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#literally nobody needs these kinds of salaries
nothorses · 1 year
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I think the word "power" tends to get kind of abstracted in conversations about oppression, and I think the scale of this also makes it difficult to get this idea across. So I'm gonna explain with a microcosm:
You start a small business with two friends.
When making decisions about the business, you all meet together.
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Eventually, the business grows enough that you need more employees. You include all of them in the meetings, because all of them want a say in the decisions that impact them.
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But as the business continues to grow, this gets a little out of hand.
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You decide it's time to scale it back.
Now it's just you and your co-founders making decisions again. You still have all those people working for you, of course- you're just making decisions for them instead of with them.
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When it comes time to adjust salaries, well... suddenly, there aren't twenty people advocating for a fair and even split. In fact, nobody else even knows what the budget is. You could just give yourselves more money than they get, and none of them would even know about it.
So that's exactly what you do.
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One day, you and your friends have a falling-out... and you remember that while you're all co-founders, all the paperwork actually says that you're the owner. So you fire them.
You have to hire replacements, of course, but you don't know these people, and they don't need to know any more than the rest of the staff. You take the excess from their salaries that your friends were collecting, and add it to your own salary.
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Now you're making double what you used to, and nobody can do anything about it- because nobody else is in the meeting room with you. Nobody else has any decision-making power.
The more staff you employ, the bigger the company grows, and the more money you make.
If you were to include anyone in that meeting room, you'd just be dividing up your power again- and probably your money, too. It's in your best interest to continue to exclude everyone you can.
Here's the thing: oppression is based around excluding people. Oppression literally cannot work with any kind of inclusive principles.
Inclusion means dividing power; not just money or whatever other resources, but the decision-making power that allows oppressors to maintain their status in the first place. It's in the best interest of the oppressor to exclude everyone they possibly can; which is why definitions of oppressor classes tend to be so narrow and hyper-conditional.
It's also why exclusionary movements within activist spaces are so counter-productive. People claim to be protecting vulnerable groups, but even with the best of intentions, this only ever perpetuates the overarching oppressive systems: they are recreating those oppressive systems, validating their logic, and leaving people who deserve a voice in the decisions that impact them out in the cold- and all it does is benefit the few who remain included. For now.
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iidylllic · 2 years
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Insatiable 💠
Dark!Il Dottore x reader | 18+ | 3.5k words
Description: Ever since you started working for him, Dottore’s impact on you cannot be understated.
Reader specifications: AFAB, gendered terms (girl), reader is a bit dense no lie, assistant!reader
Character specifications: He’s an asshole. Newest Il Dottore. 0 regard for his clones. Still a maniac.
Tags: [bimbofication, dumbification, reader cums like a lot, masturbation, use of sex toys, “pining”, dildos, yandere, drugging, consumption of sex fluids, kidnapping mentioned, chastity belt mentioned, fingering, degradation, humiliation, violation of scientific ethics]
Note: lord above. i have no excuse. please take it.
I am 18+, have read the tags, and consent to seeing the content of this fic [yes ⬇️] [no ↩️]
———
You don’t notice it. Of course you don’t notice it at first. Nobody would.
Dottore is… a strange boss. You’re not here by your own free will, but you do get paid. Paid well. You’re surprised your old lab partner would go to such an extent, to drag you out of Sumeru and personally recruit you into the Fatui. He says he did for this two reasons. The first is that he could tolerate being in a lab with you, and the second is because he could. It was a… rocky start to say the least, but you settled into a routine.
You perform supplementary experiments. You analyse samples. You get him the parts. To be entirely honest, you do rather little for such a generous salary.
Dottore doesn’t seem to mind. He’s never brought it up.
In fact, he’s rather hospitable.
He brings you food if you’re working on something. He makes sure you’re drinking enough. You always get free time.
Sometimes you wonder if you function more as company than an actual employee. The arrangements, the workload, the environment and Dottore himself- all far too good to be true.
And if it’s too good to be true, it probably is.
The first red flag is when he leaves you alone for a week on Fatui business, and your mind won’t stop going to him. It’s ridiculous. It feels wrong. You’re not “in denial” about any feelings for your kidnapper. It’s like your brain is completely out of your control, the image of him flashing on the insides of your eyelids. You’re unable to divert your thoughts away from him for more than an hour, despite how much you’d looked forward to this Dottore-free vacation. The night before he returns, you end up masturbating on your bed and you can’t steer your train of thought. The sheets twist under your body and your pleasure is so hard to reach fully, keeping you on edge until you shamefully whimper out the word “Dottore”, imagining the man himself is above you.
You lie awake that night, hoping it resolves itself soon. You couldn’t masturbate to your boss, your literal kidnapper, and expect your brain to not program some kind of response into you.
Appealing to your own sense of logic, you end up rationalising everything. So what if you experience a bit of sexual attraction for the man? You don’t want him romantically- a relationship with him sounds like hell. It’s probably just because he’s the one of few people you see regularly, and so your subconscious has decided he’s the only viable partner. Maybe you just need to get out more.
The flaw in that plan is that Dottore doesn’t like when you go very far. He suggests that you stay with him, asking you rhetorical questions that make you freeze in place, appealing to your sense of logic. Scaring you with tales of Fatui soldiers, and arguing that being asocial is a blessing within the Fatui. And it always ends with you dutifully returning to your place by his side.
When things are like that, the way Dottore wants, it seems to calm you down as well.
It only gets worse.
He touches you and his cold hands are a soothing touch to your heated body, yet they only leave you hotter.
Heat, because you’re always a little feverish. Your cunt drips during the day and you find your legs rubbing together involuntarily during experiments. You have to stop- stop thinking with your pussy, stop masturbating to the thought of him, because clearly this is only happening due to your habits in that department. You take to masturbating before work to try and clear your head, and you moan his name when you do that, too. At least it manages to sate you for most of the workday, but it only leaves you feeling guilty. You know you’re digging yourself into a deeper hole.
“You’ve been rather unfocused lately,” He remarks, putting both of his hands on your shoulders. To your surprise he starts to massage them lightly. You have to hold back a needy whine, and thank the archons he’s behind you so he can’t see your heating face. “Is something wrong?”
Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about it.
You swallow dryly. “I think I might be coming down with something.”
“That’s no good,” He coos. Your legs rub. You try to still yourself. You squeeze your eyes shut. “Do tell me if it gets worse.”
“I will.”
He goes, fiddles around with something in the break room, and returns with a glass of water, placing it silently to your side.
“Oh- thanks, Dottore.”
And he’s away again, briskly walking to the other side of the lab to resume his analysis of some petri dishes.
Are you falling for his gestures of kindness? Kindness only specifically towards you? Kindness you only see when you’re alone with him?
No, you can’t be. You know what he’s capable of. He’s a despicable man.
But it doesn’t stop you from crying out his name again that night, face down into your pillow.
———
Your workwear is growing more risqué underneath your lab coat. Shorter skirts. You unbutton your blouses at the top. You start wearing those thigh-high stockings with a garter that peeks out, something you’d found at the bottom of your drawers. You buy more. The blouses become a little thinner. Your lacy bras are visible underneath. You usually wear flats in the lab just to be safe, but you find yourself picking out mary-janes with a small heel. Just something a little more adventurous, but not something that would clack obnoxiously on the ground. The last thing you would want to do is irritate Dottore.
After your morning masturbation session, you get dressed into these increasingly “scandalous” clothes, fix your hair, make sure everything looks presentable, and you smile going out the door, putting your lab coat on top.
You’ve never been so excited about going to work before. The behaviour should strike you as odd, but you’re being worn down by the mere thought of Dottore. So you’re having a little honeymoon phase with the crush on your boss. May as well enjoy it, right?
———
It’s getting disgraceful.
Your crush, that is. Can you even call it that, or is it just uncontrollable sexual desire?
You have to use some of your lunchbreak to go to the bathroom just so you can rub your pussy in peace. Legs spread on the toilet, moaning into the crook of your elbow, trying to cum as fast as possible as to not arouse suspicion. You use the small clock on the bathroom wall as a reference, stopping yourself when five minutes passes.
Unfortunately, this leaves you desperate to orgasm more times than not, walking out of the bathroom and back to lab with lust ignited in your body and that same stupid smile on your face.
You always wash your hands thoroughly and make sure not a hair is out of place, your makeup perfect.
You hadn’t worn makeup to work before this. Dottore was the only one you see frequently, and you didn’t want him to think you were wearing for it him.
Now, well… you have no other excuse. You are definitely wearing it for him. Maybe he’ll notice your effort, have a fling with you, and this whole thing can break your heart and be over with.
———
Dottore burns a pair of gloves whilst handling an experiment.
“You aren’t injured, are you?” You say, moving towards him.
“No, it only burnt the gloves. At least they did their job.”
“Let me clean that up for you, sir.”
He’s smiling underneath the mask. You’re so helpful, aren’t you?
“Ah, just dispose of the gloves, (Y/N). I can handle the rest.”
You bend down right in front of him, legs straight, and pick off the glove he’d hastily thrown to the floor.
One is completely fried. The other, barely singed. You pocket the more functional of the two, devious idea hatching in your head.
That night, you put your hand into the glove and finger yourself with it on, imagining with more realism how Dottore’s fingertips would feel against your gummy walls.
You cum so hard you see stars.
———
You can’t stop thinking about his dick.
You’re such a pervert. The stolen glove was already a stretch too far- this entire thing has gone too far, your little performance to try and attract his attention. But Celestia above, when you walk into the breakroom and see him relaxing, your thoughts immediately go to kneeling between his legs and sucking him off.
There has to be some way of staving these thoughts off.
Well… your daily masturbation sessions have needed some excitement. The only sex shop in the area lies in a dark alleyway, a small room with various sex toys lining the walls and a desk crammed into the corner.
You pick out a medium sized dildo with far less shame than anticipated, hoping it would be just what you needed. Mm… maybe something else? A small, metal plug catches your eye, a jewel embedded at one end. You only live once. To top off the purchase, a vial of lube, just in case.
The woman at the desk smiles up at you.
And when you open up your winter coat, reaching into the inside pockets for mora, you realise exactly how you look. Shirt slightly undone, bra visible underneath, skirt hiked up with your bare thighs revealed.
The woman doesn’t seem to care. She tells you to enjoy your purchase.
Snezhnaya is cold, but the heat in your loins burns bright at the excitement.
———
You start training yourself to deepthroat. You’re dedicated, the sessions taking place prior to your morning masturbation. Afterwards, you usually pop the plug into your ass before putting your panties over the top- it’s fun to squirm against it as you sit in the lab.
It’s like your energy is allocated to your sexual endeavours instead of your work.
And Dottore still doesn’t care. Perhaps his workload has also fallen off a little, because he’s assigning less to you. He also has you follow him around more, and do your own thing less. You don’t mind. You’re kept busy with more writing tasks that now take longer than you remember, filing the papers for his experiments. If you successfully manage to orgasm during your lunch break, you can regain some cognitive skills for the later part of the day. You still do some experiments, but if you don’t manage to orgasm it’s like your brain is completely fried. You try your hardest to stop staring at him, an act which is now accompanied by the instantaneous thought of a brutal pounding from his cock.
You giggle when he approaches you, you giggle when he touches you. You try to flirt a little, but you can’t tell if he’s being receptive or not. Your mind blanks out as you focus on his lips. You want to kiss him. Something, anything.
He ends up having to repeat himself more, yet doesn’t seem to mind. He’s never even gotten irritated with you before.
He’s very kind. All this time, and he still makes sure to get your meals alongside his.
There’s a voice in the back of your head that screams something.
The subconscious mind is really complicated stuff. You shake your head and get up to excuse yourself for a bathroom break. Your cunt desperately requires attention.
———
During one of your evening masturbations, you think: wouldn’t it be nice if you had a dildo on the seat you use in the lab? Recently you’ve been obsessed with feeling full. Another trip to the sex shop has you returning with a bigger plug, and two more sizes of dildo- one smaller, and one larger than your current one.
Occasionally, you end up keeping the smaller dildo inside of you as you walk into the lab, the only thing keeping it in place being your panties, which the base of the dildo is able to be strapped around. You love riding it when Dottore’s back is turned, bouncing slightly on your seat for some friction.
It feels so much better to masturbate in the same room as him. It’s so naughty. But if Dottore hears the chair creaking, he doesn’t say anything. You don’t even need to cry out his name the first time you cum in the lab, a usual prerequisite for actually reaching an orgasm. You grit your teeth and try to moderate your breathing. Having him there is enough.
There’s no shame nor horror at your lewd act. Just your hole spasming around the dildo and some post-orgasm clarity as you dutifully file the rest of the report.
You head to the bathroom immediately after to clean yourself up, changing your soaked panties. You always have to bring a change these days.
———
You still keep the glove to rub yourself with. But nothing, nothing is comparing to orgasming with him actually inside the room. You need something more.
You’ve been having nasty, dirty thoughts. You want to steal some of his underwear so you can sniff it as you masturbate. Gross- it should be gross. But it isn’t. You’re really far gone, you think, from the person that Dottore hired. Why are you even still here? You hardly do your previous workload, you shamelessly play with yourself during work hours. You’ll have to offer yourself to him eventually. Plead and beg with the man to fuck you.
And what if he says no? The thought makes you feel violently ill. It would do more than break your heart. You’d be willing to do anything to feel his cock inside of you if just for a moment. You’d be willing to worship him, kiss the ground he walks on, if it just means a taste of your deepest desires follows the act.
How long will it take until he notices? You’ve did a good job so far, covering it all up from him… haven’t you?
Any rational thought would guide you to the solution that he definitely knows, but you don’t really have rational thoughts anymore.
You don’t wear your labcoat, now. It effectively removes you from the rather foolish notion that you’re a scientist, with the slutty outfits you kept underneath it, with all the rubbing you do underneath your desk, the edging, the orgasms you save for when he’s close enough. You resign yourself to the paperwork, filing his reports. In the morning, he sometimes unbuttons your shirt by one button, revealing more of your breasts. He pretends to be wiping something off your shirt, and you just let him.
You’re just grateful for any attention that you can get, which is why you don’t really care that he’s started groping you. One day, you bend over to pick up a paper, and his hands run over the globes of your ass from behind. “Well? Aren’t you going to give it a little shake for me, darling?
You giggle and obey. You do a lot of that. Your pert ass shimmies in the air as you’re still bent over. Dottore gropes it hard before he walks off again.
One day, he tells you to go up to his residence and do laundry for him. He doesn’t keep any housekeepers despite his status, and you’re all too happy to assist without question. It’s a slow day in the lab, you suppose. Being in his home triggers a a strong state of arousal as soon as you walk through the door, one that’s hardly resolved when you finally, finally dig out his underwear from the pile. In the end, you masturbate with your face down in the pile of laundry, sobbing out “sir”s and “Dottore”s along the way. Only then do you actually start doing it, hanging it up and returning to the lab for dinner.
