how long, but I’m exhausted, honestly, and I wanted to say why.
Firstly, we have the fact that despite what my rules say, someone steals/copies my content nearly every month. And, right now, there’s a video of my story being read by an AI on instagram, and people are being incredibly rude in the comments.
Then, we have people who constantly rush and rush and rush me for more content. They don’t care if I’m sick, if it’s a literal holiday, etc. they’ll continue to spam my inbox daily.
Then, we have the drama. Aside from the occasional hate anon, There’s someone who makes a post about me every few months and spreads incredibly untrue information. They will make a vague post about drama that happened a long time ago, so long ago that I can’t say if it was 2022 or early 2023. They made one post in August, then they made another one in January. But, when I hear about it or acknowledge the fact they keep posting about me and the situation, they say the same thing. “Leave me alone, I’m done with you, it’s a new year, let it go, etc.”
And now, they’ve posted a very long rant that clearly shows that despite everything they claim, this situation still has them tossing and turning at night.
I filled their comments with my side of the story, but then I deleted them because I realized that I only have one thing to apologize for: making a post detailing what happened with their @ in it, which, according to them, encouraged hate to be sent their way, and for making one very rude comment that I genuinely apologized for months ago, as I didn’t realize the context that made it offensive.
If you’re seeing this, I did not send you any of the cruel messsges you’re saying I sent you, and you know it. It doesn’t even make sense. I don’t even know what half of the stuff you described means. I only reached out because I wanted to clear that up, because I saw another one of your posts. I did not purposely tell anyone to send you anything at all. I’m not going around telling blogs to block you.
And you will never ever make me feel guilty for soft blocking you because I didn’t want to see an incredibly triggering content on my dash in the form of a r@pe fantasy, and if you got mad at me for doing that, then oh well.
That’s all I have to say about that, and I know you won’t believe me because you enjoy accusing me of things I didn’t do to work through your own humiliation and embarrassment, but let it go. I am after this post. As you said, it’s a new year. I apologized for everything I needed to apologize for: tagging you, and one comment.
Anyway, everyone, I hope getting this off of my chest will bring me some peace, and I’ll be back soon.
Thank you to everyone who flooded my inbox and comments with love. Thank you to everyone who has stood by me through every bit of drama, plagiarism, etc. Thank you to the people who just support my fics and have no idea what the hell I’m talking about.
And thank you to my lovely moots and for 11.1k followers, the discord servers that have been supporting me all week, and just every nice bby on here.
I’ll be back soon! Give me about a week, at least.
🤍 — original pinned.
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motivationisdead · 2 years
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The fact that Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were both raised in such stifling environments but in vastly different ways and how that influenced them is so interesting to me.
Wei Wuxian was raised in an environment where he was punished (verbally or physically) at will, with no rhyme or reason, and only ever him being the one singled out. In a sense there really weren’t any rules at Lotus Pier because rules would imply a structure and more than one person being held to the same standard. Which there wasn’t.
So, rather unsurprisingly, if you dish out punishment at random it eventually loses meaning and all sense of consequence. And even more unsurprisingly what Wei Wuxian learns from this is that if punishment is unavoidable either way then why not at least earn it?
And it’s pretty obvious he takes this mindset with him to the Cloud Recesses:
Wei WuXian spoke, “No matter how I answered it, he [Lan Qiren] wouldn’t like me, so I might as well just say what I wanted to say. Anyways, I didn’t try to offend him. I was just answering properly.”
- Chapter 14 of the EXR Translation
Keep in mind that it’s not that Wei Wuxian can’t recognize when there will be consequences for his actions but rather that he’s learned there will be consequences no matter what, and in that case he might as well just be himself.
Lan Wangji, meanwhile, was raised in nearly the opposite environment where there were precise rules (3,000 of them to be exact) and an exacting structure to follow. At any given time Lan Wangji knew exactly when something would get him in trouble and what the consequences would be for it.
And so Lan Wangji learns not blind obedience but rather how to identify when a rule is worth breaking and suffering consequences for. It’s not about avoiding punishment for him but rather if something is still worth doing despite the punishment.
Lan Wangji does respect the Lan Sect’s rules and makes an effort to uphold himself to them—but he also doesn’t believe they are infallible. It’s why he rescues Wei Wuxian after Nightless City and fights his sect’s seniors, but it’s also why he returns to the Lan Sect to accept his punishment. It’s why as a child he still goes to his mother’s house despite being told not to. Because for him these people are worth any punishment he could receive.
So yeah, lol, it’s no wonder Lan Wangji at fifteen is so bothered when this disciple frivolously breaks the rules at will for something like alcohol, and it’s no wonder Wei Wuxian doesn’t put much stock in the Lan Sect’s rules and punishments when before such things have held as much substance as water for him.
But I like that they’ve managed to find a balance between them after all these years. :)
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mangoisms · 8 months
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circle k (back to you)
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summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.
━ chapter three: this doesn’t feel right | read chapter two
━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader
━ word count: 6.6k
━ warnings: robbery, gun gets pulled but nothing happens, brief mention of blood, basically canon-typical violence
━ masterlist
━ a/n: decided to include the last minute scene i wrote between tim and steph, specifically the one at the very end. fair warning, we shift to steph’s pov! also my first time writing for a canon chatacter so be gentle <3
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“How’ve things been?”
“Like you don’t know.”
Red Robin, you think, sure has the gall to look as smug as he does right now.
After all, it’s not as if he had a point to prove to you. You very specifically told him he didn’t and that you didn’t care what he did regardless of whether he took your advice or not. 
Despite the look on his face, he manages to say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t,” you say, a little bit more accusingly than you mean to, following him as he ventures to the candy aisle. 
“Alright,” he concedes, not looking at you as he bends forward to peer at the display of gummy candy. “But just so you know, it ended up taking a life of its own. You’ve made a solid impression so far.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not at all. The list of places we can visit like this without having the cops called or worse is very short.”
“But that perception works.”
“Well, sometimes it’s less about fear and more about plain disapproval. Which also does its own job but… tiring, sometimes.”
That… makes sense. The Flash can walk down the street in Keystone and Central without anyone getting all up in arms about it. These guys can’t. 
“But it’s necessary, no?” Just curiosity. Not agreeing, exactly. 
Red Robin takes two packs of sour gummy worms and straightens, turning away from you to head to the refrigerators at the back. “Doesn’t change the fact that we can find it a little bit tiring. Makes you wonder if you can strike a balance, but in the end, it’s nothing more than an ideal. Fear rules best.”
“I’m sure.”
“Civilian, remember?”
“Yeah, well, this civilian gets to pass judgment since I’m a citizen of this city just like you guys are.” 
Seems like they forget that sometimes. Or Batman does. You’ve heard whispers of metas who found out they had powers and attempted to use them for good. Only to be sharply turned away by Batman. 
There is something to be said about ensuring not just anybody goes out and does what they do, lest they get themselves and others killed, but the impression you’ve gotten is that he doesn’t allow metas in the city. No matter their experience or skill level. The only exception to the rule, so far, is Signal. 
You don’t know. When you were younger, they seemed cool. As you got older, that changed. How could you trust them? How could anyone know if they were trying to do good or if they were just enacting their own convoluted brand of justice? Red Hood’s existence several years ago proved that to you and all the others. 
Even if he was trying to set himself apart from Batman or whatever, the fact remains that everyone in East End, in Park Row, in the Narrows, in the Bowery, feared that they might be next. Didn’t matter if you were innocent or not because one’s definition of innocent differed sharply from his—from theirs. And when you were desperate like most people there were, that changed everything, too. 
Sure, the GCPD is corrupt and so is the justice system and the government and practically every institution in this city, in this country, but… you just don’t know. 
So, maybe he does have a point to prove to you.
Maybe they all do. 
“Well, look,” he starts, surprising you as he turns with two bottles of Zesti in hand. “If you want us to stop coming around, we will. No harm done.”
Fine.
Fine.
Maybe you’ll regret the decision but… it does make them all the more tangible to you. 
“It’s fine. Keep coming around. Might discourage anyone from trying their luck and it keeps my shifts interesting.”
“And it’s all about you, is it?”
“If not, find another Circle K to haunt.”
He laughs. The sound is familiar but nice, in a way. Comforting almost. It’s then you shake your head and turn away sharply, trying to push the feeling away.
There’s that, too. Maybe if you can keep Red Robin coming around long enough, you’ll figure out what exactly it is about him that bothers you, that niggles at you.
It should help take your mind off things. Like your growing concern about Tim’s lack of contact with you. You and Steph have hung out twice since she came back and both times he said he was busy. It shouldn’t be something that bothers you, but the fact that your attempt a few days ago to hang out with him alone for ice cream was also shot down with that same excuse. And of course, his sparse replies to your texts.
But he did reply eventually. Just some agreement about what you said about Signal. Didn’t exactly carry the conversation much further but at least he replied, right? Same goes for the shared group chat between you, him, and Steph.
You haven’t spoken to her about it, either, but you don’t want to.
It’s—complicated.
That’s just what your life feels like these days.
Complicated.
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Red Robin keeps coming around.
The others come around, too. You don’t see much of Signal working the night shift but you do see Black Bat again. Even Spoiler, though she keeps her distance for a reason you can’t understand. Not to say she is mean or anything. She just waves at you but she never says much else. You’ll hear her and Black Bat talking quietly, though the words themselves are lost on you no matter how hard you strain your ears.
You keep worrying about Tim, of course, and hanging out with Steph, who squeezes in time to see you in between her internship with social services. 
For a while, things are calm. The vigilantes who pop up grow increasingly familiar and any wariness evaporates. 
Then you get a new face.
The guy walking around the store in the oversized grey hoodie is doing a bad job at robbing you, you think.
Well, he hasn’t actually robbed you. But his hand stays in the pocket of his hoodie, clearly grasping something as he makes a couple circuits around the store. Either scoping it out to see if there is anyone else to worry about or trying to work himself up to it. You think it’s the latter, with how nervous and sweaty he looks. 
Mostly, it’s for your own nerves to think that. 
It’s been a hot minute since the store was robbed and you were held at gunpoint (or knifepoint). You aren’t explicitly allowed to trigger the silent alarm until either of those things make an appearance, so even with the bad feeling in your gut, you can’t yet do anything. 
You are close, though. So very close. 
But you don’t have to wait any longer as he rounds the corner and pulls out the gun. 
Oh, great.
Before he can say anything, before you can say or do something, the door swings open.
When you both look, there is nothing there.
You wince at the rush of hot smelly air from the outside.
“Who—who’s there?!” he yells, then swings the gun back to you. “What did you do?!”
“I didn’t do anything—”
The arrow comes out of nowhere. 
One blink and it’s embedded in his hand, the same hand holding—previously holding—the gun. You flinch as the weapon clatters sharply to the ground, your stomach churning at the sight of the arrow embedded in his hand, blood dripping; he yells in pain, dropping to his knees. 
Then comes the owner of the arrow.
Dressed in black and dark shades of purple, the Huntress is a sight to behold. Her boots are soundless on the tiles. She looks… bored as she talks to someone. Some kind of comm, you guess. 
“Yeah, I know, I’m on my way back, I’m picking up coffee. From the—yeah. So he’s gotten to you, too? Figures. What’s the sound—? Oh, just some idiot trying to rob the store. Yeah, go ahead and call the cops.”
You stare, heart beating so quickly you feel a little dizzy, as she knocks the guy out, leaving him to slump on the ground. She kicks the gun further away from him for good measure.
Finally, she looks at you. 
The Huntress, a figure you’ve only seen in the newspaper or articles online, mostly grainy pictures, is very pretty up close. Shoulder-length dark hair, olive skin, lips painted a deep, pretty shade of purple, and sharp blue eyes, easily revealed through her mask. 
“Are you okay?” she asks, watching you carefully.
“Y-Yeah,” you stammer. “Thank you.”
A slight shrug. “All in a day’s work. Coffee?”
“Um. Over there.”
“Thanks.” 
You watch, befuddled, as the Huntress steps over the body of the now-unconscious robber and strides to the coffee machine, entirely unbothered as she grabs three cups. 
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know how you take your coffee, O. Give me some credit. Is Cat coming by? No? Alright, just you and BC, then.” 
As the machine sputters out coffee, she comes back over to you. “Do you have any drink carriers?”
“Yeah, they’re over there.”
You point them out, on the other side of the Slurpee machine, and she nods her thanks, grabbing one. 
She returns to the counter a couple minutes later. 
“So, um,” you start, clearing your throat. “Is there anything in particular I should say to the police about this?”
She tilts her head, confused for a moment, before realizing what you mean.
“Oh, don’t worry about it. You can say it was me. They’ll want to see the footage, too. Let them.” She pauses, giving you an appraising look. “Is there anyone you would like me to call?”
“Call?” you ask, confused as you ring up the coffees.
She fiddles with a pouch in her utility belt without taking her eyes off you, pulling out a ten dollar bill.
“Red Robin?”
“Red—no. No, I don’t think… I’m fine, I mean.” 
Huntress nods and lets it go, accepting her change. 
“The cops’ll be here in a few,” she says. “I’ll be around until then, so don’t worry.”
 “Thank you, again.”
She gives you the smallest of smiles. “Like I said. All in a day’s—night’s—work.”
You watch her go, one part of you not wanting her to leave, but the other assuaged by her promise to hang around and make sure nothing and nobody bothers you again.
The police arrive a little while after that. By the arrow in the man’s hand, they already know who saved you, but they still demand to see the footage.
“So, it was the Huntress?”
“Yes.”
“Has she ever come by?” 
“No.”
“Have you ever interacted with her anywhere else?”
You pause, barely stopping yourself from narrowing your eyes, because you do not like the accusatory tone this cop is giving you. What did he say his name was? Bullock or something. 
You send a silent apology to Sandra Bullock for having to share her last name with this idiot.
“Well?” he asks, burning cigarette hanging from his lips, arms crossed. The smell of tobacco is nauseating this close. What’s worse is you’re outside while the other guys handle things inside. Even at one in the morning, the heat edges on unbearable and the humidity is even worse, making your skin tacky with it. 
“No,” you say, a tiny bit exasperated. “I have never interacted with her before this. Why would I want to?”
“You were talking to her.”
“She was talking to me. Asked me if I was okay.” 
Unlike any of these assholes who blew in here, sirens wailing, and made you put your hands up as they came in, guns brandished, even though the guy was obviously down for the count. Honestly, they scare you more than the shooter. At least in that moment. These guys can be real trigger-happy.
Now, they’re just a pain in your ass.
You need a Slurpee, you think. No, deserve one. For your troubles.
“It’s cut-and-dry, Harv,” the other detective, Montoya, puts in, having stepped away. She sends you a sympathetic look that just annoys you even more. “Got some calls from a few other convenience stores for suspicious activity. They saw this guy, too, but he always left before doing anything. Guess he finally worked up the nerve to do it here but it didn’t work out well in his favor.”
Bullock grunts. “You run her ID?”
Oh, for the love of—
“She’s clear. We’re good.”
Behind you, two EMTs haul the still-unconscious robber out and into the ambulance, which promptly leaves; a cop with gloves on steps out, the gun in a baggie. 
Montoya asks you a few more questions, obviously trying to make up for Bullock’s brusque manner of speaking, but it’s a futile effort. You still cooperate, however, as politely as you can with the annoyance still burning inside you and this damnable heat. 
Eventually, they leave, called away to some other incident, cars peeling away from the curb, blue-and-red lights flashing, sirens wailing. 
You watch them go, allowing your scowl to come out full-force, your arms crossed tightly over your chest.
“Bullock’s always like that. It’s not personal.”
“Jesus,” you hiss, heart pounding as you whirl around; it takes a moment for your eyes to pick out Red Robin leaned against the brick apartment building next to the store, his figure mostly cloaked in shadows.
He steps into the light. Despite the nonchalant tone of his previous words, he looks, dare you say, worried.
“Just coming around?”
“No. I heard what happened. Wanted to come and see how you were.”
“Annoyed. And hot. And tired. Come on, let’s go inside. The AC isn’t that great but it’s better than this.”
Red Robin follows you in. You click your tongue upon finding the blood from the guy’s hand still on the tile. So, now you have to clean that, too, on top of the paperwork you have to fill out for the incident. Great.
You jump at the nudge of a knuckle between your shoulder blades. “What—”
“I can clean it up.”
“No, that’s—”
“Let me do it. I have more experience cleaning blood than you.”
“Charming,” you mutter. “But alright, fine. Thanks.”
“Cleaning supplies?”
“First aisle.”
A nod and he turns, cape fluttering behind him.
You rub your forehead, feeling a headache start to form, and continue for the Slurpee machine at the other end of the store. 
A few minutes later, Red Robin joins you, wiping his gloved hands with what looks and smells to be antiseptic pads. 
“Good as new,” he tells you, reaching for a Slurpee cup, too, as you sip at yours. “Like nothing ever happened.”
You sigh. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”
“So,” he starts, holding the cup beneath the tube for… the Zesti Cola flavor? What a complete weirdo. 
“Are you—” he stops when he looks at you. “You’re judging me.”
“Who comes in to get a Cola-flavored Slurpee? That’s weird. You might as well just get a bottle of it.”
“Woah. It’s so not the same thing. If there was a drink form of, what do you get? Blue raspberry? Yeah. If there was a drink form of that, would you do that instead? A Slurpee is about the consistency. The slushy factor.”
Okay, that’s fair, but something about everything he just said makes you laugh. Hard.
Maybe the heat is getting to you. Maybe it’s the hysteria setting in. Maybe it’s Red Robin passionately defending his choice in Slurpee flavor and saying shit like ‘The slushy factor’ with a straight face. You don’t know. 
“You’re finally losing it, aren’t you?” Despite his words, Red Robin looks almost relieved. He really was worried, you surmise, which is a… touching thought.
You quell your giggles, shaking your head; though the laughter was nice, your head is really pounding now.
“Here,” he says, digging through a pouch at his utility belt, pulling out a mini packet of… huh. Tylenol.
“Tampered?” you ask, taking it from him, anyway.
“If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it already.”
“Again. Charming.” But it still doesn’t change the thoughtfulness of the action; he doesn’t have to. If anything, this stuff is probably best kept for him. Though with their proclivity for putting their lives in danger, you don’t imagine Tylenol would be particularly helpful against gunshot wounds, but still…
“Thanks,” you say, a little quieter now, more meaning in your voice as you tear it open and shake out two pills.
Red Robin shakes his head. “It’s the least I can do.”
You can tell he means it. Which is, again, both touching and maybe a little bit confusing, too.
But trying to decipher why he does what he does is a futile effort.
This is, after all, the same guy who dresses up and goes out fighting the worst of the worst night after night.
Best not to look too closely. Who knows what you might find.
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Despite your best efforts, Steph finds out about what happened. Something about the newspaper, which is odd, because you don’t recall seeing the news there—honestly, much more crazy shit happens overnight in Gotham. Robberies are old news.
But either way, you can’t complain too much because you are appreciative of her coddling the next day, which includes, but is not limited to, ordering takeout, burrowing on your crappy couch together, and watching old 2000s movies.
The only thing missing is—
“He said he was busy but he sent me the money for takeout. To make up for it.”
You purse your lips but don’t say anything. That you don’t want his money. You just want—
Nothing.
“We don’t need him,” Steph says determinedly in the next second. Which is a departure from what she usually says—that you’ll see Tim eventually, that his work at WE will let up. You don’t have the energy to ponder why.
You sigh, sinking further into the couch. Steph is warm next to you. You can smell her shampoo. Jasmine.
“I guess not,” you concede in a mumble.
You can’t do anything but concede. After all, it’s your initial avoidance of him at the start of June that caused this, right? And he keeps dodging your calls, your requests to hang out—points in which you might’ve been able to clear the air, apologize for it, but… no.
It’s not like you could track him down. You know the apartments he lives in—down in Old Gotham, in a much more expensive building than your shitty one here in Coventry. But sometimes he spends time at the manor, too, up in Bristol and you can’t ambush him there. You couldn’t. That would be too much. Right?
Trying to find him at WE is a lost cause, too. Not just because they have three given locations throughout the city but because you wouldn’t know if he was in or not.
Or maybe you’re just looking for the easy way out.
Complicated.
Why does it have to be so complicated?
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“You look tired.”
“Thank you, Red, because that’s what every girl loves to hear.”
“Just a simple observation,” he responds, leaning against the counter, eating a kolach. Your Slurpee cups sweat in the mid-June heat, creating rings of condensation on the scuffed and scratched counter. You watch a droplet slowly roll down, joining the ring of water.
Your eyelids are heavy, dragging with each blink. A dull headache reminds you of your restless sleep and you’re sure the bags under your eyes tell it to the world, too. To Red Robin, specifically.
He finishes his kolach, crumpling the wrapper in one hand, looking steadily at you all the while.
“What?”
“Is it because of what happened last week?” he asks and his voice is frightfully gentle in a way you are not emotionally prepared to deal with.
“No,” you say quickly. “It’s not that.”
The occasional nightmare bothers you but that’s normal. You can deal with that.
“Then?”
You shake your head. God, you are exhausted. You fold your arms on the counter and bury your face there.
It’s quiet for a minute.
The refrigerators hum at the back. The AC makes an odd clanging noise before it turns on. Somewhere outside, a dog barks.
“I’m a good listener,” Red hedges after a minute. “Or so I’ve been told.”
“It’s stupid,” you say, voice muffled.
“Why?”
“Because it’s, like, stupid twenty-year-old drama and not, I dunno, the latest rumors on drug trades.”
Red laughs. It’s a pleasant sound that makes something inside you unwind.
“You should be relieved to hear I am up to date on the latest rumors on drug trades. And also, believe it or not, I do like to talk about things other than crime.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
A soft chuckle. It sounds almost affectionate.
“Come on. Whatever it is, it’s making you lose sleep. That’s not good.”
“Losing some sleep isn’t the end of the world.”
“I don’t know. Feels like it might be for you.”
You grunt, an old memory from Keystone niggling at you. You set it aside for the moment.
“It’s nothing,” you say eventually. “It’s just—nothing.”
“I don’t think it’s nothing,” he remarks. “But if you don’t want to talk about it now, that’s cool, too. If you ever do—”
“Dr. Red, to the rescue.”
He laughs. “Well, I’m not a licensed therapist and I can’t promise my advice is sound, either, so…”
“Don’t sue you?”
“Like you even could. But still, I’m here.”
You want to ask why but that might be too much for you right now.
You let yourself settle with some generic explanation, that he is obligated to ask that as a vigilante, as someone who is generally supposed to be concerned with the wellbeing of the citizens of this city. And also he is trying to prove some kind of point, so this is part of that. 
“So,” you quickly say to change the topic. “What are the latest rumors on the drug trade?”
He laughs. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
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“You look tired.”
“Thank you, Flash, that’s exactly what I’d like to hear.”
 “Just a simple observation,” he says, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.
“Well, rest assured, I have Tim and Steph on my case about it. They’ve both demanded a video call with me tomorrow despite me telling them I am alive and well. Apparently, just saying I’m alive isn’t reassuring. Can’t imagine why. That’s more than enough in Gotham…”
Mother hens, the both of them.
And Flash, too, apparently, though he does a better job of covering it up.
Off near the coffee machine, a melodic hum of Dancing in the Dark, the song currently playing lowly overhead, reaches you. You tune into it, the sound lulling you, both because it’s pleasant and because the song makes you think of Tim and his love for Bruce Springsteen (largely in honor of his late father, Jack Drake). Because of that, you totally miss Flash’s next words.
“—here? Oh, Jesus, Piper! Stop humming. You’re distracting her.”
“Oh, sorry!” comes the apologetic and still melodic voice of the Pied Piper. More normal now, though, letting you shake your head and focus again. Piper comes around the aisle, a big cup of coffee in hand; he gives you a handsome and apologetic smile that you wave off.