You can do more than just masturbate, though, and this proves it. You can do whatever pleases him. You take up whatever menial tasks he offers, anything to feel his hand condescendingly pat the top of your head and call you a good girl. Your whole world revolves around Dottore and making him happy.
Your wearing of panties also decreases. Sure, you can’t have the dildo in, but you can still have your plug in and pray that Dottore notices your desperation. If you spoil yourself too much with orgasms, you might end up less willing for Dottore, and you don’t want that. But that does come with its own host of problems, namely that there’s nothing to stop your juices from leaking all over the place.
“Oh, (Y/N),” He sighs in disapproval. Your body freezes. “Surely not you’re not headed to the restroom already? You’ve made another mess on your seat. Lick it up.”
“Yes, sir.”
And before you can stop yourself, you’re bent over, face buried into your slick, tongue cleaning every last drop. Dottore approaches you from behind. You flinch at how his cold hands caress your ass. Your skirt is hiked up further, and-
“Oh? How interesting.”
Two fingers grasp your plug, pushing and pulling it out of your asshole. You let out an unrestrained moan- finally, finally something more- and he puts it back into place.
“When did you get it?”
“A little while ago,” You reply. “Maybe five weeks, sir?”
“And when did you start wearing it to the lab?” He asks, idly playing with it again.
“As soon as I got it.”
He hums.
“You don’t know this (Y/N), and I’m going to be surprised if it registers fully through your thick skull, but you’re a very successful experiment.”
“Did… Did I make you proud?” You gasp out, feeling a thumb running over at your labia.
“Proud..? I’m not sure if that’s the right word, dear. Proud of myself, yes. I’m not exactly sure if I would consider myself proud of the little slut that rubs her cunt during work hours. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that I’m pleased with you.”
“What-“
He puts two fingers into your pussy without bother and you squeal. “Nuance, (Y/N). I’m not entirely convinced your brain can cope with that anymore. I suppose I could fuck you, and you’d regain some of your intelligence temporarily, but I don’t think this-“
He emphasises by thrusting his fingers in and out, and even with no particular aim it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt. Better than the dildos, and far better than just playing with your clit. You cum dangerously fast, moaning his name through your orgasm and continuing to gasp it afterwards. Your body is alight with pure ecstasy.
“- is going away anytime soon.”
He plays with the plug again. You buck your hips towards him, presenting eagerly.
“Maybe if you had been any more invested in your job, you would’ve bought a chastity belt to restrain your whorish tendencies as you worked up a resistance to the drug.”
Dottore’s hand leaves you. You finish licking up your mess, acutely aware of a new one between your legs.
“I suppose it’s a bit late for that. But I may end up having to get you one if you fail to control yourself. Hmm…”
You finally stand up again, running a finger up the inside of your thigh and cleaning it with your mouth as you stare into his eyes, free from the mask. Your thoughts are blank. He’s right. You’re failing to process everything he says.
And his lips finally meet yours, tasting some of your slick in the process. You gasp, eager, kissing him back for the short duration that he’s there. When he draws back, your glassy eyes can only focus on him.
Dottore exhales. “Yet, there’s some merit in keeping you as a drooling, mindless nymphomaniac. Come, I’ve been waiting patiently for an eternity- unlike a certain someone. Let’s run some… preliminary tests.”
Within five minutes, you’re in the break room, kissing the tip of his erect cock. It’s the most gorgeous thing you’ve ever seen outside of Dottore himself. He even said you can get yourself off on his shoe after, but you don’t need that, as alluring as it sounds. It’s enough to finally be pleasuring him, listening keenly for his groans and learning exactly what he likes. He’s impressed when you take him all the way in as well, nose meeting his midriff. Dottore’s shaft fills your throat nicely, and your hips rock with need.
“Good girl,” He breathes. “Someone’s been practising, I take it?”
In response, you move back and forth. His hand finds itself caught in your hair and you gladly let him set the pace, fucking your mouth however he likes. It doesn’t take long until he pulls out of you, using his hand to finish off into your open mouth and waiting tongue. You take care to taste his load. Warm, heavy, salty. And you gratefully swallow, smiling as it goes down your throat. Your legs squeeze together tightly, and you somehow manage to orgasm with no sensation. It’s weak, but you still whine lightly, no sensation to allow you to really ride it out. You’re trembling, unaware of if Dottore realises this or not.
“My offer still stands.” Dottore tells you, shuffling his shoe against the ground.
“Mm… I think my…” You start to stand up, Dottore also beginning to readjust himself.
“Makeup… got ruined…”
Dottore looks rather indifferent. “Well, you should go fix it then, shouldn’t you?”
You nod, trotting off to the bathroom with your purse and stopping yourself at the mirror before entering one of the cubicles.
For a moment as you look into your reflection, there’s everything. Rage, disgust, disappointment, a moment of clarity in the world around you where everything makes sense- the betrayal, hopelessness, shame.
And it goes away. You start using wet paper towels to wipe away your mascara and lipstick, carefully reapplying them after with a skilled hand.
You pop your lips, adjust your blouse, making sure your bra barely peeks out of it. You adjust your hair and admire yourself from a few different angles to make sure everything’s perfect.
Much better.
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elle1her · 7 months
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How to be RESPECTED
Hi girls! Hope y'all are doing well, so today I wanna share with you some advice on how to be become Respected.
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1. Respect yourself
How you wanna be respected while you don't even respect yourself?? You gotta learn how to respect you and your choices, for example if you manager at work proposed to you something might be uncomfortable for you say NO, let the others know that you also have a choice and you respect it ofc..I'm not saying you should raise your voice or refuse aggressively say no politely, don't let anyone force to do something you don't wanna do!! Even if it's your parents because it's your duty to respect you slef choices, your feelings and your freedom of course.
2. Don't Over Share
Over Sharing is so unattractive and it might cause you problems, don't let any one ANY SINGLE ONE know about: you plans, goal, future plans, and your salary. These kind of can make people envy you or try to imitate you which leads to bad luck, but if you act mysterious everyone would crave to know ANYTHING about YOU which is gonna make them respect off hand, the people around are gonna also realize that you respect your privacy so they'll respect it too.
3. Cut Off Toxic Friends
You see the Friends you're hanging out with?? The ones who spread rumors and gossip??? YES THEM...stay away from them no matter what, people will think that you're just like them cos you hang out with them, everyone will say about you "Ehmm that girl?? Naah don't talk to her I don't trust her she's friend with that TOXIC GROUP" so nobody LITERALLY NOBODY is gonna respect you, so what you're gonna do is cut off these friends you don't need people like in your life there's bunch of kind humans out there also don't say "Oh I'm not gonna find or have any friends if I cut my relationship with them" sweetie why you think need friends being alone is more peaceful LET YOURSELF KNOW THAT IT'S OKEY TO LIVE WITHOUT FRIENDS be that girl who says: I rather stay without friends that be with them.
4. Spoil Yourself
Treat your self like a QUEEN let everyone see how spoiled you are they're gonna treat you the way you treat yourself!! Show them that you were born to be spoiled and coquette. Always remind yourself that YOU WERE BORN TO BE TREATED LIKE A QUEEN.
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To all my queens out there don't give up for you dreams love yaa <3.
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destinyc1020 · 9 months
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Tbh, why would actors be bummed about their press getting cancelled. It’s like your boss telling you you don’t need to do the work assigned to you anymore and you can go home until they resolve few issues that is non of your concern. Would you sit behind your desk crying? Lmao. Like for Z, imagine getting 8 digit salary and film a project that didn’t take time at all and later on not do press? That’s literally a blessing. One of a kind. It’s only fans that are getting upset and projecting their feelings on to their favs.
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Ummmm.... you do realize that this is their UNION right? 🥴
You do realize that there are bigger issues at hand here, and how this is handled will probably set the precedent for what happens in the future?
This is more than just "oh you don't have to work and you get a break" 🙄
Dude, that was COVID. THIS right here is totally different! 🥴
Even if you're rich and living pretty, I'm sure most actors don't like to see their fellow actors, writers, cast and crew out of work. 🥺
Do you know how much that might affect the economy? How it might affect ppl's livelihoods?
We have to look at the BIG PICTURE here.
Also, keep in mind too that with actors not being able to PROMOTE their work as usual, and sign on to new projects, that also affects how many ppl might see their work? It affects their future as well too if things aren't resolved in a timely manner.
They don't do press tours and interviews for nothing lol 😂
Think too about now the journalists and interviewers who have nobody to interview or write about right now.
This is going to affect a LOT of ppl in the long run if this thing lasts long enough.
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chaotic-beautiful · 2 years
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A few things I want to say to clarify about the rumor regarding Mile not taking any remuneration for playing the role of Kinn.
First of all, it's not a new rumor that came up after he liked an article stating he doesn't take additional charges for any promotional activities pertaining to the show. This rumor has been around since almost a year. It just started the discourse with that like. So no, nobody is misunderstanding or misinterpreting anything here.
One thing y'all need to understand that this show has been in the making for 2 years and a LOT happened during that time. Many articles were written and passively confirmed by the actors by liking them ( or retweeting them when they're feeling bold. )
So many interviews , lives, social media activities, other members chipping in - there's a sea of information to dig through. Just because the show is on air for 1 n half month doesn't mean the tales associated with the show are. Not every article can be quoted or every tweet can be found, every like can be screenshot ( would you believe that Apo literally answered to "Do you prefer Sex or chocolate ??" With a picture of Kinn and Porsche getting hot and heavy from the 1st trailer in a live ??? But yeah it happened, I've the screenshot saved. But would you believe it WITHOUT the Screenshot?? )
Mile is directly associated with the creation of BOC , the production house. So his connection and association with PH is NOT the same as 1. the usual association or contract between an actor and a PH he's working with. 2. Or even the association of the actors with BOC.
Now this connection can be anything in between him just bringing in powerful and talented and resourceful people together and them creating BOC , OR, he could be one of the shadow producers. He's insanely rich ( he's actually richer than Kinn in the show. Also from a very well known and influential family. His family owns several massive business chains in Kalashin and adjacent area and he also heavily invests in several oversea projects. ) and he was the one heavily invested to found the PH. So as a founder ,he's literally involved in several ways and not just acting. It's quite telling that this show has insane budget even with several high end sponsors and this is a newfound PH ! Where's all that money coming from ?? Who's trusting them to risk so much in terms of money ?? Someone who definitely strongly believes that it would work and not regret even if it doesn't.
Just because he's not taking a fee doesn't mean he's not getting any money and really, why shouldn't he ?? It is quite possible that he's getting a cut instead of fixed salary like others if he has invested his own money which is completely fair demand. Also ,in terms of tons of product ads and magazine covers.
But that doesn't take it away in anyway how much this show is basically a realization of Mile's effort and dreams and persistence ( along with Apo. They really went through a lot of difficulties to make the show happen ,Apo even got emotional recently when talking about them reaching 1 M in ig together. ) He's known and been friends with literally all the important people of PH since long before BOC became a thing.
Mile can not just come out and talk about his salary situation nor can he talk and clarify if he invested his own money. Firstly, that's unethical and unprofessional to talk about money situation. 2ndly, if he comes out as a producer, since he's one of the leads ,there are enough garbage people around to talk about favouritism, bias , nepotism and what else.. Plus, why was he so eager to make this specific project to be actualized when he was being offered other shows both BL and Lacorn - the rumor mill will start running in full speed. Plus, he's not the kind of man who'd ask for credit or talk about money.
But make no mistake he knows and is proud of what he did for the show , as he should. When the controversy broke out about his gf rumor, he liked one tweet even recently confirming that he basically saved the show.
In summary, Mile is a DILF. And this Fandom never gave him the credit or gratitude he deserves for what he did for the show.
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cerealyoam · 2 years
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Mystic Messenger x Middle Eastern Reader
Basically POV youre Middle Eastern and the little things that add to the relationship
Characters; Jumin Han, V, 707
A/N: you might be thinking, dami, why are you writing for a dead fandom about something nobody asked for? And i assure you. Impulse overtakes me on a daily basis. Also I feel the need to add that I am Middle Eastern
(Gender neutral reader as per the usual!)
V
When he first saw you, he thought you were beautiful
Because of his nature, he really wanted to photograph you in warm sunlight. He felt the best way to remember you was by taking as many photos as he could
When you told him where you were from, he thought it was pretty cool, and always likes to ask about your cultures and traditions.
I like to think he wants to try your country’s cuisine, and he’ll definitely like it. Probably buys a cookbook so he can learn your favourite desserts and foods, and he thinks its a great way to learn more about you.
Since he travels abroad often, if you’re comfortable, he’d love to visit your hometown, and possibly your parents as well.
Oh my god he would be so so good to your parents
He’s respectful, greets them at the door, brings his own food to give to them
You know because he’s loaded he can basically buy expensive ass gifts for your family if they’re more traditional
So so sweet. Helps you do housework at your parents’ home, all of that.
He honestly wants to learn how to speak modern Arabic, or your Arabic slang as well.
It’s just he doesn’t know where to start.
Like? How do all the different pronouns work? Why are there so many words for so many different specific things?
Pls help him
Oh yeah he definitely messes up by saying some slang word that means something entirely inappropriate given the context. Watch him call a cat a bra bc he doesn’t know the difference
Calls you habibi/habibti (my love) or hayati (my life) because its the only words he kind of knows the meaning of
Overall really sweet like he always is. Practically the best boyfriend ever. Unmatched
Jumin Han
Oh you have nothing to worry about at all
The worlds most civilised polite businessman with manners that are just perfect for meeting your parents with
He’s already travelled half the Arabian peninsula I’m 90% sure he knows the language too
Super sophisticated, super sweet
If you like any particular food he hires a full fledged 3 Michelin star ass restaurant chef for any dish you’d like
Oh you want some kubba or smn? Say no more in the next few hours you’re eating the best kubba in your life ok
Idc if you don’t like kubba the 3 Michelin star ass chef is gonna make you like it I swear
Has probably already been to where you live at least twice but he’ll go again just for you
He finds you absolutely gorgeous like have you seen yourself you’re gorgeous
Likes to trace your face and cheeks with his knuckles and tells you you’re absolutely beautiful
Can probably get any outfit tailored perfectly to you the moment you mention your specific traditional clothing
Again your parents cant refuse. He’s literally a corporate executive of the highest ranking business where he is. He has so much money he’ll only ever get richer. Dowry money? Oh yeah that costs just about an eighth of his weekly salary let’s double the dowry
You feel v v v loved. Unmatched husband material
707
He knows Arabic
Was a bit shocked when you had zero issue getting into his house bc u know the language enough to say cat in Arabic
But he also sort of knew so he changed the entire algorithm of his lock system to be in Tagalog just to be safe
Vanderwood has held a grudge since then
You know how he is he’s totally got every random nuanced joke memorised and prepared up his sleeve so if you swear in your language slang ever he probably knows what it means and will definitely snicker even if you don’t realize it
Honestly nothing much changes he just knows already lmfao
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incarnateirony · 7 months
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I'm. So tired. Of people taking advantage of my shit. Like, this shit from the other post.