“It’s fine—what were you saying, Flash?”
He wiggles his fingers at you. “I’m just curious about those two, that’s all, since they seem very worried about you, oh, practically all the time. Not that it’s unwarranted, of course.”
“I’m fine, Flash.”
He gives you a look. “I don’t believe that but seems like they got it covered so, I’ll let it go. I’m still curious about them, though. What are we talking here? Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Both boyfriend and girlfriend? That’s cool, I don’t judge.”
“Are you—what? In regards to who?”
“You, obviously.”
You shake your head quickly. “No. No, absolutely not. Tim and Steph dated when they were teens, they’re exes. That’s weird.”
A bit of an uncomfortable discussion, too, if only because you are… too aware of your own attraction to Tim. A different kind of attraction. One that has you constantly admiring him. Or had you, back when you were in Gotham. With Steph, you know she is stupidly pretty but it doesn’t fluster you.
It's… nothing.
(It has to be nothing.)
“Feelings are a natural part of life, kiddo! Nothing weird about it. Have they been weird about it?”
“We’ve never even discussed the remote possibility of me dating either of them—because that would never happen in a million years.”
“Well, if they’re friends, then it shouldn’t be a problem. You don’t get many exes who can stay friends after a breakup. Right, Pipes?”
“It’s true,” he says easily, and, hold on a fucking minute, is… is the Flash implying that he and Piper dated?
“Yes, we did,” Flash answers and oh, you said that out loud, and this is… a bit of Flash lore that you aren’t sure you ever needed to know.
But still. He continues, shooting a grin at Piper. “And we’re still great friends! Me, him, and my wife!”
“Wife?” you choke out.
Great. More lore.
Piper rolls his eyes. “Flash.”
“Okay, I didn’t mean to give that away but it’s fine, we can trust her. She’s a friend.”
The words would be sweet if you still weren’t compartmentalizing the fact that he is actually married and… apparently dated the Pied Piper at one point. The Pied Piper who used to be part of the Flash’s rogue gallery, then reformed. Huh.
“You—” you point at him for good measure “—have a wife? Someone actually married you?”
Piper bursts out laughing. It’s a pleasant sound you could get lost in… No! Focus.
Flash looks affronted. “I’ll have you know I am excellent husband material!”
Piper, still chuckling, looks at you and gives a small shrug. “It is true. The superhero community isn’t very ripe with it, for reasons I’m sure you can figure out, so, Flash is a bit of a standout in that area.”
“Because the bar is low.”
“Not true,” Flash interjects. “Superman is married. You know how hard it is to compete with Superman? It’s hard. But I manage it. We’re nearly neck-and-neck in terms of husband material, I’d say.”
He ignores Piper’s snort of laughter and leans in conspiratorially. “But you know who isn’t married? Batman. He’s not husband material. He’s not even boyfriend material.”
You look at Piper, who shrugs. “Never met the guy, thankfully, but from what I’ve heard from Flash, I have to agree. The tall, dark, and broody thing can be attractive but—”
“He’s just a sourpuss,” Flash finishes. “No sense of whimsy whatsoever.”
“Oh, and you have that?”
Piper laughs as Flash sputters. “I can have fun! Why do you think I hang around you?”
You laugh. “That’s… Alright. Fine.”
Flash cocks his head suddenly, no doubt listening to the police frequency he tunes into. Piper fishes out a twenty for everything and tells you to keep the change. In the next moment, the both of them are gone, leaving you with a sharp gust of wind and arcing blue lightning that makes your skin break out in goosebumps.
Okay, then.
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Your video call is the next day—Saturday—and it goes as well as you think it will.
“You look like shit.”
Steph is more blunt about it, but the sight of Tim’s grimacing face on your laptop screen shows he very much agrees.
“Thank you, my dear friends, it is lovely to see you, too, yes, I’m doing quite well, thank you. And you?”
“Okay, fair,” Tim says, holding up a hand, “but don’t lie and saying you’re doing ‘quite well.’ Someone doing ‘quite well’ doesn’t look as exhausted as you look.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “And you wonder why you don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Or boyfriend,” Steph tacks on immediately, not one to miss an opportunity to tag him. 
He rolls his eyes. You shuffle around, freshly showered, looking around for your lotion, then remember it’s in the bathroom.
“Give me a sec,” you say to them, heading over to it.
The audio of the video call feeds out from the speakers of your laptop, so you can easily hear their next conversation.
“It’s so hard, isn’t it?” Steph asks
“What is?” comes Tim’s confused question.
“The urge to resist wiring her money. It’s written all over your face, duckie.”
“Like you don’t want to, either,” he shoots back.
A pause.
“Maybe we can—"
“I can hear you!” you call as you go back to your desk, bottle of lotion in hand. They look a tad sheepish as you settle in your chair. “And look, fine, I won’t say to a couple bucks—"
“Define a couple bucks,” Tim says.
“Max twenty—for dinner—” as soon as you say that, they’re both scrambling for their phones. You grimace. “Guys, come on, it’s not that bad.”
Tim gives you a concerned look. “Even your bags have bags.”
You blink. “Did you just… quote Spongebob?”
Steph grins in the other frame. “He’s finally cultured.”
Then they both return their focus to their phones.
A second later, yours chimes with notifications from Cashapp, twenty dollars from each of them.
“Guys… everything is fine.”
“No, it’s not,” Steph says stubbornly. “But that’s fine. You know you can rely on us, right? We’re friends. That’s what friends do. I know Timothy over here doesn’t always set the greatest examples for it—”
“Thanks, Steph.”
“You’re welcome,” she replies without missing a beat. “Anyway, let us help.”
“You’re already helping,” you soothe. “So, it’s okay. This semester is going to be tough but it’ll be worth it. And after this, it’ll be easier, okay? You guys are here now—”
“Not in a way that really matters,” Tim mutters.
“Which is not an invitation to come over here,” you warn—him, mostly. Steph would go along with it but he’d be the instigator.
They both pout.
You smile. Sometimes, it’s hard to handle the fact that you have friends like this. Friends who care so deeply, who love you so much, it feels hard to breathe. Because you know you love them just as much.
“I love you guys,” you say next, because you have to say it, they have to know; it’s hard for you, sometimes, just because it scares you, but after everything, you know how important it is for the people you love to know you love them.
They soften, echoing the words, and that’s enough for you.
Of course it is.
You don’t have much. No parents, no other family.
But you have them.
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“What do you think you’re doing?”
A slow blink. “Updating Redbird’s security protocols?”
The garage of Tim’s townhouse smells sharply of oil and rubber. But he isn’t elbow-deep in the engine today, just seated off to the side, laptop perched on his lap and hooked up to its system. ‘Updating’ it. God knows why. The Redbird’s security protocols are just as stringent as the Batmobile’s.
Jason once regaled them with his plan, way back when, to blow it up. Bruce included. And how he went about it.
“It’s got safeguards like crazy, right? Even when it’s idle or shut down. Come up to it, fire a gun, launch a missile—doesn’t matter. Not gonna touch it before the security protocols kick in. It can sense you on thermal, air currents, video recognition, all of it.”
“So, how’d you get past it?”
“SEAL-grade wetsuit. Invisible to thermal with reflection fibers that play hell with video. But the biggest thing? Going slow. And I mean slow. Like five seconds per inch slow.”
The insane attention to detail and paranoia runs in the family, obviously.
Tim had sat in for that. Stephanie remembers the look on his face. Begrudging respect, combined with a familiar twitchiness that told her he was absolutely dying to run out and start updating his stuff.
Question everything. That’s what Bruce says.
Tim tries to separate himself from it. He really does. It gets tiring, exhausting, to live like that. But old habits die hard and his big brain precedes him sometimes. Wondering at the possibilities, at the million-in-one scenarios.
Ordinarily, Stephanie has more sympathy for him. Really. But right now, after your phone call about his little visit to Circle K…
She’s pissed.
“Don’t play dumb,” she says, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.
“What is it that I’m playing dumb about?” he asks, averting his attention back to his laptop, keys clacking quickly, pausing momentarily as he takes a swig of Red Bull.
She tells him.
At the sound of your name, he stops.
But now that she’s started, she can’t stop. “Visiting her? As Red Robin? What are you thinking, Tim?”
The clack of keys resumes. The set of his gaze on the laptop screen is very intentional now. Avoiding her.
“It’s nothing, Steph,” he says and she almost believes it. But she knows him, so she doesn’t. “It’s harmless.”
“So, why won’t you hang out with us? Her? Because I assume you’re also avoiding her individually.”
A little sigh. Impatient. “I’m not avoiding her. I really was busy. Have been busy. You know how the heat messes with the city.”
It’s the excuse that bothers Stephanie.
Tim is making some kind of choice here. Choosing to favor Red Robin over himself, over Tim Drake, and it makes no sense. Red Robin isn’t your best friend. He isn’t even your favorite vigilante. (Black Canary is. She agrees, though it would be nice for Spoiler to get some spotlight but that is neither here nor there.)
You know who is your best friend? (One of them, anyway.)
Tim freakin’ Drake.
Stephanie knows why he’s avoiding you all of a sudden. The connection will be too easy to make. It’s why she—as Spoiler—keeps her distance. Tucks away her hair, hides her face even more, when she and Cass visit Circle K.
Even though! They had talked about telling you. Stephanie wanted to tell you so badly. You know who her father is. Was. You know how her mom used to be like. You know everything and you never once judged. You were, to be sure, a bit wary of them—the vigilantes—but most were. You wouldn’t turn them away if you knew.
If there is anything Stephanie knows, it is that.
But then she went away to Metropolis for a week and a half and suddenly, he’s visiting you as Red Robin. And he’s not trying to ease you into it, not trying to help you latch onto some clues, to make it easier—because they’d discussed that, too!—he’s doing it because… Well, she doesn’t really know. But there is a reason. She knows that much. A big reason.
It makes no sense to her, considering his feelings. Complicates things unnecessarily. Especially with how he’s avoiding you because of it, because he apparently got cold feet on telling you the truth.
And it’s the excuse… it’s the excuse that pisses her off.
Their relationship, back when they were kids, had some questionable origins. It did. Stephanie did things she wasn’t proud of. He did things he wasn’t proud of. It was messy. She tries not to kick herself about it—about being a silly girl in love, awed at the attention of a boy like Robin, knowing he was dating a girl (Ariana Dzerchenko, her name was, she would later find) and making moves on him despite that, moves that he always, always went along with. Like two magnets that couldn’t help but fall together.
Don’t get her wrong! The blame is not solely on her. It’s on him, too. She shouldn’t have pushed. He shouldn’t have went along with it, knowing he had a girlfriend, too. He shouldn’t have held his knowledge of her identity over her head the way he did. He isn’t mean-spirited at heart but he had an advantage over her. He knew she was Stephanie Brown. She knew him only as Robin and nothing else. Not until later on that would change and that… that was another mess entirely.
But they were dumb and young. Stephanie tries not to hold it against herself. They know better now. She knows better now. Knows what she deserves.
But this feels too close to him crossing that line.
No, he has crossed that line.
Given one persona up for another.
Approaching you as Red Robin, while you know nothing of him, and doing god knows what…
Someone is going to get hurt.
Last time, it was him. The circumstances, Bruce’s unceremonious reveal of his identity to her—a mistake, an egregious overstep—it all culminated in Tim feeling betrayed. Betrayed that Bruce would reveal that to her without Tim’s say so, without even asking him if he was okay with her knowing. Betrayed that Stephanie went along with it.
This time?
Stephanie feels it in her bones.
The person who is going to get hurt is you.
You, clueless about these lives they lead, clueless as Tim monopolizes your time as Red Robin, all the while you have no idea it’s him. You, her best friend. Stephanie loves you to the end of the universe.
She doesn’t want to see you hurt.
The mere thought of it, of the potential fallout, leaves a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
“Steph. Steph, it’s fine.”
She blinks, coming back to herself. Tim is standing in front of her now, dark brows knitted together, blue eyes intent on her face. Concerned.