(Vacation Boy) — Today at 3:28 PM I want you to know I'm not ignoring you or blowing you off or anything. I'm currently at a doctor's appointment and this is the first time I've had to sit down and think about a lot of things after having one hell of a bad month. I will be responding as you request soon. Image (it was a picture of his doctor's office.)
EXPY P2P — Today at 3:29 PM You have played Sea of Thieves for 8 hours in the last 2 days.
One hell of a bad month. What, us riding his ass during the 3 week vacation we told him was the worst possible time to take it? Him not working all month? Coming home to nonstop video games? One hell of a bad month. I cannot even.
One hell of a bad month.
Listen my guy, the stress you're feeling now is self induced. Nobody told you to quit your job, we told you not to. Nobody told you to take a vacation you're pretending stressed you to hell, we told you not to. Nobody told you to take days laying around after it, we told you not to. Nobody told you to build up compound lies to the point it was more work to maintain than the actual work, we even gave you doors out like, jigs up man we're just asking you to be honest.
One hell of a bad month. Yeah, it's called realizing there's consequences for your actions and nobody buying your BS anymore.
I didn't *ask* to have all my advice be ignored by my supposed partner. I didn't *ask* to have the original stability investor dip while this fuckwad was out of town. I didn't *ask* to have my timelines screwed. I didn't *ask* to be underequipped because this bananahead decided he neither had to do work or invest to our original agreements. I didn't ask or choose these things. These were things thrust upon me by flaky people that have made it so the idea of profit is going sailing out the window this entire first wave, and now I have to hear the lament of the shithead that fucked everything up by being competitively lazy how bad his life is with no job and all his friends mad at him and any kind of basic accountability or real world repurcussions of actions. Oh, no, I don't have to hear it, because he fucking bounced offline after getting nailed down again, because he won't even do me that justice.
When I listed everyone's investments and/or labor, and he was really sitting at being $40 in at the start and no more, no labor, nothing, everyone else picking what he said he'd do both business and labor, that was it. And I pinned it in like, riddle me this guy, you declared you'd be CEO even when I said no and you insisted. You are acting as if you are part owner here. But you've done literally none of it. You say you wanna take care of your ex girlfriend but um, she's put in way more than you have. Why are you the owner then and she not? Because of the work you didn't do? Why did you try to withhold ownership share from Sarah, who put in about the same? Ownership of what? the first $40 worth of dirt? My guy we even already have other dirt. You literally own nothing here, invested nothing here, did nothing here, and know nothing about the industry. You aren't the one with the customers. Where on earth do you think you are pulling a lifelong salary out of this? Your crazy ex girlfriend owns more of this than you. You aren't a couple anymore. She put in her money, not yours. Where do you get off acting like YOU are going to take care of HER? No, my guy. *I'm* going to take care of her, now that I realized I need to cut you out of this shit wholesale. I'm starting to see why she fuckin dumped you. no, my guy, she'll get her payment back on agreement, and once this settles down we'll figure out if she wants it back with the flat agreed rate and incentive or some sort of partial share. You can... figure out where you went wrong here. Get a job to make $500 to invest too late to not have it taken. Figure out how to justify a $1200 retainer you're asking, for work you haven't done. You are literally trying to ride everyone else and standing in front of the line for money while the rest of us dump in 4 digits to get this rolling and you expect to pull 4 digits out for LITERALLY. NOTHING.
Like. Why are you an owner or CEO. What have you done. Why do you think you get this but your ex doesn't when she put in the actual money. When we all did. Explain to me how this does not add up to exploitation in your head, then sit there realizing, YOUR bad month was self induced, *my* bad monthS is *because* of you.
Waiting for him to figure out how to even respond to "So yeah. Once I pull anything it goes in MY bank for MY business with MY product that I sell to MY customers. Then I choose how to invest in MY business for MY better result so I don't have to suffer like this again while being trapped under slave labor conditions and work hazards pulling off the literal impossible and unable to maintain another job. Then, once MY business is stable, and appropriately equipped to even run at a smaller scale, I work on paying off MY investors according to MY arrangement."
Because aside from the ex gf that dumped him in the middle of this that flaked but was convinced back? The one he thinks he deserves the money before? All these folks are MINE and MY connections and communicating with ME and supporting ME because they know ME. The customers, the business associations, the business registration, licensing, this shit is *literally* all mine. The money in it is either mine or my friends as investors. The fucking privileged audacity of this shithead. "well I wanna take care of Gen" well you better find another job, shithead. I'll be taking care of her in the meantime.
She doesn't want you "taking care of her." That's why she fuckin dumped you. "Oh but she's been good to me" and you're going to be good to her and get out of the way of the money that's rightfully hers, you don't get to proxy it through you to control it, what the genuine piss.
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acourtofthought · 2 years
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I wish the argument that Elain "doesn't deserve" Azriel or Lucien would go away.
Is she a bad person? Is she unkind to her friends and family and 99.9% of everyone else out there? Does she not treat Azriel with respect? Does she not make him feel happiness?
It's amazing how many arguments there were in support of Nesta. That she needed someone to love her, show her she was worthwhile even though she kept pushing everyone away. That she needed to be shown that she was still deserving of love despite lashing out and was worthy of Cassian regardless of how she treated him.
Somehow, because Elain has not yet had her novel and she comes off as unhelpful / worthless to people (though this can easily be disproven), that is the reason she's unworthy. I guess in real life that means a Gardner is "unworthy" of finding love with anyone who is considered of a higher station in life? That a baker should only date someone that has a salary of equal pay? Is that what others are taking from all this because that's the message I'm getting. That ONLY bold and brave warriors in these novels are deserving of one another.
Or that she currently does not interact with Lucien but he is not, at this time, friend or family to her. She does not "owe" a virtual stranger her smiles or attention. It is not her responsibility to make Lucien feel good just because we love Lucien and some of us hope that they'll eventually overcome the hurdles standing in their way. I hope that will be her choice but it is not her duty. Not engaging with him is definitely uncomfortable to witness but are we really going to say that's worse than when Nesta called Cassian a "bastard born nobody" and insulted his "performance"? When Nesta refused to even accept his gift? (this is not to bash Nesta either, I'm just pointing out parallels). Would you rather Elain was verbally rude to Lucien? To have her make a comment regarding his eye or the fact that he was chased out of his own home?
Literally, unless you treat every single person in your life with 100% kindness all the time, strangers, enemies, coworkers, friends, and family alike and expect the characters in this series to do the exact same (and if you like either Feyre or Nesta, Rhysand, etc as most of us do then obviously you DON'T require a character to treat everyone perfectly) then I truly have no idea where this mentality has come from.
Also Elain alone does not deserve to be called "racist" because she was engaged to Graysen. Every single one of the sisters had prejudices about the Fae. Humans as a species feared them. They grew up scared of their kind and not for no reason. Elain saw her sister KIDNAPPED by one after being raised on horrifying stories and she fell in love with Graysen shortly after. Is it any surprise that she didn't hold it against Graysen and his father that they felt they had reason to defend their home against what they perceived as a true threat? I'm sure with time, Elain would have grown uncomfortable with the things he was doing especially since (by the second book) she was already willing to risk her engagement to help Feyre but are we really going to hold it against her that she didn't immediately end her engagement the second her sister was turned? That she still loved him after she was turned? Misjudging any group is a mistake that's not uncommon but what matters is you're willingness to change and grow. Considering Elain developed friends and affection (Azriel) for the Fae, even her willingness to treat Azriel, Cassian and Rhysand with kindness in the Human Lands, I'd definitely say she's capable of realizing her mistakes.
Does it really make sense that two males, both highly regarded and desired, both very intelligent and both who are capable of sensing things others can not, would have developed an interest in such an unworthy female? If so, you're not giving characters you claim to love very much credit. And before we start with the "Lucien only likes her because of the bond" then I'd like to point out that you're then basically calling out Rhysand and Cassian for only having feelings for Feyre and Nesta for the same reason.
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Literally the only safe space where i can vent this but a close friend has worked for their family business for like all of their adult life except the past... five years? And they've been a huge baby about job searches and v entitled and taken all kinds of jobs that are either crappy or that they're obviously not suited for but now they finally took a job that's more in line with their personality and talents and ALL they've been doing ALL they talk about is how rewarding and wonderful their job ALL ANYONE HEARS. And honestly I don't think it's better, I can't think of what's worse. Everyone else is like well past the point in life where they view a job as anything other finding the least worst way to earn money so you can do the things you actually value, nobody cares to hear endless whining of this weird kind of bragging. It's MADDENING and I feel like such an asshole but christ don't tell me about how you voluntarily work hours later (at your SALARIED job) and how much you love it and how it grinds your gears that other people won't work for free and don't appear to appreciate you working for free. Just! God! I just needed to get this off my chest in a fully honest way that I won't have to worry about getting back to anyone.
But seriously, do not work unpaid overtime unless it's an ACTUAL emergency, obviously your coworkers will NOT like you doing that bc management loves an opportunity to try to force people to work for free, even though it's illegal! Don't volunteer for it out of the goodness of your heart, make sure management knows that they might as well be asking for one of your kidneys! And really the actual professional solution is to... simply make sure you take care of YOUR tasks in a timely fashion and pull in help or adjust deadlines when you spot trouble. And do not volunteer to work extra to do someone else's work, let them suffer the consequences of their own folly OR offer help well in advance, you know, when it would actually have been helpful. The workplace is no place for heroes.
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gatekeeper-watchman · 6 months
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Socialism
Exacerbated by the candidacy for the presidency of Senator Bernie Sanders who claims to be a Democratic Socialist, the subject of Socialism keeps raising its, some might say ugly, head in the news these days. Unfortunately, in our culture the word Socialism has become a pejorative. Just the sound of the word creates animosity in spite of the fact that most of us don’t really know what Socialism really is. We only know the very thought of it makes us mad. In defense of our position, we may use the words free markets and capitalism; but most of us can’t really provide a good explanation of what these are either. If you don’t believe me, ask around. Ask what these things are; or, even more difficult, see if you can get your answers in writing. In almost every case those whom you question will not be able to answer. They aren’t dumb. Up to now, they just haven’t had the need to know.
So what is Socialism, Capitalism, or a Free Market? For this venue, I believe as simple an explanation as possible will suffice. In short, Socialism (not to be confused with Communism) is a system wherein ownership and management, i.e. governance, of the means of production and related systems, are by the people. Competition is minimal if at all. Capitalism, on the other hand, is a system based on private ownership of the means of production, the creation of goods and services for profit, the accruing of profits to a capitalist class, and a system of salary and wage labor for the workers. Decision-making and investment is determined by the owners and/or managers of the factors of production. Competition is foremost with a philosophy of “survival of the fittest, let the devil take the hindmost”. As to free markets, no matter what others may tell you, they only really exist in the classroom. In the real world, markets are affected by manipulation of one kind or another, monopoly, and/or price fixing.
In the end, both Socialism and Capitalism are self-defeating. Generally speaking, without competition, under Socialism everybody wants to receive, nobody wants to give. By its very definition, Capitalism is self-defeating because, in the end, only the winner, i.e. the strongest, remains—then it is no longer Capitalism. As a result, all that is left is some form of dictatorship, i.e. an autocracy, oligarchy, etc. I think you can already see that in the progression of our democratic republic today (unless we do something about it before it is too late, that is).
Hopefully having cleared the air on this to this point, where are we now?  I’ll tell you how I view our nation’s status and you can (and you will) see for yourself. In all candor, our nation and our people, i.e. YOU, are being literally raped by an Oligarchy of the Corporatocracy and Power Elite, operating through a Shadow Government surreptitiously controlling our nation through our government elected by us, we the people, and bribed and manipulated by them. They, that oligarchy, even write our laws. We vote (some of us—that is) and pay the bills. They rule and take the spoils. You have heard the expression, “to the victor belong the spoils”. You have heard from many sources of the course our income has taken over the past forty years, the disappearing middle-class, and of the growing disparity in income and wealth. You have even felt the pain. You have to know where you stand, i.e. your status, in these matters. You surely know.
These people have owned the Republican Party from the beginning; but, now, in recent years, they have done the unthinkable. They have begun to take over the party of the people, the Democratic Party—the only hope the people, we in the 90%, have had left to represent our needs, the party of Roosevelt, the party of Truman, and, yes, the party of Carter, after which we begun to go downhill.
But “Avast”, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. The honorable Senator from Vermont, Bernie Sanders, has thrown his hat in the ring for president. He calls himself a Democratic Socialist. I call him a Liberal. Everything he proposes is liberal. Nothing he proposes is any more Socialist than we are now. Nothing he proposes is any more Socialist than we have ever been in the past. Was our bailout of General Motors Socialist? Was our bailout of the mortgage industry Socialist? Is anything we support, our guarantee of the risk, with the private industry receiving the profits, Socialist? Let me tell you what one of the greatest, if not the greatest, leaders in all history had to say about Socialism vs. Liberalism in a speech one hundred years ago; and it is just as true today:
I want to-night to speak about these cross-currents; and let me first say a word about Socialism. There are a great many Socialists whose characters and whose views I have much respect for—men some of whom I know well, and whose friendship I enjoy. A good many of those gentlemen who have delightful, rosy views of a noble and brilliant future for the world, are so remote from hard facts of daily life and of ordinary politics that I am not very sure that they will bring any useful or effective influence to bear upon the immediate course of events. To the revolutionary Socialist, whether dreamer or politician, I do not appeal as the Liberal candidate for Dundee. I recognise that they are perfectly right in voting against me and voting against the Liberals, because Liberalism is not Socialism, and never will be. There is a great gulf fixed. It is not only a gulf of method, it is a gulf of principle. There are many steps we have to take which our Socialist opponents or friends, whichever they like to call themselves, will have to take with us; but there are immense differences of principle and of political philosophy between our views and their views. Liberalism has its own history and its own tradition. Socialism has its own formulas and aims. Socialism seeks to pull down wealth; Liberalism seeks to raise up poverty. Socialism would destroy private interests; Liberalism would preserve private interests in the only way in which they can be safely and justly preserved, namely, by reconciling them with public right. Socialism would kill enterprise; Liberalism would rescue enterprise from the trammels of privilege and preference. Socialism assails the pre-eminence of the individual; Liberalism seeks, and shall seek more in the future, to build up a minimum standard for the mass. Socialism exalts the rule; Liberalism exalts the man. Socialism attacks capital; Liberalism attacks monopoly. These are the great distinctions which I draw, and which, I think, you will agree I am right in drawing at this election between our respective policies and moods. Don’t think that Liberalism is a faith that is played out; that it is a creed to which there is no expanding future. As long as the world rolls round, Liberalism will have its part to play—grand, beneficent, and ameliorating—in relation to men and States. The truth lies in these matters, as it always lies in difficult matters, midway between extreme formulas. It is in the nice adjustment of the respective ideas of collectivism and individualism that the problem of the world and the solution of that problem lie in the years to come. Winston Churchill October 11, 1906
One hundred years ago, Winston Churchill called it Liberalism. I call it Progressivism. The truth of the matter is that some markets are better adapted to collective governance and others are better governed as regulated “free markets”. In no event of which I can think should we allow Laissez-faire Capitalism to prevail in our economic markets. How many times do we have to suffer thieves in our hen houses? Our government is permeated with them. Surely we should not over regulate. Surely we should eliminate the liars, cheaters, and thieves in our government and restore the will of our people to power. We should elect Bernie Sanders to the presidency and we should elect the right people to support his efforts. All we have to do is get out and do it.
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violetsystems · 1 year
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#personal
Been a little happier lately despite all the gloom, doom and fuckery. I can't say anything has been getting any better in my normal life. I fear that sooner or later everything is going to implode around me. I received an email back from a recruiter Friday night. I don't really get much contact from anything in the job market at all. I send about three or four resumes a week depending on the listings. The recruiter admitted that the hourly pay rate and role probably wasn't of interest for a person at this stage of my career. That's interesting poker call in the game of job hunting. Some of the jobs I've applied for customer service in certain fringe industries only offer barely above minimum wage. This opportunity would have been fixing computers. So it kind of told me how low in my field I shouldn't go salary wise. I've applied for three or four jobs in the Marijuana industry here in Illinois. Those are a little easier to present yourself professionally to ironically. But everything out there for me is a mixture of closed doors, reluctance to interact, and some grand cult like civic agenda I'm supposed to already know. For the record, finances are my own problem. This is what has stressed me out so much about being retired early. It isn't so much about the money. It's that everybody just assumes I don't have to work. The pension payout I got wasn't exactly enough to live on for the rest of my life. Not that anyone around Chicago appreciated my birthday even happened let alone admit I"m alive and still sell music. I keep thinking of myself as a test subject. That Generation Z and Millennials are going to be hit worse when their time comes. Imagine hitting your ten year mark in a career you went to college for at thirty three or something. Then being forcibly retired and having to plan out the next fifty or so years of your life. I've spent almost three years doing that. And all I ever get is recruiters asking me if I can refer them to someone more fit for the roles they offer. Why blog about it when I can just worship a woman I'm in love with at her feet? Because I'm kind of fearful the things we both love about this country are going into a financial tailspin. I just read that a population of gen z was polled as thinking women's rights have "gone too far." That shit scares me. That the children of generation x are complete fuck ups in so far that they've erased any culture we brought to the table. I'm completely invisible these days. I tend to use it to my advantage to stay alive and protect the things nobody really needs to know about.
I've always thought the thing about me that probably is the most attractive is that I try to deal with the present in a creative way. Even if dumb people don't understand it. I don't care. I know I'm in a completely losing situation. And I know people are just always trying to trap you into some petty shit to make you trip. My immediate neighbors fucking unplug the laundry when they see me get quarters so I lose them when I try to do my wash. They've stolen my 5g phone after being delivered by fed ex by asking me to unlock the laundry room while someone else lifts the package. They've set up makeshift shit traps on the fence so that I'll be covered in feces when I take out the trash. They work with my old job to intimidate me at the mailbox when my COBRA extension gets delivered. All of this is true. Nobody wants me to prove it. And has happened over a two or three year period. I've been trapped here writing about it. I've been applying for jobs overseas, in la and New York to get away from it. And I just sit here day after day watching nothing happen. I get that ultimate the joke is on other people. But some of the things I've had to do recently just fucking piss me off. I was expected to literally spend down my whole retirement and wait for another offer. I haven't done that yet. But the way the stock market has behaved the last two years, I've been left holding the bag on a lot of shit. I don't really understand how anyone in the future is supposed to retire with things behaving this fucked up. The value of Tesla as a company is ten times it's future revenue. That's like ten credit cards stacked on top of each other with Jerome Powell tap dancing at the top with a cane that twirls the interest rates around like a magic show. This recent bank failure is the result of nobody having enough liquid cash on hand to cover their ass. And yet everyone listens to whatever the fuck some twit whole stole an entire free speech platform to bankrupt it has to say.
And the FDIC bails out exactly 250k max for each "victim" at Silicon Valley Bank they protect. Around the same time they cut pandemic food benefits for poor people. I tried a number of things over these years to buffer myself. I didn't just lose my job yesterday. But even the two universal basic income programs I applied for in my country and city I was denied. I didn't qualify for unemployment because my pension payout was too much income. I basically got fucked. Now Monday morning an entire mess of startups will implode because there is no way to payroll with two hundred and fifty dollars thousand dollars unless you are paying minimum wage. Maybe that was intentional? That's one way to sabotage the employment of America. I still invest just the same. I was taught by America that this is the only way to stay alive. But my perception of money, capitalism and rich people is that of a gluttonous demon who plays tricks on the townsfolk like the idiots fucking with my laundry. If you've read this far, you understand that I don't think there's a solution in complaining. I'm not even on health insurance anymore. Not like COBRA payments weren't as much as my rent. I've been literally left to die by most of the people who say they knew so much about me from my past. I've been on LinkedIn the entire time professionally. If people wanted to find me for a real opportunity it's right there. I cut off my Facebook. I cut off my instagram. I block people on Tumblr that I think are too locally nosy about what I'm doing. I have to ignore entire friend groups now out of proactivity simply because they're not worth the liability of gossiping about my personal life. I know the way forward in the future is to leave it all behind. I just am a person who thinks deeply a lot. I am hurt that people don't want to fix things. I am hurt that when I get given a new shovel by my building maintenance the rest of the neighborhood treats this shit like a school yard bully and thinks I'm the teacher's pet. This isn't fucking high school. And yet with child labor and child marriage, maybe it's not far off. People out here have turned severely populist, encumbered by their own financial decisions that seem to be blowing up left and right. I think we're all a little more aware of the dangers of being blindsided by absolute failure here in this country. But it's getting beyond scary that you can communicate so well but the people around you will actively collude to fuck up your only line of communication to people who care about you. That's fucking terrorism. And these people out here are motivated by it for the dumbest fucking reasons. They aren't smart and they don't appreciate smart people or talent. Mainly because everyone would rather hoodwink, trick and grease people than work together. The more people get tricked? The more people get angry and the more society here in America starts to turn worse than it already is for me. I know my future is a lot brighter especially when I think about things that inspire me. And I am still inspired don't get me wrong. But I'm fucking dying out here in a literal ghetto prison of bullshit that I don't think anyone hasn't observed being fishy at least once. I just live every day like people are camping out waiting to surveil me on every corner. They literally take my garbage out of the trash and leave it on my porch facing back at me. Like we know what you spend your money on. I know what you did a couple summers ago too. And if the tips I sent in the government are any indication. Everybody gonna lose their fucking jobs sooner or later. I'm not hiring. <3 Tim
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grey-spark · 3 years
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The Symbolism of Spamton, and what he says about us
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I don't usually analyze Undertale/Deltarune characters but I love Spamton. In this post I'm going to go over what Spamton represents, and all of his relevant symbolism. I'll try to keep this one short and straight to the point.
Before we can talk about Spamton we need to explore the context of Chapter 2. It should be clear to most people that Queen, her plan, and level are a metaphor for social media. Specifically Twitter. More specifically Twitter Drama.
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Even her name is a play on the word “drama queen”
The whole level is centered around a blue bird character, Berdly. A possible reference to Twitters blue bird logo. I mean, just look at her boss battle. If taken out of context, what do you see?
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You see a person sitting in a chair controlling a blue bird to attack people. 
Is that not Twitter? 
Although its important to note that Berly himself doesn't seem to connect to this social media metaphor in a narrative sense, you could still argue that Berly's front of intelligence could represent how people act online, trying to appear as someone cooler and smarter than they really are.
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Point being that like the first game, Deltarune was created to be a commentary on fiction and role play. The first chapter is literally about games, and this one is about our digital presence online.  
Another more obvious reference to Twitter in the chapter is the sidequest about collecting “blue check marks:
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You have to bring the Hacker “checks” which could be a reference to “Verified Checks” on Twitter, and when you give them to him he creates a fireworks show “in dedication to you.” Symbolizing how for many people on the internet, getting a verified twitter check is the symbol of becoming famous, worthy of celebration. A sign that you've become a “big shot” now.
On that note, let's finally talk about Spamton.
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The most obvious connection is that Spamton seems to be like Mettaton. 
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Spamton and Mettaton have similarities, beyond their names. Both are “robots” that want to steal your “heart shaped object” to become big and powerful. 
But the key difference between the two is the motive, and this is where the social media angle comes in. In the first game, we meet Mettaton who at first seems cut throat and sinister, but is revealed to have a real passion and dream. He wants to “get big” to make music that everyone enjoys, and even decides to stay behind out of an altruistic devotion to his fans.
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Compere this to the cynicism of Spamton. Notice how in the first battle with Spamton you progress the battle by engaging with deals, but he doesn't seem to care about the money itself. You cant pay him off because its not about the money. He just wants to feel like a “big shot” making deals. The thrill and freedom of feeling like someone important.
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In this sense we can then divide Mettaton and Spamton into two types of influencers. Whereas, Mettaton has a dream. Spamton just wants clout.
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The kind of influencer who wants to use their platform to enrich themselves and fuel their ego, as oppose to someone like Mettaton with a real desire to change the world for the better. In one of the genocide routes, we can even see him take over Queens mansion, representing how these types of influencers are bound to take over the social media structure, sans the right people step in.  
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Given the social media and fame metaphor. Its impossible to examine this boss and not read into the context of its creation. Although this is purely speculation, its possible that Spamton was created as open meditation on Tobyfox's baggage regarding his own fame, and also the effects of social media fame and clout chasing in general. Imagine the pressure of being that famous, of everyone expecting you to follow Undertale with something just as good or even better, and Toby probably doesn't even know what made the original game blow up like it did in the first place, and probably never expect it to. 
Consider this line in his first boss theme:
“... Now's your chance! Now's your chance! Now's your chance! Be a big- be big- beeee-”
Over and over. It can almost be read as Toby's internal monologue. An unrelenting pressure to outperform and succeed, to make sure the game is a success that fulfills everyone's expectations.  
Simply put, Toby is a big shot now.
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In the matter of a single year, Toby went from being a nobody on the internet to being twitter famous celebrity. Getting “calls” from Nintendo. Again this is all unconfirmed, but its even possible that Nintendo offered Tobyfox a deal. A chance to be a big deal, with a big salary; a corporate puppet.
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Toby would (hypothetically) rejected this offer. Like Mettaton, he cares about his fans, but has no interest in the acquisition of clout and power for its own sake. But hey, that's just a theory.
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Which brings us to his central message about internet drama. While its not my place to psychoanalyze how someone is feeling from afar, a message is certainly here about internet fame and clout chasing. Its clear that Toby has become twitter famous, and consequently has found himself thrust into the heat of internet drama time and time again. It seems that Toby Fox is horrified by the affects social media is having on the indie gaming community or just more broadly society in general. In the past, toxic fame was a niche problem faced by a handful of Hollywood stars and musicians. But now Social Media has democratized fame, and all its problems to everyone that owns a phone. 
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Chapter 2 seems to be Toby's response and warning: that being a big shot is not all its cracked up to be and certainly not worth parting your soul over.
203 notes · View notes
mickschumacher47 · 3 years
Note
Same anon that asked the last Mick question about how Ferrari sees Mick, I have asked another person the same question, hope you don’t mind... Like I said, I had conflicting emotions about Mick signing with that team again, and then seeing those comments.. My thoughts were spiralling and I needed some others rational thoughts on it..
Hey anon !
Here is a screenshot of your first ask so people know about what we are talking about :
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First, thank you for the ask, and of course I don't mind.
Now I am suggesting we cut all the "politically correct" thing and let's just speak clearly about what I think and how I see the situation (essential word here is I).
Mick staying 2 years with Haas wasn't a secret to anyone, when he won the championship, everyone said he was going to complete 2 years with Haas (Gunther, Binotto, everyone). So the fact he signed for Haas again wasn't a surprise at all, and was already in the pre-deal made at the end of 2020.
The reason for this is very simple : until now Mick always needed 2 years in a category to find the pace and to really show who he really is. And even yet, he is far from being ready for Ferrari.
Let's talk about Haas first and we will come to Ferrari later.
For the first time in his career, Mick is in a complicated situation with the team. Let's not hide it, Mazepin's dad owns a part of the team, so of course, he has an influence on it, don't come with the "Yeah but Gunther said blablabla", if you are around F1 since a bit and now the world of companies life and sports, you know he does.
Why do you think he was in the paddock when Mick was looking way better than Mazepin at the begging of the year ?
Been in a team like Haas and having a teammate like Mazepin isn't bad for Mick. Let's face it, Mick doesn't have 5 years, he isn't there to play with toys cars, he wants to win, he wants to be in a championship car if he does, he has to know how to handle this.
With Prema he was literally family, they wouldn't have ever put him in this kind of situation, so what he is living is probably new for him, so he has to learn how to handle it, and how to give the best for the team.
Been a world champion is not only about yourself, having a good car under your ass counts a lot, and if you want a good car you have to work with the team, both sides of the garage. More than that, you have to know which battle you can take and which ones are not worth it, Mick isn't there yet. He gets easily frustrated when the battle with Mazepin happens, he doesn't express it over the radio but you can see it on his way of driving. So been one more year with them is going to help him deal with all of that, and that is important. Because once you have a championship car over you, your teammate is going to have it too, and he is going to want to win the championship as well.
See is a situation I believe Charles isn't ready as well, not the same story I know but you can see Charles doesn't know which battles are worth it and which are not. Sometimes he just goes for the little gap and loses so much for nothing, learning when you have to be happy with a lower position because you have too much to lose is necessary for a championship contender.
Adding now the Haas situation on track. If it wasn't Haas it will be Alfa Romeo, but knowing the technical revolution coming next year and the fact now Haas works more with Ferrari than Alfa, I don't see why Mick wouldn't take a chance in Haas, with a team he already knows well. So Mick staying with Haas is logical and good for his learning process.
Now the Ferrari situation.