“You’re lying to her.”
“We’ve been lying to her.”
“Not like this,” she says quietly. “Not this way. You’re… This is too much, Tim. I don’t understand why you’re doing this. What happened?”
“Nothing,” he says. For what it’s worth, to anyone else, it sounds believable. But like she said. Stephanie knows him. For better or for worse.
And on that end, she also knows he is not going to budge. No matter how much Stephanie wants to drill this into him, grab him by the shoulders and make her point. Once he’s made a decision, he commits.
Or more like he’s dug himself into this grave and he doesn’t (can’t?) want to get out.
“This is a mistake,” she says. “And you know it. I just hope you actually try to fix it sooner rather than later. Because if you break her heart, I’m going to break something of yours.”
Stephanie loves Tim. He’s a great friend. They’ve had their ups and downs—even discounting their relationship—but they’re solid. They are.
But she loves you, too. So much so it sometimes feels like she’s going to burst with it. She’s never had something like that, like this, and in the end, she doesn’t want to choose, but Tim knows better. And because he knows better, you are her first priority.
Even worse, he doesn’t seem bothered by the threat. Relieved, if anything.
“I’m counting on it, Steph.”
Which is so unfair in so many ways (fix it, she wants to yell, don’t rely on me to come clean up when shit hits the fan—do it yourself!) but she’s had enough of this conversation and all the ways this can go wrong.
Maybe he will turn around. Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
But she doesn’t think so. He won’t. Not until the consequences of this, of his lies, of his excuses, come hit him in the face.
She wishes it weren’t like that—knowing what it will result in.
But some things you just can’t change.
She knows better with Tim.
She really, really does.
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reblogs are appreciated!
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taglist: @peachesona @knoxx-seresinbradshaw @kikis-writing-service @sweetistic @soundsfunbutno @ginevraxrogers @fridaenpina
[ask to be tagged! either in my inbox or here! ^_^]
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heliads · 1 year
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Hey hun, just wondering if I could get a Theo Raeken x Hale!reader basically he's an overprotective brother ❤️❤️❤️
derek would be an overprotective brother let's be real (i'm assuming that's what you meant? tbh i was a little confused about who was the brother but this is the result)
masterlist
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Sneaking out of one’s house in the dead of night is already a difficult task. Factor in the fact that the adults in the building all have supernatural hearing, and getting caught seems impossible to avoid. The only factor in your favor is the fact that you absolutely refuse to give up. Derek Hale can do whatever he wants to try and rein you in, but there’s nothing he can do to stop you. Nothing at all.
Honestly, he should have seen this coming. It’s not like any of the Hales are known for their natural rule-abiding tendencies. When Derek was your age, he was crushing on girls and giving them the bite. He should just be happy that you’re not trying to turn anyone and let you do what you please.
That’s what you argue, at least. Derek sees things very differently. You know he’s just terrified to lose another family member after the fire burned your home to the ground, but times are changing. You know how to defend yourself, and you certainly won’t be going down without a fight, if you’ll ever go down at all.
Besides, you’re not looking to get into fights. Not tonight. In fact, you’re doing the exact opposite. You’re slipping out of your room not to seek out danger, nor track down hunters in the hopes of starting a fight. No, you’re practicing all this secrecy because you want to see your boyfriend, a certain Theo Raeken.
You didn’t count on Theo stealing your heart when he first arrived at Beacon Hills. True, his first few months were a little rocky, something about him trying to betray the McCall pack in the name of the Dread Doctors, but he’s come around since then. You didn’t even start thinking about him romantically until a few months after that, once you were sure that he wouldn’t try something bad like that again.
If you ask Theo, though, he’ll tell a story that’s a little different from yours. He once confessed that he started liking you from his very first day, which made it easier to switch sides once he was let out of Hell. Sometimes you wonder if he saw visions of you when he was trapped down there. You don’t think he’ll tell you for quite some time, though. Theo doesn’t like thinking about his time in Hell at all.
Neither do you. That’s why the two of you prefer to let the past stay in the past, and focus only on the future and what it holds. Theo isn’t an enemy to you, not anymore. Not to any of your friends.
That’s not what Derek seems to believe, however. No, Derek is convinced that Theo is nothing but bad news, fit only for betrayal and heartbreak. Every time he happens to see you and Theo together, you can hear his blood pressure skyrocketing and you know you’re in for a lecture once you get home. Despite the fact that Derek made plenty of worse choices in his life, such as dating a darach, you being with Theo is the worst thing your older brother has ever seen.
It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to you, but you’re not too hung up on it to let Derek’s lack of approval stop you. You don’t need your brother, you just need Theo. So, you take care to be extra quiet when you’re lifting the sash of the window and climbing down the fire escape into the cold night. Theo’s truck is idling two blocks over, just in case. He gets out to greet you like he always does.
Despite the fact that sneaking out of the Hale residence gets harder by the hour, and Derek’s wrath is strengthening by the day, it’s all worth it. All of it. The moment Theo’s arms are around you, you think you could take on the world. Maybe you’ll have to, it doesn’t really matter. You’ve got your boyfriend, he’s got you, and you’ve never been better.
Theo presses a kiss to your cheek before opening the passenger side door of his truck. “What do you say we get out of here?”
You laugh. “Sounds great to me.”
Theo smiles too, climbing back into the driver’s side and taking off into the night. You watch the streetlights speed past you, smears of off-white and buzzing gold against the dark air. Theo navigates his way out of the endless maze of suburbs and cul-de-sacs before you’re out in uncharted territory.
You and Theo have christened a spot on the outside of Beacon Hills as yours and yours alone. The Beacon Hills Preserve is in sight, but not all that close. Too many bad supernatural encounters in those woods have somewhat lessened your favor of them. Instead, Theo parks his car on the edge of a field, letting the tall grass and wildflowers brush against his cars. The sky is wide, open as far as the eye can see. It is absolutely perfect.
Theo grabs a blanket from the backseat and spreads it across the bed of his truck. He climbs in first, then holds out a hand to help you in. You lie down on your back so you can watch the stars, leaning against Theo. His hand traces gentle patterns on your arm, soft and soothing. The night is cool, making you curl closer against him. Overhead, the constellations wink and blink, promising stories that only you could ever dare to read.
You blink once and dawn is upon you. The sun is already climbing well into the sky, coloring clouds into rose and flaxen yellow. At first, you’re content to just lie there and marvel at how easy it was to fall asleep until it occurs to you that you weren’t supposed to do that at all.
One glance at the screen of your phone has you swearing under your breath. Theo is asleep by your side, and you frantically shake him awake. He’s slow to come to consciousness at first, but he’s active in seconds when you tell him what time it is. Both of you overslept by a lot, and you overshot the time you were supposed to make it back to your house by a couple of hours. Derek shouldn’t be up, not yet, but you wouldn’t put it past him to check your room. You’ve been known to sneak out in the past, and after the lecture you got last time, you really, really don’t want to be caught again.
Theo’s rushing the whole way back, relying on his supernatural senses to stay out of an accident. That, and the fact that no one is on the road at this hour of the morning. You imagine what a picture the two of you must make– most people just starting to wake up, the earliest risers starting their cars in their garages, while you and Theo are booking it down the road out of fear that your brother would figure out what you’ve done.
Theo brings his truck to a stop close to your house. He peppers apologies in between kisses, then urges you to hurry before it’s too late. You wave goodbye, then take the steps of the fire escape two at a time in your haste to get back inside. You raise your window and climb inside. You hear no sound anywhere else in the apartment, and you have just enough time to thank your lucky stars that you managed to get away with this when the lights flick on, revealing Derek waiting in the shadows.
It takes everything in you to bite back a startled scream. “Jeez, Derek, try not to give me a heart attack, will you?” You clutch a hand to your chest, trying to stop the accursed organ from jumping out of your chest.
Derek doesn’t look remotely sympathetic to your situation. “Why, so you can see that Raeken boy again? I know where you were.”
You wince. “You do.”
“I do,” Derek confirms, “and you’re lucky today’s a school day, or I’d be yelling at you here and now. As it is, you have to get ready or you’re going to miss the bus. Do that and I’ll be even more mad than I am now.”
“I didn’t know it was possible for you to be more mad,” you joke weakly.
“It’s not,” Derek says with a glare, and storms out into the hall.
You collapse to your bed, one hand rising to your head. You really hadn’t wanted Derek to find out, but of course he’d known all along. Derek’s a survivor, he has been all this time. That means he has the instincts of someone searching for all the clues you’re trying to keep hidden. You have the school day as a buffer, but after that, you’re totally done for.
Sure enough, Derek is waiting for you, arms folded across his chest, the moment you close the door behind you in the afternoon. Not only that, but Peter Hale is lounging on the couch, languidly flipping through the day’s newspaper.
You arch a brow at your uncle. “You brought Peter into this?”
Derek groans. “He’s a figure of authority. I thought you’d respect him if you can’t respect me.”
You grin. “Are you sure that was a good idea?”
Across the room, Peter chuckles. “Of course it was. There’s nothing Derek likes more than someone who gives him even more gray hairs than you.”
You and Derek turn to shout at the same time. “Shut up!”
Peter holds up his hands in mock surrender, still laughing under his breath.
Derek looks back at you, brow furrowed. “We’re not talking about Peter, we’re talking about you. You snuck out of this apartment for the fifth time this month. I’ve told you to stay away from Theo, but you were with him. Want to explain yourself?”
“We’re dating,” you say as casually as you can.
Derek pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why? The guy tried to kill Scott and he’s probably angling to kill you. I’m not telling you all this just because I like hearing the sound of my own voice, you know. I’m trying to keep you alive.”
You scoff. “Yeah, because you’ve got a great history with your girlfriends. Weren’t you dating Kate Argent? You know, the one who burned our house down?”
Peter takes this as his sign to add his two cents. “She’s not wrong, you know.”
Derek repeats his sentiment for Peter to shut up at the same time as you encourage your uncle to keep talking. This earns you a swat to the shoulder, and your older brother picks up his lecture again.
“I’m not the one who’s being reprimanded, Y/N, that would be you. I’m serious, you have to stay away from Theo. He’s no good for you.”
“How would you know?” You counter, “all you ever do is try to be as overprotective as you can. I mean, have you ever considered the possibility that I know what I’m doing?”
Derek exhales slowly. “I know you’re capable, but you never know. I’m just trying to keep you safe, is that really so bad?”
You give him a steady look. “When you’re being this overinvolved in my life, yes it is.”
Derek opens his mouth to argue with that, but he’s interrupted by a knock at the door. He tilts his head to the side for a second, listening for heartbeats, then mutters something under his breath about Scott McCall always needing something at the worst possible time.
You interpret that as your chance to escape, so you do so with great excitement. Derek shouts that this isn’t over as you go, but you’re fairly sure it is. 
As you hurry past, Peter calls after you. “The back door is still unlocked, by the way. Derek will be busy for the next half hour or so.”
You grin. “Have I ever mentioned that you’re my favorite Hale?”
“Be sure to bring that up the next time I kill someone,” Peter grumbles, “I could use someone on my side for once.”
It’s hard to control your laugh as you head towards the back exit of the apartment. You text Theo on your way out, and soon enough you’re in his truck once again, speeding away from Derek and his suffocating tendencies as quickly as you can.
Theo shoots you a nervous look as he eases to a stop at a red light. “You’re sure everything is alright? I mean, Derek’s wrath is legendary.”
You shake your head. “We’ll be fine. Derek will stomp around for another day or so, but he doesn’t have it in him to hold grudges for long.”
Theo smiles. “As long as you’re sure about it. I don’t want to get in between you and your brother.”
“You won’t,” you assure him, “we’ve had bigger fights over much less, trust me.”
Theo assures you that he does, and you let the road disappear behind you along with your troubles. As you drive, though, your uneasiness doesn’t dissipate as quickly as usual. 
A few minutes later, you think something is wrong. Glancing back, you whisper something to Theo. “Is it just me, or has that car been following us for a while?”