Let's face something : Ferrari is losing money with Mick
Ferrari pays half of Mick salary, Ferrari pays people to work with Mick, Ferrari sent people to Haas (paid by Ferrari) to work with Mick and with Haas. Mick costs money on tests, he costs money when he goes to Maranello for the simulator, Mick costs time when he uses the simulator to prepare for the Grand Prix with Haas, Micks costs time to analyze how he is doing, when he can improve. doingSo Mick isn't a marketing advantage for Ferrari right now. Especially looking at it, Mick is a Haas driver, he is present like it, he doesn't make any appearance for Ferrari or Ferrari's sponsors. The only moment you are reminded that he is a Ferrari junior is when Binotto talks about him. So financially, Mick isn't an advantage for Ferrari right now, the opposite, Mick costs money and time. Mick is an "Investissement".
Ferrari doesn't need him for "marketing purposes" they have Charles for it, they painted Charles to be their golden boy, Tifosi love him and they are ready to die for him. Mick was a marketing advantage when he joined Ferrari because it was a surprise so people talked about it and it and how he was going to do great things. 3 years later, a pandemic after, good performance by Charles and a tractor to replace the car, Mick isn't "the thing" anymore. They have more important issues to solve.
Let's not forget either that Mick's result in the Haas doesn't really matters but in the Ferrari it will, he will going to have one shot and has to deliver, so no rush to put him there, he has to be prepared for it, both on his driving, mentally and physically. With the Haas now, he can't battle in the field, he can't overtake, he can't outperform his car, he can't get points, he can't take podiums or wins, he doesn't need to manage tyres because he is always last or P19 so I mean, no point on putting him in a Ferrari now. It will even be the worst thing you can do to his career now.
Now let's talk seats : Mick going to Ferrari this year wasn't even an option, that is why Carlos signed 2 years and not 1. Binotto never hide that the goal was to have Mick in a Ferrari. Are they going to say goodbye to Charles ? Absolutely not. So Carlos is the only option.
Is Mick going to replace Carlos in 2023 ? Nobody knows and is going purely to depend on the 2022 year, nothing more.
Now, keep in mind Mick has great and powerful people behind him, he isn't alone to face Haas and all of this silly season thing and the Ferrari moves. Don't forget Sabina has more years of F1 than most of the drivers on the grid, she knew drama, real drama, she solved it, she always protected the Schumacher family, she saw Mick growing and she will probably give her life for him. Jean said even 2 months ago he considered Mick as his own child. Ross Brown is close to him too and confessed that he keeps an eye on him, even Mattia Binotto was close to Michael. Mick has his back well protected don't worry.
So yeah, it is a normal situation that is going to make Mick grown.
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americasmarauders · 3 years
Text
I Had a Dream--Jason ToddxReader.
Summary: She dreamed about him once. And then he appeared in front of her and she just couldn’t believe it. 
words: 9,756
author’s note: so, here it is. the last of this year. this one is special. it’s based on a dream i had with a guy I went to middle school with. I mentioned it on the group chat and @batarella​ said this sounds like a fic, write it. and so I did. It’s immensely personal. Basically reader is me, the friends I mention are my actual friends and the coversations with the therapist are vaguely based on conversations I had with my own therapist (specially the first one). I hope y’all like it. I had a blast writing it. Special thanks to my best friend Julia and @offendedfishnoises​ for proofreading it. Also thanks to every one in the group chat who cheared me on and made me finish this monster. 
don’t forget to check out my jason playlist here. also. please reblog so more people can see the fic :)
#
“I just haven’t had the opportunity to be in love, I guess,” she explained, her psychologist writing stuff she had said down. 
          “Is that so?” the therapist lifted her eyes, her eyebrows shot up in confusion. 
          “Yeah,” she shrugged. 
          “‘Cause the way I see it is you’ve never allowed yourself to fall in love,” the therapist commented. 
          She felt heat coming to her cheeks and tears rise in her eyes. “No, no, that’s not like that,” she whispered, refusing to admit that her psychologist was right. 
          The therapist let out a small sigh. “Have you had crushes when you were a kid?”
          She shook her head. “The boys weren’t that nice and…” she drifted off, thinking of a couple of crushes she might have developed when she was a young teen. “No boys were interested in me.”
          “I find that hard to believe, Y/N,” the therapist said. “Let’s think of it this way: were there any boys who picked on you?”
          She snorted. “Plenty,” she responded. “I wasn’t exactly popular in middle school,” she shrugged. 
          “Yes, yes, I remember,” the psychologist said. 
          “There was one boy that used to run around recess calling me a weird nickname he had for me: peanut.”
          “That’s not weird,” the therapist pondered. 
          “It is when you’re 13 and you love eating packed peanuts in recess,” she countered. 
          “Well, this boy did you like him?” the therapist asked. 
            “Yeah, he was nice,” she omitted that she had a crush on him in ninth grade before she left the school and never saw him again. “He was one of the few boys that talked to me without wanting me to help him with his homework or anything.
            “I remember one day in eight grade he stopped to talk to me before class but I was kinda rude to him and he never really talked to me again,” she shrugged. 
            “Why?” the psychologist quizzed.
            “I thought he wanted something out of me,” she sniffed, brushing a strand of her hair out of her face. “They all wanted something out of me. It was safe to assume, I guess.”
            “You scared the boy away, Y/N,” the therapist said kindly. “I think that boy liked you,” she finished. 
            “No, no, Todd, he--” she shook her head negatively, “he was kinda popular, I was a nobody. He didn’t like me.”
            “He liked you, Y/N.”
#
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#
That conversation stayed in her head for days. The words of her therapist echoing in her head. You scared the boy away. The truth was: she had scared the boy away. It was heartbreaking to think that she could have had what she wanted, a romance, someone to hold and to be held by. Instead she was alone, an adult who had never even dated anyone for that matter. 
          It wasn’t just that boy from middle school. It was every boy that ever tried getting too close to her. It would be comical if it wasn’t so tragic. A romantic at heart, completely alone. Thank god she had her friends. 
          She hadn’t thought about Jason Todd in years. He hadn’t so much as graced her thoughts since she last saw him in ninth grade. Then she dreamt of him. And things started to change. 
          In her dreams she was his girlfriend. He was loving, he would caress her delicately, look into her eyes lovingly as if he was seeing the whole world in her eyes. He would kiss her tenderly, she could feel his lips when she woke up. 
          He had gotten so big in her dreams, even more handsome than he was when he was 15. Jason was a lanky and tiny kid, but somehow her brain imagined him tall--very tall--and very muscular. His eyes were green, and not the blue she remembered. He looked beautiful and waking up after the dream, she could feel her heart race. 
          After she dreamed about him the first time, she dismissed it. It was her brain making weird connections, it made sense: she had talked about her pseudo-love life and about him that week. But after the second dream she knew there was something wrong. 
          She decided to look him up on the internet. What appeared wasn’t something she liked. 
          News coverage about how he had died mysteriously. ‘Adopted son of Bruce Wayne dies at age 16.’ She couldn’t help but tear up a bit on those headlines. The most recent ones though reported him being wrongfully declared dead and how he was estranged from his family. It even showed a couple of pictures of him and she was surprised to see her dreams were not very far off.
          Other than a couple of tabloid headlines, there was no trace of this guy on the internet. He was almost a ghost story, and  she felt her heart beating faster in anxiety. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pity for him. 
          She otherwise forgot about him--other than the occasional thought about what if that would cross her mind. That is, until she literally stumbled into him. 
#
#
#
A part time job to help with the finances, that’s what working in the bookshop was supposed to be. It would help pay tuition and her insurance. Her parents had said that she didn’t need to do it, they could pay and it wouldn’t even make a dent in their bank account. But it wasn’t for them, it was for herself, a sense of achievement. 
          It was supposed to be just that. No meet cutes, no falling in love in a bookshop, just boring old work. Work for half of the afternoon, close up, get her salary and move on with her life. 
          The shop was quiet that day. No one had come in to buy or even browse anything. It didn’t really bother her. She occupied herself with other things: homework, studying, drawing, texting her friends, the list was endless. She was so engrossed in her drawing, she didn’t even hear the bell ringing and the door opening. 
          She heard someone clear their throat and she looked up from her drawing to meet their eyes. She gaped a bit as she met his gaze, intense blue eyes meeting hers. She closed her mouth quickly, trying to cover the fact that she was clearly staring at him. The gods must be really enjoying themselves playing with her life like that. Of course, she thought, of course that he would fucking appear in her life like that: out of nowhere. The one day she had a calm evening and Jason Todd, the guy who was haunting her dreams and thoughts like a ghost, appears. 
          “May I help you?” she asked, professionally, ignoring her racing heart and the anxiety increasing in the pit of her stomach. 
          “Yes,” he replied. “I’m lookin’ for the complete H.P. Lovecraft collection. I stopped by the other day and a guy separated it for me,” he explained. His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion, and she hoped that he hadn’t recognized her. 
          “Oh,” she said. “Wait a moment, I’ll check if it’s in the back.”
          She walked controlled, to mask the fact that she wanted to run out of that place as fast as she could. 
          She closed the inventory door and leaned her back against it. She breathed heavily, trying to calm herself. It was only a guy, she had talked to plenty of guys before. She calmed herself down, steadying her breathing. 
          She glanced around the shelves looking for his book. The sooner she ended this the better. She could move on with her life without his face haunting her. She found the book (almost like a brick). She got it and took a deep breath before stepping out of the inventory and calmly walking to the front desk. 
          He stood there calmly , his eyes glancing around the shop. He had picked another book to buy, something significantly smaller than Lovecraft's collection.  She itched to see what  it was, before catching herself and stopping her curiosity. She couldn't get attached, even if just a little bit. 
          "Here," she said, resting the book on the counter. She smiled at him kindly, her hand open for the book resting in his hands. He handed it to her, confusion plastered on his face.
          "It's 60 dollars," she stated, calmly and controlled. 
          He handed her the money. She accepted it and packed his books neatly. He clocked her moves as she did so, she felt a bit uncomfortable under his gaze. 
          "I'm sorry, do I know you?" He asked. "I feel like I know you."
          She gulped imperceptibly. So he had recognized her. Goddammit. "I don't think so," she replied, hesitant on whether or not he would see right through her lie. 
          He hummed. His eyes then  shifted down to her name tag, and she knew he had put the pieces together. "Did we go to school together?" He insisted. 
          She smiled tightly. "I don't know, probably," she shrugged. "I went to a pretty big school, there were a lot of people there," a lie. Gotham Academy was big, but it was nowhere near as big as she made it sound. It was the kind of school where you knew everyone, even if you had never talked to them. 
          He smiled at her coyly, sensing her awkwardness. Maybe it was just that that made him finally remember her, or maybe not. Either way she did not like that he indeed recognized her fully. "I remember you," he trailed off. "We had English together," he stated. 
          She pretended to search her memory for him. She couldn't give away that just days before she had dreamed about him yet again. How pathetic, dreaming about a boy from middle school. "Oh yeah," she dragged. "Jason, right?"
          "That's me," he whispered. "I thought you had moved."
          She smiled, it was cute that he remembered enough of her to know that she didn't stay in Gotham for a couple of years. "I did move," she explained. "I came back for college."
          "Why?" He asked, confused by her statement. "Gotham is a shit city, you should've stayed elsewhere."
          She tried not to take offense to it. "It has its appeal," she shrugged. "Besides the science program in Gotham U is very good, it was the best move."
          Jason smirked. "Science huh?"
          "Yeah," she breathed out. She slid the package to him, a sign that she maybe was done talking. 
          Thank the gods his phone rang. She couldn't handle anymore of that. She averted  her attention once more to her drawing, his voice talking angrily on the phone only a background noise to her. "I gotta go," he said and her eyes went back to him. "It was good seeing you, Y/N."
          She tried not to notice how her heart picked up the pace at the sound of her name leaving his lips. "You too," she smiled shyly and he left the store, the bell ringing as he closed the door and her mind plagued by the image of him. 
#
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#
If she thought Jason Todd had plagued her mind and dreams before she had seen him at the bookshop, now he was downright living in her head rent free. She just couldn’t get him out of her mind. The dreams about him, the ones where she would be tenderly loved by him, were getting more frequent and more intense. When she woke up, she would still feel his arms around her and an emptiness would settle in her chest. 
          Why did it have to happen to her? She just wanted to go through life unnoticed, why did the gods have to pull this prank on her?
          She huffed as she closed the shop, the sky already dark enough to be considered dangerous to stay out. It was only a couple of blocks to her car, she could get through the walk unscathed, she had done it before. 
          But then again, it seemed that Fate had it out for her. 
          She could feel someone following her the moment she had left the shop. The looming presence of a threat made her hyper aware of everything, her heart beating out of her chest. She tried to think of ways to lose the guy--she assumed it was a guy, it usually was--but her mind came blank. She thought in passage if her friends would miss her, who would contact them if she were to die. She shook the thought quickly out of her head and hastened her pace. 
          But the guy gained on her, and as soon as she could blink, she felt his arm snake around her neck. She gasped for air desperately, clawing at his arm trying to take it off. It was then that she felt a cold metal press against her back. A gun. She felt the tears coming to her eyes. If the guy were to pull the trigger, the best case scenario was she wouldn’t be able to move her limbs anymore. The worst, well, who would tell her friends she had died in a robbery?
          “Give me your bag,” the guy--now confirmed for his gruff and raspy voice--whispered in her ear.
          “Please, take it,” she begged. “Don’t hurt me.”
          She heard the guy scoff as he pressed the gun further on her back. She whimpered. “We’ll see about that,” he said, his voice laced with malice.
          It was then she heard a loud bang coming from behind her. She thought the guy had pulled the trigger, and she was ready to feel the wetness of her blood sipping through her clothes. Instead, all she felt was a splash on her shoulder and his grip on her loosening considerably. The guy had fallen to the ground behind her, clutching his shoulder and screaming in pain. She turned around to see him and a pool of his own blood forming beneath him. She was paralyzed in fear of the sight.  
          “The police’re on their way,” a distorted voice sounded. She looked up and found a massive man, standing menacingly on top of the thieves body. His red helmet glinted in the moon’s glow. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said softly. 
          She breathed out. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I--I--,” she teared up again, “I would’ve died. You saved my life.”
          “It’s what I do,” he shrugged. “I’ll walk you.”
          “How about the…” she pointed towards the guy laying on the floor in pain.
          “If he wants to live to see another day, he’ll stay exactly where he is,” he said, his voice serious and threatening. 
          “Shouldn’t I give the police a statement?” she whispered. 
          She swore she heard a chuckle of amusement through the voice disruptor he had in his helmet. “I have a video to prove he was tryin’ to rob you, you don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna,” he explained softly. “So, wanna lead the way?”
          She looked down at her feet, nervous to look at him. She nodded and started to walk once again towards her car. He walked behind her respectfully, and she felt the difference between him and the robber. He wasn’t trying to get something out of her, and his large physique felt like there was a literal wall following her to her car. 
          It was a blink till she got to her car. Her hand rested on the door handle and she gave a deep breath, trying desperately to calm herself, trying to remember the breathing exercises her psychologist had taught her. She opened her mouth to say something to the Red Hood, her eyes searching for him next to her. 