Theo checks his rearview mirror, then curses. “No, you’re right. That’s a hunter, I recognize the license plate. Hold tight, I’ll try to lose him.”
Theo takes a few sporadic turns, but even his best attempts can’t shake the guy. What’s more, cars appear out of the surrounding streets, slowly but surely forcing Theo to head towards the Preserve and out of sight of any passersby. The hunters stop near the mouth of the woods, and Theo has to park as well lest he risk getting in a crash.
The two of you watch the hunters emerge from their cars, weapons in hand. “Stay in the truck,” Theo tells you, “I’ll take care of this.”
“Not a chance,” you argue, “there are too many of them, we’re doing this together.”
Theo looks like he wants to argue, but you’re already reaching for the door and stepping outside. The hunters issue out the usual threats about wanting to run all supernaturals out of town and whatnot. Thankfully, they aren’t a patient bunch, and so you’re able to skip to the fight before too long.
This isn’t your first bad encounter with the hunters of Beacon Hills, nor will it be the last. You extend your claws, letting your eyes glow. Supernatural strength courses over you and you charge. Despite the fact that the two of you are crazily outnumbered, you and Theo have one thing that the hunters don’t:  an absolute unwillingness to lose.
That’s what you think about when enemy blood is shed, when you snap knives and break guns and refuse to let your fear get the best of you. That’s what you think about when the number of hunters starts to dwindle, when they choose to run into the woods or drive away rather than join their friends in agony on the ground.
That’s why you win, you think. At last, you straighten up and look at Theo. Both of you are alive, and the remaining hunters are fleeing as quickly as they can. You start to smile, but before you can say too much, another voice encapsulates your thoughts.
“That way went better than I expected.”
You whip around to see Derek emerging from his car a few paces away, blinking in surprise. He gestures between the hunters on the ground and you and Theo. “You know, I came all this way to save your asses, but it looks like you’ve already done that.”
“Maybe it’s because I can trust Theo to keep me alive.” You say pointedly.
Derek stares at you a second longer, then sighs and gives in. “Fine, fine. The two of you can keep on seeing each other. Just don’t make that sneaking out stuff a habit.”
You wait until Derek gets back in his car and drives away before daring to look at Theo. Silently, he raises his arms in victory, making you laugh. Maybe Derek isn’t completely beyond reasoning. And maybe, just maybe, you can have both your boyfriend and your brother on your side. Impossibilities were made to be disproven.
teen wolf tag list: @thatfangirl42, @rogueanschel, @lovesanimals0000, @rafecameronswhore, @bellabadacadabra, @23victoria,
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lasquadrayandere · 7 months
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Oddly Compliant Darling Pt.2
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Includes: Ghiaccio, Illuso, Melone, & Formaggio
C|TW: general yandere behavior, nothing crazy.
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GHIACCIO
He’s on edge at first. Preparing himself for how you’d lash out or try and stop him from abducting you. But you remained quiet and went along with it even as he tied you up and drove off with you in his trunk. Ghiaccio convinced himself that you were in shock and were too scared to do anything. Either way he’s glad he didn’t have to use his stand on you.
It’s hard to explain it after you’ve been sharing a house for almost two months. Ghiaccio has yet to come off as dangerous, other than tieing you up and putting you in his trunk. There hasn’t been an instance where he broke your nose for telling him no or threatened to crush your neck for annoying him. He’s not even on guard when you’re around. You’ve still haven’t tried to stab him and run. Only keeping your distance, trying not to get in his way as you use his amenities.
Ghiaccio is grateful for the lack of retaliation and doesn’t want to ruin a good thing. Instead of being weird about it he tries to find ways to subtly thank you for it. Picking up your favorite food or bringing you a gift related to the things you used to have back home. Seeing you be your natural self around him despite his tendencies gives him hope for your future. Had he known you’d be reasonable about it he would’ve taken you earlier.
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ILLUSO
You weren’t supposed to freak out in the first place. He’d naturally assumed you’d accept your fate and go along with it all, although you never met him. Sure there’d be some hiccups here and there but you’d be smart enough to let him have his way. Yet there was a sense of uneasiness in the air whenever Illuso watched you for too long.
The way you’d sit in front of the tv and fold your clothes to pass the time bothered him. When he’d come home and see you throwing a meal together, for the sake of not going to sleep hungry, he was uncomfortable. There was a time when you asked Illuso if he could pick up some produce on the way home so you could have a fresh salad and he felt strange.
Instead of seeing your compliance as a blessing Illuso becomes paranoid. He genuinely believes he made a mistake trapping you in his home and wishes he waited some more. Maybe he forgot to check all the bases. Is it possible you have something planned? Is there someone on their way to fight him because you sent out a message? He was positive you didn't have a stand but was it possible you were honing your skills, waiting for the right moment to strike him?
As unfair as it may be, Illuso gets more restrictive. Suddenly having a set of rules for you to learn and treating you like a prisoner. He doesn’t want you to hate him but he also doesn’t want to be blindsided by a possible attack or escape attempt. So until his paranoia goes away llluso is going to make your life a bit harder.
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MELONE
Your compliance is seen as acceptance. Melone doesn’t question why you’re seemingly okay with it or why you didn’t kick his ass for abducting you. He doesn’t believe you are plotting against him or playing the long game. All Melone knows is that you accept him as your lover and are willing to let him have you so long as he provides. So why would he ruin a good thing? Any doubt he had is gone and all Melone can think about is keeping you happy.
There’s no way to ruin his mood now that the love of his life is waiting for him at home, willingly. He wants to spoil you, hold you for hours at a time, share your deepest darkest secrets, anything that’ll bring you guys closer. He may overwhelm you at first with his eagerness to spend time together. Every time you turn around he's there, wanting to be up under you.
After having a losing streak and being kicked down at every attempt at love it’s so refreshing being able to have someone like you. It’s almost like he can’t lose, you’re so accepting of him and his off putting habits. The fact that you still haven’t hit him or called him “sick”, “gross”, or “scum bag” is proof enough that you were meant to be together. As the first few days pass he tries to resist the urge to smother you with affection. Surely you’d want some breathing room and time to adjust to your new life. Hell you may even like him more if he shows a little self control.
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FORMAGGIO
He can’t stop smothering his angel, his baby, his buttercup in kisses when he realizes you aren’t causing problems. He’s so damn proud of you it’s ridiculous. He almost wants to bake you a cake and celebrate your good behavior. Almost. The only reason he won’t do that is because you may feel entitled to rewards for doing what you’re supposed to. But, Formaggio is proud of you nonetheless so he’ll hold your face and give you sweet kisses. That way you know he appreciates it.
You clearly don’t have a problem going along with his shenanigans so he immediately treats you like his house spouse. Asking you to do domestic things for him and trusting you completely. “Babe I’m heading out, can you put those clothes in the dryer for me?”, “Make something with the beef in the freezer if you can, try not to burn down the house”, or he’d ask you to record a show for him so he doesn’t miss it. When Formaggio comes home to see you actually did the task for him, he’ll laugh about how weird you are. Because why the hell are you doing this for a stranger, you didn’t even ruin his clothes or add bleach to the meal.
Sure as sadistic as Formaggio may be he never intended to torture you or make your life a living hell. That’s why he’ll be more like the boyfriend you can’t get rid of rather than the serial killer who wanted a toy. Your compliance set the tone for how he’d treat you during your stay. So you dodged a bullet playing it safe and not pissing off your captor. That doesn’t take away Formaggio’s touchiness though. He’ll still kiss and touch you regardless of how uncomfortable you seem because he’s him.
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@jenorca
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Text
On Greta Gill and Surviving Tragedy
Listen, I have a lot of thoughts about Greta Gill and her life before and after the Peaches. 
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So much of who Greta is has been carefully crafted to hide the truth of her. It isn’t just about The Rules or keeping herself safe in a life where she feels constantly on the run, we see Jo and Jess and Lupe, even Carson, be far more open and free with their teammates than Greta ever seems to be outside of private or queer spaces.
Despite being a supportive teammate and friend (we see her and Jess hanging out together often), Greta spends a great deal of time ensuring that no one knows anything real about her, extending The Rules to cover every aspect of her life, not just the parts she needs to hide.
The irony is that Greta seems to value honesty a great deal. We see it a few times throughout the season, first when she tells Carson about reading her letter to Charlie and again when she needles Carson into admitting she has feelings for her. She’s honest about having slept with multiple women in the past when Carson asks, and she doesn’t shy away from the fact that their relationship is likely temporary. Over and over again, she pushes for honesty.
It isn’t just in her romantic relationships though. She tells Lupe that people will back Carson instead of her, calls out Dove for being an asshole, and tells Carson to show the fuck up and be there for the team before the championship. Greta is the one who eventually tells the team that they were at risk of being broken up in favor of better teams (though she does trust Shaw’s judgment and waits to tell them). She’s honest with them, with her friends, but she’s not open, and she’s not honest with herself. Because if Greta was honest with herself, she'd have to stop running, and she can’t.
So she puts on a disarming smile and a friendly face and she hides. She doesn’t make promises she can’t keep, and she supports her friends without giving anything away. All while ensuring her carefully crafted life can be easily dropped in a hurry, the only trace of her left behind is her name.
Because Greta Gill is terrified, all the time.
We see again and again in the early parts of the season that the only person Greta is truly open with is Jo, and even then, they only speak candidly when they’re in private. It makes sense, given what little we know about her past. 
We know that both Greta and Jo are from Queens, New York, where they met playing baseball as children. It’s not clear when Jo is kicked out by her grandmother, but it probably happened at some point before Dana. 
Why bring up Jo’s history with her grandmother in a post about Greta and her mysterious past? Because it’s the first concrete info we get from Greta about her own childhood, and it’s still ambiguous as all hell. Greta herself sets up the story to very carefully leave out any specific details about her life or even her particular role in this story. We can assume that Jo moved in with her and her mother, but we don’t know. As per usual, she’s hiding behind the facade of being open while admitting nothing.
The only other info we get about Greta’s childhood (outside of Dana) is from Jo. When the girls are receiving their paychecks in 1x03, Jo says “We should send these to your mom as an F.U. It’s more money than she’s ever seen!”
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Time for some context! Queens in the early 1900’s was a rapidly urbanizing sprawl of rural towns and larger cities. The completion of the Queensborough bridge in 1909 and the integration of the Subway system shortly after meant that people could travel easily between boroughs, and industry was expanding at an unprecedented rate. This meant far more women in the workforce than before, mainly in factory, sales (think department store girls), cleaning, and cooking jobs.
Because only her mother (instead of her parents) and Jo’s grandmother are mentioned, it’s safe to say that Greta’s father and Jo’s parents weren’t in the picture. Whether they were victims of epidemic, war, or simply left, we don’t know. But it means that they were likely often left alone to do as they pleased, since their respective guardians would’ve had to work long hours to make ends meet.
So, Greta very likely grew up relatively poor, with a mother who was rarely around, and who probably told her that she would never amount to anything. I don’t think Jo would be pointing out the income difference if it hadn’t been a point of contention between Greta and her mother on at least a few occasions. Especially since they admitted to having one-way tickets to Chicago because they were broke before try-outs. 
Greta’s “Yeah, but then she’ll know where we are” seems like an offhand joke about her mother being awful, but what if it isn’t? When Greta finally does open up about Dana, it seems like Carson is the first person she’s told this to since it happened. She says that she was fine while Dana ended up being put away by her parents (and possibly lobotomized). 
Greta says she’s fine, and if fine meant “not institutionalized and lobotomized because you’re queer” then yes. She’s fine. 
But she’s not. The only person Greta lies to is herself. 
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The pauses to collect herself, the fidgeting (which Greta does when she’s upset), her inability to look at Carson when she’s talking. Everything speaks to this moment being severely traumatic for her. We can chalk this up to the fact that Dana was Greta’s first love or that this was the first time she saw the dangers of being queer, but I think it’s more than that. 
Greta was 17. She was likely still living with her mother. So it doesn’t make sense that Greta’s mom, who she clearly doesn’t get along with, would’ve been totally fine with her daughter being outed as a queer.
So on top of the trauma of being caught, the heartbreak of never being able to see Dana again, and guilt of being part of the situation that got Dana institutionalized, Greta would’ve had to flee her home or face the same fate. It also makes Greta’s mother one of the few people from her past who 1. Knows she’s queer and 2. Would hurt her for it. So Greta runs, Jo tagging along behind, and she doesn’t stop for a very long time.
Since she doesn’t mention the rules when talking about Dana, Greta and Jo probably came up with them as a way to keep themselves safe after leaving Queens. We know of at least four of them so far.
Don’t act close in public
Always be seen on a man’s arm when starting a new relationship
No going to Queer bars that are too close to home
No Dates
Following the rules is easy because Greta’s biggest talent is hiding in plain sight. We don’t know if this is how she’s always been or if it’s a skill she developed after Dana, but Greta spends a considerable amount of time playing up her femininity and charm to the men around her in order to make herself an object of desire. 
The show does a great job of portraying how Greta is femme, but how that means very different things for her when she’s safe vs unsafe. In public (unsafe), and even when she’s around the peaches in the beginning (unsafe), she is the picture of poise and grace. Clothing impeccable, make-up perfectly done, and not a hair out of place. I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve seen Greta’s hair messy, and all of them are when she’s with Carson or alone (safe). The only time her act really drops in public is at the bar (safe), where Greta seems more comfortable and at ease than she has all season.
This hyper-feminine portrayal works for her. It protects her from scrutiny and allows her to live her life with some degree of safety. Greta says as much to Carson during charm school, when she tells her to stop fucking around or risk getting cut for looking like a bunch of queers.
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Charm school is also the first real instance we see of Greta getting frustrated that Carson doesn’t seem to understand how high the stakes really are for them. Part of that is common sense and experience, blending in means staying safe, but part of it is fear. The ever-present need to be prepared to run that eats at the back of her mind. And it’s exhausting. We know it’s exhausting because Jo says as much. 
“You get scared, or bored, and I end up lugging your suitcase. It’s not even your fault!”
Jo knows. She knows about Dana and she knows about how scared Greta is all the time and so she does her best. She sees Greta get antsy and anxious or outright afraid and she picks up their suitcases while they run. Because it’s never just boredom. That’s the funny thing about traumatic experiences sometimes, you never just get bored. It’s what Greta tells herself, and what she tells Jo, but deep down it’s a lie. 
The lies Greta tells herself keep her protected from the trauma of losing Dana (and fleeing her home) and keep her from ever really healing. But like Jo said, Greta just can’t seem to stop. She can’t outrun her trauma, but damn if she isn’t going to try.
And then Carson Shaw shows up. And all Greta’s careful planning goes to shit.
We see her fight all season against the need to run, to hide behind the rules and keep herself and Carson safe. Because Carson doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what happens to people who love Greta. She doesn’t know about being institutionalized or lobotomized, about having your name published in the paper so that you can never show your face again. About being beaten or chased out of town. But Greta does. 
Carson doesn’t back down though, and slowly, Greta starts to see that maybe running isn’t always the answer. She starts to get careless, starts to feel safe, but can’t quite let herself hope for more. Not until Jo says they should forget the rules for a while. 
So she takes Jo’s advice and breaks the rules.
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It’s not until she really sits down and talks about Dana that Greta finally stops lying to herself. Not until she admits how terrified she is that she can finally start to heal. And she starts to hope, just a little bit, for more than a life of running and hiding.
She defends Carson in public and they fall asleep together in the same bed. Greta takes her girlfriend out on a date and the world doesn’t come crashing down around her ears. Maybe Jo was right and times are changing. By the time they’ve won their final game, Greta has opened up to more of the team. It may just be Jess and Lupe, but it’s a start.
And then they get raided, and Greta remembers why she’s no good for anyone. She insisted Jo come with them. She’s the reason Jo got hurt. So she leaves. Because it’s what she’s good at. 
But Carson won’t let her. She won’t let Greta lie to herself anymore, won’t allow her to hide behind self-doubt and guilt while she runs away again. 
And finally, Greta Gill stops running.
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hongjoongsmuse · 10 months
Note
I'm sooooo happy to be the one to ask this! ^^ pls do "what draws ateez to a person" <3 i enjoyed reading the got7 one 🤍 thanks in advance 💗
hope ure always healthy and well <3333
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june 6 2023.
hello lovely ! i love your enthusiasm, it always makes me smile. thank you for your support on my blog ! here's the reading - thank you for requesting ! please note, this reading refers to people in general; not necessarily in a romantic way. this also doesn't refer to an ideal type in a romantic interest.
disclaimer ! despite what some people may think, tarot is NOT a fixed fate, nor can it predict the future. tarot is merely just an act of guidance and outcomes are subject to change based on one’s actions. it can be taken into consideration when making choices, but it shouldn’t be taken as fact/evidence. results may vary from reader to reader depending on their own energies, intuitions, personal interpretations of the cards and the date/time the reading was conducted. if what i say is different from someone else’s, it doesn’t mean i’m right, but it doesn’t mean i’m wrong either. there’s no right or wrong until anything is confirmed.
; if you request, please read the blog rules first !
requests that don't follow the blog rules will be deleted, and there are no exceptions to this.
; proofread ?
june 6 2023 ; no
; decks used !
the rider-waite tarot deck the good tarot by colette baron-reid a selfmade box of messages
; what i pulled !
hongjoong ; the good tarot
LOVE (THE LOVERS), STAR, SUN, QUEEN OF FIRE, 6 OF EARTH
someone who feels like a soulmate (remember, these can be platonic!)
optimism and hope
a unique mind, maybe a little eccentric
immense amounts of creativity
good social skills and humor
generosity/a humanitarian
someone who feels healing
intuition and high sensitivity
strength and independence
maybe someone with a stable career
especially in the arts or something community based
maybe someone with an alternative look
asia, australia, artist, lots of piercings, wolf cut, short hair, tattoos, fox eyes
seonghwa ; the rider-waite
THE LOVERS, THE WORLD, THE SUN, QUEEN OF WANDS, KNIGHT OF SWORDS
a very strong aura
optimism and hope
someone who feels like a soulmate
someone who can see the bigger picture
a high achiever and lots of accomplishment
someone multi-talented
an artistic flair
good social skills and humor
strength and independence
lots of confidence
high levels of ambition
someone quick witted
a sharp mind and high intelligence
book + street smart basically
warm smile, piercing/intimidating stare, fresh scent, cat eyes, preppy style
yunho ; the rider-waite
THE EMPEROR, THE LOVERS, THE WORLD, 6 OF WANDS, 9 OF CUPS
a strong, powerful aura
a memorable personality
someone who feels like a soulmate
charm and confidence
natural leadership
creativity
probably someone physically attractive
someone who's achieved a lot
someone who enjoys life and what it holds
someone wealthy maybe - this lifestyle seems affluent
a risk taker
someone who's travelled a lot and has a lot of stories
someone who can see the bigger picture
someone multi-talented
body-wise? maybe some slight curves - but maybe ones achieved through an active lifestyle
an extrovert
tbh, maybe someone who says it how it is
someone laid back overall, maybe doesn't hold any grudges
artist, socialite, dyed hair, fruity scent
yeosang ; the good tarot
EMPRESS, LOVE (THE LOVERS), QUEEN OF WATER
why am i not shocked
a spiritual connection
someone who feels like a soulmate
healing properties
maternal qualities
mystery, sensuality and allure
intuition
empathy
compassion
creativity
overall, a very calm and chill person
deep conversation
a sense of security
this is all i'm getting out of him
yeosang won't elaborate further.
san ; the good tarot
EMPEROR, STAR, WORLD, QUEEN OF EARTH, 2 OF WATER
a strong, powerful aura
confidence and natural leadership
i don't think looks and body type matter - just have confidence and vibe w him and you're good
but he might unintentionally go for someone who's conventionally attractive over someone who's not
honestly? maybe a foreigner so he can immerse himself in different cultures and experiences
good social skills
a humanitarian
someone creative
someone who can see the bigger picture
someone multi-talented
a good blend of paternal and maternal qualities
sensuality
practicality and logic
someone supportive
LOYALTY LOYALTY LOYALTY
someone independent (personality, financially)
an ambivert
africa, warm smile, lots of makeup, long eyelashes, curvy (body), long hair, natural hair, tattoos, freckles/birthmarks, full lips
mingi ; the rider-waite
MINGI DIDN'T WANT TO DISCLOSE MUCH RIGHT NOW, BUT I DID DRAW THE EMPRESS AND THE QUEEN OF CUPS
mystery, sensuality and allure
intuition
empathy
compassion
overall, a very calm and chill person
deep conversation
creativity
a sense of security
musician, dimples
wooyoung ; the good tarot
LOVE (THE LOVERS), CHARIOT, SUN, QUEEN OF AIR, 3 OF WATER
someone who feels like a soulmate
someone cheerful and optimistic
maternal qualities
an ambiverted personality
good social skills and humor
overall, a contagious energy (for the better)
self sufficiency, maybe rich/selfmade
strong will
honestly, maybe someone a little dominant in personality
(in general !!!!!! no bedroom talk here)
floral scent, fruity scent, haute couture, dyed hair, grunge aesthetic
jongho ; the rider-waite
JONGHO WILL NOT DISCLOSE MUCH AT THIS POINT IN TIME, BUT HE GOT THE KNIGHT OF WANDS.
charm and confidence
a carefree personality
an interest in the outdoors
minimalist style, vintage, woody scent, no tattoos
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schraubd · 10 months
Text
Being Perpetually at the Mercy of the Arbitrary Negligence of the State is a Punishment
At the moment, we're seeing two somewhat orthogonal trends developing in conservative legal jurisprudence, both lawless, but in distinctive ways.
The first is an increasing indifference to textualism -- being perfectly happy to manipulate or flatly ignore statutory or constitutional language in order to achieve desired results. Yesterday's Clean Water Act ruling, where the Court held 5-4 that "adjacent" doesn't mean "adjacent" because, well, they don't want it to, is a prominent example. The "major questions" doctrine is another, including the invalidation of OSHA's COVID vaccine-or-test mandate despite the fact that it fell cleanly into the clear statutory language, is another. The Court's recent voting rights jurisprudence, featuring Shelby County's entirely-invented "equal sovereignty of the states" rule, is another. The Court's recent Second Amendment jurisprudence, which has functionally decided the first half of the Second Amendment's text may as well not exist, is a yet another.
The second, by contrast, is a sort of hyper-literal textualism that zooms in so tightly on individual words that it ends up blitzing past how people actually read texts. The opinion striking down mask mandates on planes is one example here; some of the opinions striking down the eviction moratorium fit as well. Though styled as "textualism", this sort of analysis really is a dangerous confluence of putative textualists being bad at reading texts.
Slotting into the latter category is a concurring opinion by 11th Circuit Judge Kevin Newsom in Wade v. McDade, arguing that the Eighth Amendment does not forbid any level of "negligent" treatment of prisoners by prison staff --  not negligent, not gross negligence, not even criminal recklessness.  Judge Newsom's argument is deceptively simple: the Eighth Amendment forbids cruel and unusual punishments. But a punishment, he says, can by definition only be imposed intentionally. There's no such thing as a non-intentional punishment. And negligence, in all of its species, is something less than intentional. Hence:
The undeniable linguistic fact that the term “punishment” entails an intentionality element would seem to preclude any legal standard that imposes Eighth Amendment liability for unintentional conduct, no matter how negligent—whether it be only “mere[ly]” so or even “gross[ly]” so.... So on a plain reading, the Cruel and Unusual Punishments Clause applies only to penalties that are imposed intentionally and purposefully.
At one level, I appreciate Judge Newsom for saying the quiet part out loud here, because normally I'd spend time pointing out that Judge Newsom's position would warrant even the most grotesque acts of wanton disregard for the lives and wellbeing of prisoners. But Judge Newsom is quite happy to endorse (further) converting our prison system into a miniature gulag archipelago, so I guess I can skip that part and move to the textual question: is Judge Newsom's interpretation an "undeniable" inference from the term "punishment"?