          But he was gone. And what was left was just the memory of him in her mind. 
#
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#
“So how was your week?” her psychologist asked, sitting on her armchair, Y/N sitting cross-legged in front of her. 
          “Crazy,” she rolled her eyes in disbelief, her mouth quirking in a weird shape. “So much stuff happened.”
          “Oh do tell,” the psychologist urged her. 
          She sighed, thinking where to begin. “Well, you remember the boy I told you about?”
          “Yes, Jason wasn’t it?”
          “Yep,” she popped. “He showed up at the store the other day.”
          “You’re kidding.”
          “I wish I was, honestly,” she replied breathily. “I didn’t even realize he had come in.”
          “No way,” her therapist responded in disbelief. She seemed invested in the pranks the fates were pulling on her patient.
          “I was too invested in my drawing, mind you,” she smiled. “It’s been weeks since I’ve done a decent piece of scribble so I was excited.”
          “Yes, yes right,” her therapist acknowledged. “And how about Jason? Did you talk to him?”
          “Briefly,” she responded. “I was hoping he wouldn’t recognize me, but he did.” 
          “What did he say?” she quizzed, making notes on her paper. 
          “He asked if he knew me, which I denied at first,” her psychologist looked at her angrily and she shrugged. “Then he finally placed me and asked what I was doing in Gotham. I answered, said I was in college. He said I should’ve stayed elsewhere ‘cause Gotham apparently sucks.”
          “He isn’t wrong,” her therapist pondered. 
          “He isn’t but I like Gotham,” she shrugged once again. 
          “Did you get his number?” her therapist quizzed her. 
          “Nope,” she denied. “He left pretty quickly.”
          “Why don’t I believe that?” the psychologist smiled. 
          “It’s true!” she laughed. “He answered a phone call, got angry at something I didn’t really understand and left pretty quickly.”
          The therapist hummed. “You think you’ll see him again?”
          “I don’t know,” she sniffed. “He got pretty big books when he appeared, I think it’ll be a while before he needs another.”
          “You never know,” she conceded. “What if he does? Do you imagine what you would do?”
          “I mean,” she trailed off, “what I want to do is talk to him and maybe ask for his number,” she finished coyly. “What I will do is be very weird and awkward and scare him off.”
          “Y/N,” the therapist warned. “We’ve talked about this.”
          “I know, I know,” she waved off. “I won’t do it. I’ll try to be friendly.”
            “Good. What else happened this week?”
          “Almost died,” she swallowed, nervously, “quite literally, I’m afraid.”
          “What?”
          “Was leaving the store, it was pretty early in the night, I think. And a guy got me by the neck and pressed his gun to my spine,” she recounted quietly. “I thought I would die.”
          “But you didn’t,” her therapist comforted her. “What happened after?”
          “The Red Hood showed up,” she sniffed. “Shot the guy in the shoulder and then knocked him out.”
          “When did that happen?” her therapist’s voice was filled with worry.
          “2 days ago,” she replied quietly. 
          “I’m so sorry this happened to you,” the psychologist cooed. “Are you alright?”
          “I’m okay,” she nodded, her eyes filled with tears that did not dare to spill. “The Red Hood was very gentle, he walked me to my car and made sure I was safe.”
          “Uhum,” the therapist hummed, jotting down something. She always wondered what her therapist wrote down about her, but maybe it was for the best that she didn’t know what was written down. 
          “I did some research on him afterwards,” she diverted the subject out of her. “Turns out he’s very famous for protecting street kids.”
          “Is that so?” 
          “Yeah,” she nodded enthusiastically. “There’s a couple of stories going around social media of people who witnessed him, you know…” she trailed off. “He seems to look out for people in poorer neighborhoods. Like Crime Alley. He seems very active there,” she added.
          “I didn’t know that,” the psychologist said. 
          “Yeah, you’d get mistaken by the bat symbol on his chest, but there’s very few reports of him getting involved in Batman-esque adventures.”
          Her therapist laughed. “And what might those be?”
          “You know,” she shrugged. “Aliens, psycho-clowns, riddles, those kinds of stuff. Although there are a couple of people that said he did have a crazy huge fight with Black Mask once, there doesn’t seem to be any other. If there is, he sure made a good job hiding it.”
          “You seem very excited about this Red Hood,” the therapist noted. 
          “He was nice,” she shrugged once more. “And I’m thankful he does what he does. I wouldn’t be here if he didn’t,” she added quietly. “Literally.”
          “Well, then we got to make sure you live your best life after this second chance you got granted.”
#
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#
As soon as the words ‘what if you see him again’ left her therapist’s mouth, she knew she would see Jason Todd again. Because the Universe was out for her like that. It was only a matter of when. 
          Turns out ‘when’ was a week later after the first time she saw him. She concluded he was either a hoarder or a very fast reader. She hoped it would be the latter. 
          This time, she was paying attention. She was organizing the shelves calmly, and as odd as it seemed, that was the best part of her job. It eased her anxiety to know everything was where it was supposed to be.
          She jumped at the sound of the bell, her heart beating faster and her mind racing at the worst case scenarios. But it was just him. And she was entirely relieved that it was just Jason. She settled the book that was about to go on the shelf--‘there you go Little Women, back to where you belong’--and got out from behind her hiding spot. “Hey, Jason,” she said and his eyes found hers. 
          He opened a smile that knocked the air out of her. “Oh hey,” he breathed out. 
        She swallowed her nerves down. She would make her therapist proud, goddammit. “How can I help you?” she asked, opening a smile she hoped it was charming. 
        “I finished the books I bought the other day,” he said, his face a tad bit nervous. Did she make him nervous? “Do you have any recommendations?” he finished, his hands shoved in his pockets, shifting his weight slightly. 
        “It depends what you’re looking for,” she trailed off, returning to behind the shelves. Her fingers trailed lightly over the spine of the books she had just organized. She heard him walk behind her accompanying her to wherever she intended to go. “What are you looking for?” she turned around to see him, and saw him gulp nervously. 
        “Romance,” he blurted out. “How about a romance?”
        “Ummm,” she hummed, her eyes once more trailing over the spines of the books. “A love story or a real romantic type of book? You know with loads of self pity and drama. Or maybe just a very long and nice novel?”
        He laughed airly. “Surprise me,” he teased, and it seemed all his nerves were gone. 
        She smirked. “Okay then.” She pulled a book off the shelf. It wasn’t a big book, it couldn’t be longer than 300 pages. She gave it to him. “Epitaph of a Small Winner,” she said. “A romance, a realist one but nevertheless a romance.”
        He grabbed the book, looking tiny in his big hands. His fingers tracing the title delicately. “What is it about?”
        “A dead person narrating their life and reflecting upon it,” she shrugged. “A very interesting read indeed, but you’d have to do a bit of research. It’s set in 1880s Brazil.”
        “I’m okay with that,” he smiled looking at her. “Any more recs?”
        “Not for now,” she smirked. “How else am I going to have you come back if I give all my recommendations at once?”
        His smile faltered for a split second before taking permanent residence on his face. “Who’s to say I wouldn’t come back even if you did give me all your recommendations?”
        She was left speechless. She felt heat coming up to her cheeks and he looked somewhat proud he left her flustered like that. “Well then, do make sure you come back after you’ve finished.”
        “I will, Y/N.”
#
#
#
Jason didn’t know why he went back to the bookshop. He truly didn’t. 
        He wasn’t expecting to see her working there. He wasn’t expecting to see her at all, actually. He barely even remembered her from his middle school days. He vaguely remembered finding her pretty and he knew she was very smart. Other than that, she was basically a stranger to him. Just like that version of himself was a stranger to him now. 
        It was a surprise to say the least. She had grown up marvelously, from what he remembered at least. She wore glasses now, and in his opinion it only made her prettier. His breath caught in his throat just remembering the sight of her that first time. His brothers caught up in his behavioral shift, and teased him endlessly. Jason stopped that rather quickly: it’s easy when you’re bigger and more intimidating than them. It also helps that they’re desperately trying to maintain the thin and fragile relationship they had. 
        Jason wanted to say he hadn’t rushed to finish those books to see her again, but he did. He wanted to say he hadn’t rushed to read her recommendation, but he did. He finished it in a day. He wished he had read it sooner. Somehow he felt like that sometimes, a dead man narrating his own story. At least he was strikingly different from the protagonist. At least he wasn’t an asshole. Not most times anyways. 
        He went back to the shop the next day, around closing time--he realized they were closing early and he wondered if it had anything to do with the incident Y/N was involved in. He was sure she would be there. Something told him that she would. He got in, as quietly as he could. The store was empty, after all it was a Thursday afternoon. The door made the usual bell sound behind him, and Y/N appeared behind the shelves, her face stony. 
        “I finished it,” he said with a smile.
        She smiled back at him, and his heart did a somersault. “That was fast, it is not an easy read.”
        “Well, it was a very good book,” he pointed. “It’s easier when the book’s good.”
        “What did you think of it?” she asked curiously.
        “It’s very complex,” he began. “You want to believe Brás but he’s just so….”
        “Insufferable?”
        “Exactly. And he’s a hypocrite too. Which just drives me fucking nuts,” he ran his hands through his hair. “The parallels you can make to the present, though, are just… very daunting,” he added. “It’s impressive the guy wrote this stuff in the nineteenth century and...” he trailed off.
        “Society hasn’t changed one bit since then,” she completed him, her eyes glinting. She was smiling pleasantly, and Jason found it confusing, after all they were talking about something entirely serious.  “So, you here for another rec?” She changed the subject.
        “If you have one, I’d like that,” he said sheepishly. 
        She smirked. “Let’s see,” she moved to behind the shelves once again, her eyes trailing the books expertely. “How about a nice little love story, huh?”
        He shrugged, his heart beating harder in his chest. “Sure, why not.”
        She smiled at him and took out a yellowish cover with a dagger drawn across it. The title was written in the middle of the cover in nice flowery letters. “It’s about a girl that has a special power. And she kinda is trained to be an assassin of sorts, and she is set to a quest with a prince that has the same gift as her. Kinda. But you get the gist.”
        “Yeah, I do,” he nodded, his fingers trailing slightly over the title. 
        “It’s an YA novel so be kind to it,” she warned. 
        “I’ll be.”
        They both made their way to the cash register. She was behind the counter when Jason’s phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and answered it without even looking at the caller. “Hello?” he said, trapping his phone between his shoulder and ear, to fish the money for the book out of his pocket.
        “Is this Mr. Todd?” the person--a woman--said.
           “Yes. Who’s speaking?” he asked. Jason could feel anxiety rising in his body and mind and he tried to push it down. Who the fuck was this person and, most importantly, how the fuck did she get his number?
            “I’m Principal Genoise-Beckham, from Gotham Academy,” she explained. What kind of name was Genoise-Beckham? “I’m calling because of your brother Damian. He got into a fight during the end of the school hours and you’re the next on his contacts list.”
            Jason sighed, a twinge of anger sounding through it. “So no one’s available?”
            “I’m afraid not, Mr.Todd.”
            Not even Alfred, and he knew that for a fact because Jason was the last on the contacts list. Bruce wouldn’t put him any higher, because Bruce doesn’t quite trust him. Not anymore. “I won’t have to sit through any meetings right?”
            “No, Mr. Wayne already arranged one,” the principal said, tiredly. 
            “Tell the kid I’ll be there in 20 minutes,” and then he hung up. 
            She looked at him quizzically, his book neatly packaged in parcel paper with a nice little bow on top of it. “Is everything okay?” she asked, concerned. 
            “My brother got into a fight at the Academy and now I have to pick him up,” he said grumpily. 
            “Oh,” her face fell, and Jason felt guilty. “I hope your brother’s okay.”
            “The little shit probably is,” he gritted through his teeth. He saw a twinge of sadness go through her expression. “Listen,” he started, “I really wanted to stay, but if I don’t pick him up, it’ll start a whole thing with my family and I…” he didn’t complete but he was sure she understood. 
            “It’s okay, Jay,” it was the first time she had called him by a nickname, and his heart beated faster at the sound. “I was about to close up anyways.”
            “Oh,” he breathed. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
            “Yeah,” she nodded, her eyes a bit glossy. 
            He turned around, his book on his hands, when he heard a small ‘Wait’. Jason turned back to her, she was looking at her feet, maybe embarrassed that she had called him, maybe she just didn’t want him to go. He didn’t want to go either. “Can you give me a ride?” she asked. “I mean, I live pretty close to Gotham Academy, it wouldn’t be too much of a detour.”
            His heart picked up the pace, and he fought a smile. “Yeah, yeah, of course.”
          She smiled at him. “Great,” she replied. “I just need to pick up my things and we can go.”
          She was very quick. She turned the lights off of the entire store and returned to the front desk with a small backpack and a few notebooks in hand. She smiled at him. “Lead the way.” 
           Like the gentleman he was raised to be, he took the notebooks from her hands and led the way, Y/N only a few steps behind him. She fished out a key out of her pocket and locked the front door. She tied a chain around the doorknob in a very specific way that almost seemed like a sailor’s knot. She put a locket in the end of the chain, and dragged a metal door down, then locking it to the ground. It seemed excessive, but it was Gotham, and Jason knew first hand what the city was like. 
           They walked a few doors down. Jason’s car glistened in the fading sunlight. He was fucking proud of that car. He had fixed everything in it, he knew that machine inside out. He made it what it was, a beautiful and powerful car. It was one of the few things he had done he felt proud of it. 
          He unlocked the doors with the alarm--yes, a 1962 black Corvette with electronic alarm, he had done that--and he heard a gasp beside him. He turned to see Y/N and her eyes glistened with amazement. “What?” he asked, confused. 
           “You have a ‘62 Corvette?” she asked, shocked. 
           “Yeah,” he dragged, still confused. 
           “I fucking love this car,” she said completely ignoring him and getting closer to the car, analyzing it carefully. “It’s so beautiful.”
           “It really is,” he got around it, looking at the street to see if there were any cars coming down. He then opened the door of his car and got in. “Get in,” he smiled at her. 
           She opened a beaming smile. She opened the door and sat on the passenger seat, her bag resting on her feet, her notebooks now on her lap, she noticed the roof of the car on--the better option for the approaching winter--the head rest he had added, the bright red color of the leather seats, and the original panel, even though she knew he most likely altered everything behind it. She looked like a little kid in it, and Jason could get used to the sight of her beside him. 
           He started the car and she squealed excitedly at the sound of the motor. He looked at her, a small smile on her face. “Is it the original motor?” she asked. “It doesn’t sound like it, it sounds electrical.”
           “That’s ‘cause it is electrical,” he responded. “The original one was very poluent so I switched it.”
           “That’s so cool,” she said, closing her eyes. Jason hinted she was trying to hear the sounds of the car, like someone you’d listen to music. “This is so cool,” she breathed out. 
           He hummed in amusement. “Never met someone who was as passionate about this car as me,” he noted. 
           “You didn’t meet people with good taste then,” she joked. “I’ve loved this car since I was a teen. Always wanted one, but I never had it in me to buy it.”
           “I found this one in a junkyard basically,” he said. “It was in pretty good condition considering where it was. Spent a year tryin’ to fix it to the original conditions, gave up and then another year buildin’ it to what it is today.”
           She looked at him, he noticed out of the corner of the eye, incredulously. “You’re so fucking cool, Jason,” she said. “You’re beyond cool, you’re just…” she trailed off. He looked at her quickly and she had a shy smile and she was looking at her hands. 
           “Thank you,” he thanked her. “People haven’t found me cool in,” he let out a breath, “forever.”
           “Well, you haven’t been walking with very nice people then,” she said. “No offense to your friends, but you’re just… you’re special, Jay.”
           And, fuck, did he love hearing that from her. She left him speechless. She turned to him and saw his stony expression--an expression of panic and chock, not of disgust as she thought--and she inhaled sharply. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” she said, desperately trying to correct her mistake. “I said too much. Forget I said anything, please,” she completed, smally. 
           “It’s okay, love,” he replied softly, the car stopping slowly at the intersection. He turned to her. He grabbed her hands, that were twisting nervously in her lap--a nervous tick he remembered noticing she had in school--and looked at her softly. “You’re fucking special too, Y/N.”
           She looked at him and her eyes filled with tears. “I--” she hesitated. She smiled at him, sniffing and wiping her eyes with one of her hands, the other still intertwined in Jason’s. “Thank you,” she said. “You have no idea what this means to me.”
           He smiled at her. “I’m just saying the truth, love.”
           That made her even more flustered. “You’re just being kind,” she said, shyly, looking at her hands entangled with his. She removed her hands of his, the traffic light turned green and Jason resumed driving the car. 
           “No, I’m not,” he denied her. “I’m telling you the truth. You’re special, and you’re amazing, Y/N.”
           She shook her head in denial, her bottom lip trapped by her teeth. “I’m not all that great,” she whispered. “I’m pretty annoying in fact. You just haven’t seen it yet.”
           “I don’t believe you. Why’d you think that?”
          She shrugged. “When you spend your whole childhood and teenagedom hearing that you’re nothing but an annoying crybaby nerd, you start to believe it at some point.”
Jason swallowed tickly at her remark. He couldn’t believe what she had just said. “Who said that to you?”
        She shook her head. “You don’t have to worry,” she replied, dismissing his concern. “It’s over now.”
           “But it still hurts you,” he noted. He noticed how this could easily apply to him. How he easily would get worked up on the little things Bruce would mention and Jason would brush it, say it’s over, it doesn’t matter, when it clearly does. It fucking does. 
           She looked at her hands, and sniffed. “It’ll always hurt, I guess.”
           Jason was rarely speechless. But, at that moment, he didn’t know what to say. Because he remembered hearing those things about her. He remembered people talking about her in that way, saying she was weird, and that they only talked to her when they needed help with homework. Admittedly, he never ever said those things about her--he didn’t even believe those things--but he never said a word to those who called her that. And that, arguably, was worse than saying those things. 
           He struggled to conciliate that guilt with the fact that he didn’t even feel like that boy--he wasn’t that boy anymore. That boy died by the hands of a clown. What had emerged from it was something entirely different. And yet, he still felt guilt over something he hadn’t done when he was that kid. 
           “I’m sorry,” he whispered. 
           “You don’t have to be sorry, Jay,” she said, her hands finding his, on the gear shift. “You didn’t do anything.”
           “But I--” he started, “I didn’t say anything about it. I knew about those things and I didn’t stop them.”
           She looked at him, and he saw by the corner of his eye. “It’s okay,” she said. “I’m sure you were going through other stuff and you just wanted to fit in.”
           How was she so fucking understanding? He scoffed lightly. The thing is: he wasn’t trying to fit in, he was trying to stay out of sight. So he just listened and said nothing. “How are you so good?” He said, incredulously. He was the first person to say Gotham was rotten, head to toe, and yet there she was, fucking pure soul. 
           “I guess I just am,” she shrugged. 
           And then they fell in a comfortable silence. Her hand was still in his, and he fought the urge to bring her knuckles to his lips and plant a kiss on it. Every now and then he would steal glances at her, and he swore she was glowing in the orange sunlight peaking in the window. 
           “That’s me,” she said, pointing to a tall modern building a block before Gotham Academy. 
           “That’s a big fancy building,” he noted slowly. 
           “It’s one of my parents’ apartments,” she explained. “I live in it rent free, but I have to pay for electricity and food and stuff. It was the condition for using it. They insisted they’d pay the tuition and I demanded this apartment in return, ‘cause I wanted to pay the tuition and they wanted to--” she trailed off noticing a weird look in his eyes. “I’m sorry I ranted.”
           “It’s fine, I like to hear you talk,” he said, smiling. 
         She smiled back, looking at her feet. “Well, I should get going,” she said opening the car door. “Thanks for the ride, Jason.”
           “No problem, love,” he shook his head slightly, and looked at her softly. 
          “Yeah,” she whispered, her eyes fixed on his, already out of the car. “Bye,” she finished awkwardly and quickly walked to the building. 
           Jason watched as she floated to her home, mesmerized by her. 
           Fuck. 
#
#
#
“Red Hood has been following me,” she manifested her psychologist looking at her with wide eyes. “It’s weird to say it out loud.”
        “Why do you say that?” her psychologist asked. 
        “‘Cause I’ve seen him,” she replied. “A couple of times actually.”
        “Are you sure?” the therapist asked. 
        “Yes, I am,” she nodded enthusiastically. “I just don’t get why he’s following me.”
        “Isn’t he supposed to be a good guy?” her therapist quizzed. “Following people doesn’t seem like a good guy thing to do.”
        “Yeah,” she whispered. “I’m not scared though. I know I should be, but I’m not,” she commented. “I know I haven’t done anything wrong, there's no reason for him to be following me, at least no reason like that. I don’t know,” she sighed, “maybe he just wants to be my guardian angel,” she shrugged. 
        “It sure is a weird angel,” the therapist noted. “Have you talked about this with Jason?”
        “I did mention it to him,” she nodded. “But he got all weird about it and changed the subject quickly.”
        “That’s strange.”
        “Yeah, he definitely knows something about this,” she said smugly. “I really want to find out.”
        “Well, on the topic of Jason,” her therapist said as if she hadn’t brought him up, “how’s things with him?”
        “They’re okay,” she shrugged. “He comes to see me at work almost every day. Then he walks me to my car or gives me a ride home.”
        “I see,” the psychologist noted. “And what do you guys talk about?”
        “I don’t know,” she mumbled under her breath. “Mostly about books. Sometimes about life,” she recounted. “He’s very reserved. He doesn’t talk much about himself.”
        “And you? Do you talk about yourself?” 
        She hesitated. There was no point in lying to her therapist, it would go against the very definition of therapy and if there was one thing she hated was hypocrisy. “No,” she shook her head quietly, “I-- everytime I try, something happens and…” she shrugged. “I guess I’m too scared of scaring him off.”
        “Y/N…” the therapist warned. “You need to open up to him. How do you expect him to stick around if you don’t share things about you?”
        “To be fair,” she said raising her finger as if it would make the point she was about to make more believable, “I’ve talked about myself once with him and it was… fuck, it was hard.”
        “How did he react?” the therapist inquired. “Was he a dick?”
        “No!” she was quick to reply. “He was the sweetest. But I’m just…”
        “Depriving yourself of a potential relationship,” her therapist completed for her. “You’re sabotaging yourself, Y/N.”
        “No, I’m not,” she denied, fooling herself. “I just don’t want to get my hopes up and end up heartbroken.”
        The psychologist sighed. “I know you’re scared of getting hurt, but you’ll never know unless you let him in,” the therapist stated. “You might be pushing him away and sabotaging yourself when investing in this relationship could very well be something right for you,” she finished.
        “I know,” she mumbled. “But I just,” she sighed, defeated. “I’m scared.”
        “I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to try,” her therapist added softly. 
        “Okay,” she nodded, softly. 
#
#
#
She waited at the edge of her seat for Jason to come in at the store. She was going to try. Fuck, she hoped she didn’t mess anything up. Up until that moment she didn’t know what she was doing, she just did it. She hoped she knew what she was about to do. 
        The bell rang and Jason walked in, his hair swept by the chilly wind and his hands stuffed in his jeans’ pockets. He wore that leather jacket she loved so much, it made him so much more beautiful. She just wanted to grab him by his shirt and kiss him to no end. She smiled at him and he smiled back. 
        “I was waiting for you,” she announced happily. 
        “Yeah?” he said, leaning on his elbows. His face was inches away from hers. His pupils were blown wide, his blue eyes twinkling with something she couldn’t quite place yet. “Excited for the next rec, huh?” he smirked. 
        “No, actually,” she corrected him. “I needed to tell you something.”
        “Oh,” he said. “Go ahead then, I’m all yours.”
        “Okay,” she whispered, her heart racing at his comment. She swallowed nervously, looking him in the eye. This was it. She was going to open up to him. “I was talking to my therapist actually,” she started, “and we agreed--actually no,” she laughed. “She said that I need to open up and be vulnerable more. And it may seem a bit weird that I’m saying this to you but I swear there’s a reason.  So here it goes,” she breathed out. “I really like you, Jay. Like, really really like you. And I’m sorry if I’ve seemed weird or standoffish or anything, I’m trying to work on that. So if you want to, I don’t know, take this, um, friendship somewhere else, maybe somewhere romantic, I’d be, you know, happy to take it there too. With you, I mean.”
        He smiled genuinely at her. His eyes shifted to  her hands. She was twisting her fingers nervously. He rested his hand on hers, her hand immediately relaxing under his touch. “I’d like that,” he responded quietly. “Wanna go on a date tonight?”
        She smiled, her eyes a bit teary. Her heart raced in her chest, the worst case scenario hadn’t come true. He liked her too. He wanted to date too. Her anxiety was wrong. Thank God for that. “Yeah, I do,” she confessed. 
        His smile got bigger somehow.  “Great,” he breathed out, and she could feel the nerves leaving his body. “I’ll pick you up at 8,” he stated. 
        She smiled at him. “Great.”
#
#
#
“I need you to cover patrol for me,” Jason said to Tim, his phone pressed between his shoulder and ear. He carried a bouquet of flowers, bags from the market and a suit he had it pressed and sent to the Iceberg Lounge.
        “Why?” Tim quizzed him. 
        “‘Cause I have a thing,” Jay responded. 
        “Yeah, Imma need more than that, Jay,” Tim said. “What thing?”
        “You’re a little fucker”, he answered, resting the bags on the floor. “You just want gossip.”
        “No, I want a reason why I’ll have to add the Narrows to my patrol tonight,” Tim argued. “It’s quite far from my usual route, y’know.”
        “Fuck you, Tim,” Jason muttered. 
        “Why such hostility?” Tim teased. Jason could practically hear his brother’s smirk over the phone. “Is someone going on a date tonight?”
        Jason exhaled deeply, trying not to lose his temper and drive to Wayne Towers to choke his brother to death. He was on a schedule, he had dinner to prepare. “Will you cover for me or not?”
        “Will you tell me why you're ditching patrol?”
        “No,” Jason gritted through his teeth. 
        “Then no,” Tim said plainly. Jason knew he was messing with him. 
        Jason sighed. There was no way he’d cancel on Y/N. Not because his motherfucking brother was toying with him. “I swear to God, Drake, if you tell anyone I'll kill you the most painful way possible.”
        “So you are going on a date,” Tim stated. 
        “Fuck,” Jason sighed. “Yes, I am. Now, please Timothy, would you cover patrol for me tonight?”
        “Who’s the girl?”
        “Tim,” Jason started.
        “Or boy, I don’t judge.”
        “Will you cover the motherfucking patrol?”
        “Yeah, yeah,” Tim dismissed. 
        “Thank you,” Jason sighed relieved. 
        “Will you introduce me to t--”
        Jason hung up on his brother. He had a date to get ready to. 
#
#
#
Jason spent the rest of his afternoon getting everything ready for the date. The food, the flowers, the ambiance of the roof. Everything was perfect, just like she fucking deserved. 
           He was nervous out of his mind. His hands were sweating and he couldn’t stop running his hands through his hair in a nervous habit. It was so long ago the last time he had gone on a date with someone he cared this much about. He didn’t want to screw it up. 
         She was so precious, so good. He didn’t know what someone like her saw in someone like him, someone tainted and broken. But she saw something, and she wanted him. And he wasn’t dumb, he wasn’t going to let her go. Even if everything in his life told him to run from her, protect her from a distance, don’t get close ‘cause she’ll become a target. 
         And he was doing just that, he was protecting from a distance as the Hood. He was being fucking dumb about it too, cause she had seen him more than once. But being distant was not enough, not anymore. 
          So there he was, in front of her apartment, black ‘62 Corvette, crisp black suit and blood red t-shirt. His hair was messy and his hands were in his pockets. He leaned on the hood of the car, waiting patiently for her to come to his encounter. He was early anyways, he could wait, even if he hated the looks of pity he was receiving. She would come and those fucking pedestrians knew nothing. 
           She opened the doors and stepped on the sidewalk. She was wearing a beautiful red knee-length dress with black heels and Jason was just paralyzed at her sight. Fucking hell. How can someone be so perfect? How can someone so perfect want him?
          She stopped in front of him, a smile framing her face beautifully, her glasses crystal clean. “You look great, Jay,” she stated. 
          “I--” he opened his mouth but no words came out of his mouth. Her face fell and her eyes flashed with worry. 
          “What’s wrong?” she said. “Is everything okay?”
          He breathed out and smiled at her. “Everything’s perfect, love,” he said. He picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles gently. “You look breathtakin’.”
          She looked down shyly. “Thank you, Jay.”
          He opened the door of the car for her. She thanked him kindly, and he closed the door for her. He entered the car and started the engine. “Where’re we going?” she quizzed him.
          He looked at her with a smirk. “It’s a surprise,” he stated. “It’s part of the charm.”
          She smiled at him. “You don’t need to surprise me to charm me, Jason.”
          “Cute you think that, but you’ll see,” he responded. “This is going to be a perfect night.”
          She looked at him and sighed quietly, like she was considering something. “It’s already perfect. I’m here with you,” she said coyly. 
          Jason looked at her quickly, her gaze fixed on him. He smiled shyly. One of his hands left the wheel and found hers, holding it tightly. He brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed it softly. He wanted to say three little words, and he almost did. But she was too precious and he couldn’t just waste those words in a moment like this, an immature moment at that. No, he would cherish her like she was supposed too. He would love her in secret for now, and when he was sure she reciprocated his feelings he would say it with all his heart, he would shout it from the highest rooftop. 