And the answer, I think, is clearly "no".
At the outset of his opinion, Judge Newsom analogizes the negligent treatment of prisoners to that of parents and children: "Just as a parent can’t accidently punish his or her child, a prison official can’t accidentally—or even recklessly—'punish[]' an inmate." But in law, "accidental" and "intentional" are not an exhaustive binary. The whole purpose of the negligence and recklessness categories is to account for cases that lie between the pure accident and the specifically envisioned and desired consequence. And that makes sense, because while law contains different levels of "intent", legal fact patterns nearly always blend several of them together. 
Take a case where a speeding driver strikes a pedestrian with his car. Did the driver act "intentionally"? On one level, he was likely intentionally speeding (his foot wasn't literally glued to the gas pedal). On another level, he likely did not intend to hit the pedestrian (he did not seek to mow him down). Negligence captures the interstitial position where the driver intentionally acted in a fashion which foreseeably placed the pedestrian in danger (even if converting the danger into reality was not the driver's motivation). In this, negligence is very different from the pure accident not because it lacks intention, but precisely because of its intentionality.
Swap back to punishment. Imagine a more pre-modern society where we outsource punishment to private actors. I catch you stealing tools from my garage. As a consequence, I strip you of your clothes, take all the possessions you have on you (to make sure you have nothing you could attack me with), and drop you off in the middle of the woods without food or water which I can't be bothered to acquire for you, safely away from my house. You tell me "my pills are in my bag; if I don't take them each evening I might die!" I say "I don't care if you live or die. Oh, and watch out for the forest-dwellers -- they aren't always friendly." You do, in fact, have a seizure overnight and die. Are the actions I took "punishing" you?
Plainly, it seems the answer is yes. And this is so even if I genuinely was apathetic to whether you lived or died. Like the driver striking the pedestrian, my conduct is a mix of the purely intentional (I took your possessions, I dropped you off in the woods) and negligent/reckless (I do not care whether you have a stroke, I do not care if the forest-dwellers attack you). Being intentionally placed in a position where one's custodians do not care whether you live or die is obviously a punishment. Indeed, the fact that it's a "punishment" is the only thing that distinguishes it from pure sadism, abuse, or kidnapping. The fact that the seizure was not specifically intended doesn't change the fact that what happened to you in no way could be described as an "accident". It was the result of intentional actions, and the reason I acted in the way that I did -- with reckless disregard for your life or safety -- was very much tied to my desire to punish you.
In most prison litigation cases, there is similar "intent". The failure to, e.g., give a prisoner necessary medication isn't a wholly-accidental whoopsie-doodle (and if it is, then there isn't even negligence). It is an intentional choice. Indeed, a large part of what prison is, and what makes it such a terrifying prospect, is that it is a place the state sends you where the people who have control of your life do not and perhaps need not care if you live or die. Everything about that is intentional. Or put another way, the pervasive, heartless lack of intention is the intention -- being placed in such a situation is entirely the product of intentional choices at every step of the process.
There's a lot to dislike about the "deliberate indifference" standard which has taken over prison abuse litigation, but one thing it gets right is that indifference is absolutely a choice, not an accident. To fail to treat a person in your custody with requisite care is a choice, and it doesn't stop being a choice just because its foreseeable consequences were not expressly desired.
So what makes Judge Newsom go astray here? He seems to think we should chop up "punishment" into each potential negative experience one might have in prison. Being locked up, and being restricted from the yard, and being deprived of medication, and being placed in solitary, and being put into a cellblock with white supremacists liable to stab you -- each of these are separate (potential) "punishments" whose status as a "punishment" must be assessed atomistically. But this approach defies common sense. When someone is sentenced to prison for a crime, we don't think of it as a loose cluster of twenty or so discrete "punishments". It's one punishment. The punishment is being a prisoner and being subjected to the prison experience. Everything that happens in prison is part of the overall context of being punished. There is no need to parcel out individual moments and ask "but is this particular action a separate punishment", any more than we need to ask whether swinging bats in the on-deck circle or jogging out into the outfield is part of "playing a baseball game." It's all part of the game, and the hyper-zoomed-in focus on each discrete moment misses the forest for the trees.
In other words, while it may be true that something must be a "punishment" to fall under the auspices of the Eighth Amendment, all prisoners by definition are being punished. They pass that threshold categorically; none of them have been placed in jail by accident. At that point, the relevant question is whether the set of challenged actions or behaviors or what have you suffices to make that punishment into a "cruel and unusual" one. And certainly, being put in an Arkham City terrordome should qualify even (especially!) if the overseers assiduously do not care if you live or die. Perpetual, ongoing, systematic negligence (to say nothing of recklessness) towards persons who are helpless and in your care is one of the cruelest acts imaginable. Where that is part of the punishment, the punishment is cruel and unusual.
Judge Newsom concludes his opinion with the following:
Maybe it makes sense to hold prison officials liable for negligently or recklessly denying inmates appropriate medical care. Maybe not. But any such liability, should we choose to recognize it, must find a home somewhere other than the Eighth Amendment. We—by which I mean the courts generally—have been ignoring that provision’s text long enough. Whether we like it or not, the Cruel and Unusual Punishments Clause applies, as its moniker suggests, only to “punishments.” And whether we like it or not, “punishment[]” occurs only when a government official acts intentionally and with a specific purpose to discipline or deter.
This "whether we like or not" language is reminiscent of my Sadomasochistic Judging article. Judge Newsom seems to recognize the cruelty inherent in his position. But he leverages that cruelty into an argument for textual fidelity; the avoidance of cruelty is the hint that his colleagues have been led astray from the strictures of law. As I've demonstrated above, this isn't true; the text does not demand the cruelty Judge Newsom ascribes to it. But the pleasure of the pain of causing pain is too tempting to pass up. It's not good textualism that's motivating Judge Newsom. It's the ecstasy of bad textualism leading to bad results, whose badness is paradoxically metabolized as the purest and most faithful instantiation of textual loyalty.
via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/JxhXtDy
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mariacallous · 3 months
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It’s very easy to laugh at those who earnestly demand to be taken seriously. This is especially true if they are deficient in the mitigating balms of humour and irony.
The Canadian professor Jordan Peterson evokes mirth for this very reason. The populist Right doesn’t like being laughed at and it likes even less to be sneered at by latte-swilling cultural ‘elites’. This was apparent in a piece I read this week about Peterson in The Critic which accused The Times of having a ‘strange fixation’ with the Canadian professor and of treating him with ‘condescension’. The article concluded that
‘Behind all of this lurks fear of the old media’s loss of status.’
I don’t think this observation is without merit. Traditional media gatekeepers (overwhelmingly privately educated) are gradually losing their ability to direct the public conversation as the cost of producing content goes down (as an example I don’t need to pitch this article to a legacy media gatekeeper in order for it to be published). It’s probably also true that some newspaper columnists do look down their noses with haughty contempt on the hoi polloi over at YouTube and here on Substack.
But the writer at The Critic confuses popularity with merit:
‘a freely available four-minute discussion online could barely muster a tenth of the views that Peterson’s three-hour paid lecture did.’
Moreover if Peterson is so popular, why worry what a failing legacy media is saying about him?
To state the obvious, just because something is popular it shouldn’t be beyond criticism. Much of Peterson’s output is silly, from his paranoid ramblings about ‘cultural Marxism’ to his ranting about the ‘tyranny’ of a paper towel dispenser to his claim that Britain is about to go communist under mild-mannered son of a tool maker Keir Starmer. Moreover, the man is utterly devoid of any sense of irony and regularly gets weepy during interviews (I dare somebody to watch this and conclude that he isn’t doing it at least some of the time for dramatic effect). Perhaps I’d find these tearful episodes more poignant if Peterson hadn’t sternly instructed readers of his bestselling book 12 Rules for Life to ‘Toughen Up, You Weasel’.
The thing to understand about Peterson and the wider populist Right is that they aren’t anti-elitists. They simply have their own pretensions to elite status and resent the fact that they aren’t treated with the prestige and reverence they believe they are entitled to. In the familiar populist tradition, they are the humiliated little men and women left behind by history. They are angry at not being invited to dinner at the big table and they just won’t take it anymore.
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The French economist Thomas Piketty has written in the past about the ‘Brahmin Left’ and the ‘Merchant Right’ as a way of understanding political competition in contemporary society. Piketty makes four main arguments: 1. There has been a decline in class voting. 2. A wealthy ‘merchant class’ votes for Right-wing parties. 3. Educational voting has inverted, with educated voters increasingly voting for the Left. 4. All of this is feeding into a new division of globalists versus nativists*.
This argument has became more salient since Piketty first made it, at least as it pertains to social media. Something I find interesting about the so-called Merchant class is the way in which some of its members, despite being materially wealthy, strive for recognition from the same Brahmin cultural elites they publicly disdain. When that recognition isn’t forthcoming they seethe with resentment. People on the Left are frequently accused nowadays of adopting ‘luxury beliefs’ and ‘high status opinions’. I think this definitely happens; but it also smacks of projection because I don’t think any political faction is more obsessed with status than the insurgent online Right.
Elon Musk is a fitting example of this: a thin-skinned businessman who, despite being the richest man in the world, chafes bitterly at the fact that educated people scoff at his puerile frat-boy humour and culturally conservative politics. Again, here is somebody who possesses otherworldly riches yet his chief gripe is that this success isn’t reflected back at him by cultural elites, who regard him as a gauche figure of fun.
Notably one of the first things Musk did upon acquiring Twitter (apart from changing the name to X) was to get rid of legacy blue ticks, a status symbol of the online cultural elite. He was cheered to the rafters for doing this by the online Right, who immediately went out and purchased their own blue tick for $8 once Musk had made it possible to do so. Because it was never about being anti-elitist. It was a bunch of people whose pretensions to elite status were being thwarted by the old system.
Of course a blue tick is now cringe precisely because anybody can purchase it for pocket change and thus there is nothing ‘exclusive’ about it. Instead it demonstrates that you are probably trying a little too hard to look important, like the people who post photos on their Instagram grids of themselves standing next to Lamborghinis they’ve rented. Trying to look high status is low status.
Sartre once said that antisemites like to view themselves as part of an alternative intellectual elite. Conspiracy theorists - antisemitism is the ultimate conspiracy theory - are much the same, and alt-Right spaces nowadays are awash with a supercilious sense of unacknowledged intellectual superiority. They have ‘red pill awareness’ and wear t-shirts which say ‘they lied and you complied’ and have ‘pure blood’ because they didn’t get vaccinated.
Again, it’s usually the Left that is accused of being motivated by a ‘politics of envy’ - of wanting to cut down the tree because the apples are too high for them to reach. Yet today it is the Right that seeks to smash things up because late capitalism hasn’t turned out as they imagined it would. Everywhere you look today the ‘little guy’ is furiously railing against the system he has repeatedly voted for.
The row over companies pulling their ads from X/Twitter is an illuminating example of this latter point. People who have spent their adult lives arguing that capitalism is good and benevolent and that corporations can do as they please are aghast because big companies don’t want their ads appearing next to tweets by neo-Nazis. Musk and co know very well that it wasn’t ‘Left-wing censorship’ that resulted in people like Alex Jones (who was this week reinstated) being banned from Twitter. It was corporations not wanting their brands to be associated with extremists because it’s bad for business.
Something similar happened with YouTube during the so-called ‘Adpocalypse’ of 2017 when 250 brands pulled their advertising from the platform because it was appearing next to videos of hate preachers and fascists. The Adpocalypse resulted in a slew of policy changes at YouTube which made it easier for advertisers to select categories of videos they didn’t want their ads to appear alongside. A bunch of far-Right and manosphere channels subsequently found themselves demonetised. Predictably, the Right blamed political correctness and the Left for the adpocalypse, when again it was an example of corporations trying to protect their bottom line.
As I’ve pointed out previously, the contemporary Right has no coherent critique of consumer capitalism so instead it has to pretend that big corporations are secretly controlled by a cabal of ‘woke’ Marxists.
*Jan Rovny gives a good account of these changes over at the LSE page here.
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Stupid Rambling/theory I guess
Kris and their Soul
Something that I don’t think I’ve ever seen discussed when analyzing Kris’ behavior in deltarune is that, when Kris removes their soul from their body, they gain full control of their body yes, but it might be at the expense of their compassion
What if, when Kris is soulless, we assume that they are similar to Flowey in Undertale. They are incapable of feeling (or find it extremely difficult to feel) compassion for others. The rules might work differently, but the soul is still referred to as “the font of our compassion” in Deltarune’s world (although in context this is just speculation, not a hard fact)
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That’s not to say Kris is a bad person, I think it’s the exact opposite. I think Kris is inherently good natured, but I think a lot of their more out there behavior might make more sense if you consider the idea that some of those decisions might have been made when they lacked their soul.
I think a good example is the intermission between Chapters 1 and 2
In between Chapters 1 and 2, Kris remorselessly eats the entire pie that Toriel left out to cool for them to share
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But then, not even ten seconds later, if you make Kris take five dollars out of Asriel’s dresser drawer, five dollars that have probably been sitting there for months and clearly doesn’t mean all that much, Kris feels so bad about it that the language makes explicit that they are reluctant to do this and intend to pay Asriel back
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But then, Kris later slashes the tires on Toriel’s car.
The key difference between these 3 actions though, is whether or not Kris is in possession of their soul
We don’t know why or how Kris knows what to do when they remove their soul, but a common theme is that the actions they take are actions that require a lack of compassion. Kris is not the kind of person who would slash their mother’s tires under normal circumstances, but if they are incapable of caring, that changes.
And I think this logic can apply to other strange things about Kris’ behavior.
My personal belief at current is that Kris, for some reason, has been living without a soul for a very long time. Maybe their entire life prior to Deltarune.
Noelle, despite being so close to Kris that they know each other better than anybody, repeatedly comments that she doesn’t even know if she and Kris are even friends.
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Kris has apparently never even said it out LOUD before
Without a soul, maybe Kris was just unable to understand why that would be important to mention. Maybe because of their lack of a soul, despite how close the two became, Kris could never truly connect with Noelle on an emotional level. They couldn’t FEEL for her, no matter how much they tried.
Kris is also repeatedly surprised whenever Susie assumes that they don’t like her.
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Kris is never scared of Susie’s threats, and might have just assumed they were playing around.
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Kris might have not even realized that Susie was trying to hurt them. If they’re the kind of person who has trouble feeling or understanding empathy (without their soul, I mean) Susie’s words might not have had any impact on them. They just. Didn’t understand. They COULDN’T understand.
At the end of chapter 2’s weird route, the thing that Noelle distinctly points out as the most abnormal thing about Kris’ behavior is that they keep visiting her dad in the hospital. Rudy himself is surprised that Kris came to visit him in the hospital.
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It’s not as if Kris never visits the hospital, they do, very often in fact, to play the shitty piano
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It is specifically going out of their way to see Rudy that’s strange. And I think it could be inferred that it’s strange for Kris to do this because that is an act of pure compassion.
Kris might just not have been able to understand why it would be important to visit Rudy in the hospital.
Before chapter 1, Kris seemingly doesn’t talk to anybody other than their mom, they don’t do much of anything except go to school and come back home, they don’t really have any friends, their side of the room is completely empty, not from neglect by their family but because Kris seemingly didn’t care to have anything at all.
A lot of people have wondered why Kris’ actions at the end of a normal and weird route are the same despite Kris clearly being horrified and afraid of the player’s actions, and I think the explanation is right there. They remove their soul before they take those actions. They have removed the part of themself that feels these things.
And I think Kris is slowly realizing that they don’t want to live this way anymore.
In Chapter 1, Kris is repeatedly described as looking bored, or like they don’t care. Their dialogue options are incredibly basic at best and distinctly annoyed sounding at worst. They give off the impression that they want all of this to be over as soon as possible.
But in Chapter 2, their responses are starting to become more playful, they’re becoming more personally expressive, they’re enjoying the time they’re spending with their friends.
And I don’t think Kris wants to have to choose between their compassion and their autonomy.
I think it’s important to remember that Flowey was initially so depressed from his inability to love or care about anybody that he tried to erase himself from the world.
I think this is one of the things that’s so scary for Kris. It’s not just about control, it’s about becoming whole again.
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incorrectsibunaquotes · 4 months
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Alfie Lewis Mini Character Analysis
Alfie had so much growth as a character without losing sight of who he is, but what I want to talk about are the three moments across all three of the seasons where Alfie is put in the most danger (at least what he perceives to be the most danger). Interestingly enough, each of these are where the core of his character growth comes out. They are the following:
Into the cellar
Into the fear tunnel
Into the chimney
1. Into the Cellar:
When Sibuna sends Alfie into the cellar in S1, it’s so the club can retrieve a new sample of Elixir. He literally draws the short straw. He’s not super thrilled about going down there, but he knows he has to do it if he wants the rest of the club to take him seriously. Granted, he doesn’t go alone (Fabian goes with him), but it’s the symbolic gesture of putting himself on the line for the good of the group. This adventure doesn’t go super well for his mental health, and he has a traumatic episode that results in Fabian not getting the sample so he can comfort Alfie; however, it jogs his memory enough that he can provide important information to Sibuna about when he was stuck down there the first time.
While the actual outcome of this mission isn’t particularly fruitful, this first Sibuna mission Alfie embarks on sows the seeds of his willingness to put aside his discomfort and fear for his friends. Up until this point, we don’t really get this from him, and it sets up all the good things we learn about Alfie from this point onward. However, it’s not a super consequential scene in the grand scheme of the story.
2. Into the Fear Tunnel
This time, Alfie does not draw the short straw. Amber does, and despite the fact that they have broken up, she still expects Alfie to take her place because that’s what a good boyfriend would do. And despite his displeasure, he does it. Regardless of whether or not you ship Amfie, this moment is incredibly significant to Alfie’s character (and Amber’s, but I’m not talking about her rn).
This moment shows that he is willing to not just put himself in danger for the sake of optics, but because he wants his friends to be safe. Alfie doesn’t go into the tunnel just because it’s Amber asking him to, because it’s clear he would do this for any of the others— despite arguably having the most potent phobias for the fear tunnel to exploit and, therefore, the most to lose. Alfie taking one for the team here is incredibly telling of not only his courage but also the deep devotion he has toward those he cares about.
3. Into the Chimney
There are a couple of scenes in the back half of Season 3 that are prime examples of Alfie’s heart and courage (him taking on Sinner!Fabian, for instance), but none are as pivotal as the chimney scene. In both the cellar and the fear tunnel, Alfie is unable to complete the mission due to his traumas coming back to haunt him. It’s not that he doesn’t try or want to succeed, but it’s literally that he is unable to do to it because of a mental block. So when Alfie asserts that he— and he alone— must scale the inside of the Gatehouse chimney to retrieve his artifact hidden at the top, he (as well as Eddie, KT, and we at the audience) knows there is a good chance he could fail. In fact, Alfie fully acknowledges that he is “afraid of everything” but that he has to be the one to do this because it’s his artifact and his “ancestors put their faith” in him.
Theoretically, any of them could have climbed that chimney to fetch it. There was no mystical rule that barred those who weren’t Descendants from finding the artifacts, but it wasn’t about capability— to Alfie, it was all about responsibility and his sense of duty. Despite the claim he makes that that sense of duty is to his ancestors, what he’s actually saying is that his duty is to Sibuna, which to him is synonymous with friendship and (found) family. And it’s for that reason why, when he’s caught, he rejects Eddie and KT’s (shoddy) attempt to help him and simply says “Sibuna!”
For a character who often comes across as overly goofy and careless, Alfie has an insanely strong sense of self-preservation. He is always the most reluctant of his friends/clubmates to take risks that put his life on the line… unless he knows that taking the risk means other people will be safer for it. He is incredibly brave and selfless, and in conclusion, Alfie is the best male character on House of Anubis.
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bioloyg · 6 months
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There are some really heavy-handed differences between Sydney and Carmen where they parallel and outright contrast each other at intervals, but I was just thinking about the differences between their only surviving parents and how that shapes them, and how it might also predict the future while recalling the past.
So, first off, both Syd and Carm have a dead parent: that’s the parallel. By contrast: it’s a different parent for each of them. With regards to their living parents, Donna has a drinking problem (implied but also largely apparent) while Emmanuel explicitly does not drink (love that they tucked this one in at the finish line).
In order for any of what I’m going to say to make sense, I’m gonna provide a little anecdotal reference point: My mother and I have a very complicated but ultimately loving relationship. That said, her relationship with her own mother is about fifty times as complicated and not nearly as loving. At one point, and I can’t remember why, my mother said something to me about how parents can be separated into two different classes (not as a rule, just generally): Financially Supportive or Emotionally Supportive™️
Now, parents can very obviously be both of these, neither of these, or an entirely different set of things, but play in the space with me. Add to the above the fact that many people, upon having children, decide there were things their parents did with them that they don’t want to do with their children. In my example, my mother’s parents were financially supportive but offered zero emotional support whatsoever. I grew up dirt poor, but my mom tried to be emotionally supportive.
But here’s the problem with that, and it fits directly with The Bear’s underlying theme of breaking out of cycles. Whether we like it or not, the people who raise us shape our opinions, how we approach problems, and a lot of our outlook on life - at least until we are old enough, capable enough, and wise enough to challenge any of that ideology that we need to. So, if you are raised by a parent lacking in a particular department of support, you are also going to lack the tools and knowledge to give that to someone else. At best, you will clumsily work your way through it and despite your best efforts, your kid will have entirely new problems and new things to complain about re: Your Improved Compared to Your Parents’ Parenting Skills. This isn’t quite a cycle but a corkscrew that wraps around on itself. Sometimes you repeat mistakes, sometimes it takes a generation or two for the mistake to come back around.
When it comes to Carmen, it’s clear he doesn’t want to be anything like his mother. Unfortunately, there is a fair amount of overlap in their temperament (as an aside: I find it interesting that Richie clearly cares for Donna and hates that Carmen neglected her after Mikey died, but he still calls Carmen “Donna” as an insult. Either because he knows it will piss Carmen off or because he recognizes the overlap. More on that in a different post). Carmen’s story is one of grieving and healing just as much as it is one of growth and breaking free of cycles of abuse etc. He’s got shit to deal with regarding his brother’s death and their complicated relationship AND he has to escape his mother’s shadow.
Now, some of you may remember the post I made about how Sydney’s father’s story (where he’s stalling and pretending the radiator is fucked when the car breaks down because he doesn’t know how to change a tire) mirror’s the relationship Sydney and Carmen have. I bring this up because I’m starting to believe that similarity is true on more than just a surface level and that it works in both directions. It’s like a premonition and a memory at the same time.
If parents try not to be like their parents, and Emmanuel doesn’t drink, does that suggest that Emmanuel had a parent with a drinking problem? Maybe one who was emotionally distant or outright cruel? And, if Emmanuel’s story is a parallel to Carmen’s and The Bear is a show about changing the chemistry and breaking cycles, does that mean that Carmen will ultimately achieve some sort of inner peace and become the supportive partner he wants to be and knows Sydney deserves?
I ask this because of the fact that Emmanuel lost Sydney’s mother to forces beyond his control. Carmen’s past and upbringing are beyond his control, and while that doesn’t excuse any negative behaviors he engages in that push Sydney away, it could be part of the reason he does end up pushing her away for good. So, I wonder if Carmen will get the lasting happy ending that Emmanuel was only allowed a glimpse of. I wonder if Carmen abstains from drinking like Emmanuel does. Most importantly, I wonder if Carmen loves and wants the best for Sydney the same way her father does. Even in the moments he doesn’t always understand her. Will Carmen be able to break both the Berzatto and Adamu family curses?
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