          But, for now, he just looked at her, hoping his look was enough to say what he couldn’t. She smiled like she understood what he was trying to say. 
          Yeah, she was perfect. He wasn’t going to let her slip through his fingers. Fuck the voices in his head saying to run. For once in his life he was going to welcome this feeling with open arms. 
#
#
#
“So, how was your week?” her therapist quizzed. 
        “It was great, actually,” she said. “Jay took me to the museum in Metropolis. I did well in a test and I got my salary early so I bought a new pin for my collection.”
        “You’re sure spending a lot of time with Jason,” the psychologist noted. 
        “Yeah, yeah,” she sighed softly. “I really like him, you know.”
        “I do know,” the therapist replied. “How does it feel to be in a relationship?”
        She looked down at her hands, flustered. “It feels nice and weird and...and…” she trailed off. “I have no words to describe it.”
        Her therapist smiled at her. “He seems like a nice guy, Y/N,” she commented. “How do your friends like him?”
        She twisted her hands nervously. “Henry was suspicious of him at first,” she started. “You know, Jay’s a bit shy and intimidating, Henry was concerned he’d hurt me.”
        “And how did you react to his concern?”
        “I mean,” she shrugged, “it’s a valid concern. But Jay wouldn’t…” she hesitated. “We’ve talked about this, y’know? He knows where I stand, he knows where my fears come from and he gave me his word,” she sniffed, her voice strained. “He promised. And so far he didn’t break any of his promises.”
        “You do trust him a lot,” the therapist noticed. 
        “I trust him with my life,” she added. “I hope he doesn’t break that trust.”
        She hummed and wrote something down. “What about your other friends?” her therapist questioned. “I know Henry means the world to you, but he’s not your only friend.”
        “Julie thought he was okay and the other boys were just very neutral about it,” she explained. “You know how they’re like. As long as I’m happy they’ll be supportive.”
        “Are you happy?” the psychologist inquired. 
        “Yeah,” she replied enthusiastically. “Fuck yeah. Jay’s just… He’s the best, you know. He gets me. He’s respectful and he’s smart and handsome. I really like him.”
        Her therapist smiled. “I’m glad you’re happy, Y/N,” she said. “It’s been a long time coming.”
        “It sure has,” she chuckled quietly. 
        “How about the Red Hood?” the therapist asked. “Have you seen him lately?”
        “All the time,” she replied. “Ever since I started dating Jay, I’ve seen the Hood when I wasn’t with him.”
        “Doesn’t that concern you?”
        “No,” she shook her head. “It’s weird but it doesn’t.”
        “Why’s that?”
        “I don’t know,” she shrugged. “He seems familiar, you know? Not because I’ve seen him up close or seen him more times than I can count but…” she pondered. “His posture and his stance, it’s so so familiar to me. I wonder if I’ve met him as a civilian.”
        “You could have,” her therapist pondered. “How does Jason think of this?”
        “He doesn’t,” she answered. “He always changes the subject very quickly every time I bring it up.”
        “That’s weird.”
        “Yep,” she agreed. “I know he’s up to something. I just haven’t had the courage to ask him. Yet.”
#
#
#
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 
        Jason messed up.  He messed up bad. 
        He could live with the fact she had seen him a couple of times lurking in rooftops making sure she was safe. He could live with the fact she was onto him, that she knew he was hiding something from her, something related to the Hood. Jason knew eventually he would have to tell her, this double life would become unsustainable, and he’d have to merge it into one. As much as he dreaded that day, he would fucking do it. 
        But when she sat him down in her living room and said that she knew he was the Hood, he knew, he was fucking sure, he should have been more careful. 
        “I’m not mad, y’know,” she said quietly. “I get why you hid from me.”
        Jason remained quiet, trying to make sense of his thoughts. “How did you find out?”
        A smile passed on her face. “You were just so familiar, I guess,” she explained. “You felt so familiar even from afar. So I just started connecting the dots.”
        “I see,” he whispered. His heart beated faster and faster with anxiety. He couldn’t handle it, he thought he would have more time to tell her. He hadn’t realized she could very well discover on her own, he had given her enough clues to do just so. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
        “It’s fine, Jason,” she replied quietly. “You don’t need to feel sorry.”
        “I feel like I should,” he said. He sighed and grabbed her hands softly. “I owe you an explanation, Y/N.”
        “You don’t owe me anything besides your safety,” she cut him. “I don’t care about what you do at night, Jason. I care about you, I--” she looked at him, trying to search for something in his eyes. “I love you, Jay. And I don’t think I could bear to lose you.”
        Jason opened his mouth in shock. He wasn’t expecting that. “I love you,” he replied to her. “I’ve fucking loved you ever since I laid eyes on you, Y/N,” he grabbed her face and rested his forehead on hers. “I was just so scared to let you in on the secret. ‘Cause I know of the dangers, I know first hand how fucking dangerous this life is, and loosing you would kill me,” he explained. “For the second time,” he whispered. 
        Her hands rested on his cheeks, her thumb caressing him gently. She kissed him, softly, and he reciprocated it. 
        “I want to tell you,” Jason whispered, against her lips. “I have to tell you, how I became what I became.”
        “You don’t n--” she began. 
        “I do, though,” he interrupted her. “I do,” he whispered. He sighed, and looked down. He held her wrists carefully. “If you don’t want to see me after everything I tell you, I’ll understand. I won’t blame you.”
        “Imma stop you right there,” she looked him in the eyes. “You think I don’t know anything, but I know a couple of things, Jay. I did my research on the Hood,” she commented. “You don’t scare me.”
        “There are things that I’ve done that…” he shook his head. 
        “It’s okay, Jay,” she said softly. “One step at a time, love.”
        So he took one step at a time. He told her everything carefully. Some details were left behind, he couldn’t say them out loud, not even if he wanted to. She held his hands through it all, and he was truly grateful for it. 
        “I had no idea,” she whispered. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”
        “You don’t have to be,” he shook his head and squeezed her hands. “It led me to you.”
author’s note: here is the link to my jason playlist once again and the link to my masterlist.
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In Your Arms: Hawks
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In Your Arms: a collection of short fics about cuddling with various characters. Find the masterlist here.
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Keigo isn’t sure how you two fit on the couch, but he’s not about to complain.
It’s your couch, not one bought on the number two pro hero’s salary. It’s always been kind of worn down (you’d gotten it second hand) but that doesn’t really matter right now, because it’s not like he wants to think about anything except how incredibly comfortable it is to be laying with you in his arms.
He’s dragged you to lay on your side, facing him, with his face buried into your chest. He’s still in his hero costume, and normally you’d have berated him for wearing the uniform while off-duty but he hadn’t had time to take it off at the end of the day.
And he knows you like his jacket—it’s big, and warm, and fluffy, and if you’re to be believed it smells like him. You’ve burrowed your arms into it, practically wearing the oversized thing while it’s still on him, and it’s unbelievably adorable. The feeling of your arms under his jacket, holding him beneath his armor in an almost literal way, is addictive.
Your back is pressed against the back of the couch, and both of Keigo’s wings are sprawled out on the floor behind him. His arms are wrapped tightly around you, legs tangled together over the couch’s arm, head tucked under your chin. He’s in complete bliss, and he’s falling asleep. It’s easy to do when he’s got all the time in the world to spend in your comforting embrace. You pull one of your hands out from the plush comfort of his jacket, and he resists the urge to whine at the loss, but then you thread it through his hair and he nuzzles further into your body.
The sound bubbles up within him and escapes before he can stop it; a strange trilling, low and deep in the back of his throat, vibrating his chest against you.
He flushes immediately, something you wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t pulled away from your chest to turn his head into the collar of his jacket. It’s automatic, and as soon as he does it he regrets it, because all he wants to do is return to your warmth and drift off with his head tucked under your chin.
“Keigo,” you say, speaking for the first time since he’d pulled you into the couch, “you’re okay. I like it when you coo for me.”
He finally pulls away from his collar, just slightly, golden eyes peering out and remarkably raw. It’s uncharacteristic of him to get so embarrassed, he’s not exactly the insecure type, but shame over his instinct to coo when happy has been instilled in him since his childhood.
A hero doesn’t make such vulnerable sounds. He should know better.
You’re leaning forward to pepper kisses over his eyes before he can fully complete the thought, and his lids flutter closed so he can accept the fairy-light dusting of your affection.
“It’s just me,” you say between pecks. “Just you and me. Nobody to impress.”
That’s right. You’re the only person around, and you like that noise. You’re safe and harmless and you love him, no strings attached, and you like it when he coos. His arms tighten around your torso, pulling you impossibly closer.
He never wants to let you go. He’ll just stay here, clinging to you, forever. That sounds like a good plan. Forget the rest of the world, all he needs is your warmth.
He registers your hand—the one still on his back—moving upwards, it sends a shiver down his spine. He’s not entirely sure what you’re up to, but when your other hand begins to drag through his hair again any thoughts other than how good your nails feel lightly scratching his scalp go flying out the window.
Until, of course, your hand reaches its destination between his shoulder blades and strokes, sweet and kind, right at the base of his left wing.
The reaction is immediate. Keigo’s feathers tremble, the wing spreading wide before relaxing even more than it had been before as pleasure shoots through him. He goes to shove his face into your chest again as another coo is ripped from his lungs, louder but no less serene.
You’re fast in kissing him, capturing his lips before he can hide his face again. It’s slow and tender, and he responds in kind, as enthusiastic as he dare be in the sleepy warmth of the room. Even as you pull away your nimble fingers work magic at the base of his wings, alternating between them and stroking at the sensitive feathers that meet the overworked muscle of his back.
It’s a conscious effort not to hold back his cooing at first, but as his entire being melts into your hold the shame and the fear slowly dissolve. You’re still stroking his hair, and you’re murmuring sweet praise, too soft to fully hear but enough to make his chest swell with an addictive concoction of pleasant emotions.
He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this but, dear lord, he’ll take it. It’s like he’s become boneless, just from your simple touch. When did you come to know him—his body—so well?
He feels himself fall, and despite how fast he is, despite his honed reflexes, he’s helpless to prevent it. You just have a mind-numbing effect on him, he supposes. He’s still quick enough to stop you from getting hurt—not that you would from falling off a couch, really, but he’ll protect you from even the smallest of inconveniences if he can. And then he’s on the ground, back against the floor, wings sprawled out, you resting on his chest.
You laugh. It sends happy tingles throughout Keigo’s body, a soft smile spreading across his face. Despite the far less comfortable change of location, the content spell that has you both enraptured hasn’t been broken.
He doesn’t release his hold on your waist, and you don’t pull your arm from his jacket—in fact, you take your hand out of his hair and return it to its twin, both threading under his arms and around his back to rest on his shoulders as you lay your head upon his chest right above his heart.
“We’re on the ground now,” you say, but your voice is barely more than a whisper, and he can see your eyelids drooping. “Should we move?”
“Nah,” he speaks finally, just as quiet and reverent as you. He spreads his wings out momentarily, stretching them wide as they can go, before sweeping them in to hold you in an additional embrace, red feathers pressing in on your form to feel you with every sense he has—the rise and fall of your chest, the soft curves of your body, the steady beat of your heart. The ground isn’t exactly the ideal spot to take a nap, but he doesn’t really want to move to the bed, and the rug is plush enough. “I’m staying right here, and so are you.”
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firelord-frowny · 2 years
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woooow i was googling to see if i could find anything about recent police activity that might explain what i overheard from my window, and i wind up on the ~crime~ section of a local news network and for almost every single day, there was a headline about somebody having been shot/stabbed/attacked/killed/etc and just?????
truly wild to me that anyone at all believes that ~more cops~ or even just more funding for cops is actually gonna do shit to keep people safer omfggggg
if your abusive spouse finally pulls out a fucking gun and points it in your face, there’s a 0% chance that a cop is going to appear out of nowhere and arrest them.
a cop might apprehend a mugger like 30 seconds after the mugger mugged you, but you STILL GOT MUGGED omfg the cop didn’t unmug you. you are still exactly as hurt and traumatized as you would have been if the cop hadn’t been nearby enough to make an arrest seconds later.
by the time someone actually commits a violent crime, least of all IN BROAD DAYLIGHT, they’re already past the point of being deterred by the possibility of getting caught. nobody does a driveby and then suddenly fears being arrested.
if somebody is a legit criminal who does criminal things on a regular basis, they already know they’re likely to get caught eventually! and they don’t fucking care! and one of the reasons why those kinds of people are able to do that shit is because they EXPECT to either go to prison someday, or die as a result of their own criminal activity. they’re not afraid of being arrested or going to prison. i mean, they’ll still try not to get caught, and they’ll still try to run if cops ever confront them, but they’re not afraid. and you can’t threaten people with things that don’t scare them. You can’t threaten somebody with a fate they always believed they’d come to someday. 
you can’t intimidate a lifestyle criminal into compliance, but you CAN give a lifestyle criminal the means to imagine and pursue a life where they don’t have to fight or steal. putting another cop in a neighborhood isn’t gonna stop some kid from dealing drugs, but giving their parents a living salary might! parking a squad car on the corner where prostitutes look for work is only gonna make them move to a different corner. if you want a prostitute to stop prostituting, maybe try helping them get a job they can comfortably support themselves with??? Maybe try waiving tuition fees for college or trade school of some kind??? maybe??? maybe provide mental health services for all the many kids out there silently struggling with literal PTSD as a result of unstable, or dangerous, or broken homes??? Maybe equip large school districts with enough personnel to actually attend to the needs of each and every student instead of having like 40 goddamn kids in one class and only one single guidance counselor in the whole school for all 1,000+ students? Maybe implement rehab facilities that are 100% Free Of Charge so that poor people can have the option to get help at all, and so that ~middle class~ people won’t have to fucking go bankrupt or refinance their house or whateverthefuck? maybe? maybe provide 100% free childcare options? i mean if somebody just WANTS to pay out the ass to send their kid to some kind of state-of-the-art daycare, then fine, but since Having A Steady Income is a necessity for surviving, literally no one should have to pay just so someone will supervise and feed their kid while they’re at work. maybe try some of that shit??? try it and just see how it goes??? maybe??? is it fucking worth it to TRY any of that shit on the off chance that it actually works and crime rates start trending down?? i mean maybe it won’t work! maybe! maybe it will make no difference! BUT JUST TRY IT! If there’s the POSSIBILITY that it MIGHT keep people from committing felonies, why not TRYYYYYYYYYYY???? and if it doesn’t work, you can stop! but for the fucking love of god JUST TRY!!!!!! try SOMETHING!!!! instead of just making more cops available to shoot people for dumb reasons! 
obligatory disclaimer that i’m mostly talking about crimes that are correlated with poverty or education or mental and physical health.
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