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incorrigible-groupie · 3 years

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Wow, this analysis of the last episode of Helluva Boss went way further that I wanted…

« Blitzo is in love with Stolas !!! »

What.

Hell no.

No no no no.

Did we watch the same show ?

Even since the pilot we know the « relationship » between them is an arrangement more than a love story. I mean, Blitzo doesn’t swoon about Stolas, doesn’t think about Stolas and only talks about Stolas when he remembers he needs the book, he freaking spent some time with him only because he was paid (you know… when he went to Loo Loo Land ?). He shows more compassion towards Moxxie (while treating him like sh*t) than towards Stolas, for Satan’s sake he went to the Harvest Moon Festival only because Millie’s family was there.

Did you see Blitzo’s face when Striker aimed at Stolas ? And then the F*CKING TERROR ON HIS FACE WHEN STRIKER AIMED AT MOXXIE ??? Blitzo was ready to tear an arm appart with his own teeth. But for Stolas ? Meh.

So no, Blitzo isn’t in love with Stolas.

And episode 6 proved that.

DISCLAIMER : The following post is nothing against Stolitz shippers obviously, especially because both characters are great and badass but I really think their feelings aren't synchronized and therefore their relationship isn't completely healthy. They could have a nice one... but not yet. And most importantly, the hallucination scene isn’t about Stolas. Let me explain why I believe that.

« Did you see the golden feathers that put Blitzo back to himself ? »

Oh you mean the golden feathers that turned into chains and that Stolas took to bring Blitzo to his feet ?

Yeah, I saw them.

Of course I saw them.

This is exactly what I expected how Blitzo sees his « relationship » with Stolas, this is exactly the thing that proves that I was right all along.

Blitzo doesn’t love Stolas, he is only with him because he has to.

And with what happened before the stair scene, I know now why.

Blitzo feels like trash, still feels like trash, maybe because of his older relationships, probably because he is from the lowest of the low (working in a circus, then a little bit higher when dating a pop star…).

Did we watch the same show ?

The show that talks a lot about inequality between castes, the show that talks a lot about how difficult it was for Blitzo to make his own company, made from scratch ???

Striker, IN THE PREVIOUS EPISODE, made an entire statement about how Blitzo is underestimated and Blitzo felt it. He was very close to accept to go with him… but he needed to protect his « easiest lanky ticket to Earth ».

Stolas is just a tool for Blitzo to get what he wants. At first, I thought it was because he is searching for something in Earth (and uses the missions as a distraction). But now, I think it’s about something more important : power. Stolas’ feathers have nothing to do with his « transformation », it just shows that Blitzo wears a mask, a costume, a cleaner suit to pretend he isn’t like trash, that he wasn’t trash, that he will not go back to trash.

Whatever it takes.

« Yeah but the figures that are fanning Stolas in such a caring way… »

You mean more like slaves ?

Again, castes, stairs, chains, fanning ? You see a metaphor of love, I see a metaphor of slavery. That’s really disturbing. This is a representation of how Blitzo feels towards Stolas and gosh I’m so worried about him, and them. This is about power.

« But he is climbing towards him ! He wants him ! »

No. He doesn’t want to go to Stolas. He wants to climb those stairs. He wants to go higher. He wants to stay away from the trash. This is about power.

« But the chains… »

I hate those chains.

This is about power.

THIS IS ABOUT POWER.

« No. I think this is about fear. I think he fears to be rejected, so he bound himself to someone, but he also fears of commitment… »

…

Fears of commitment ?

Blitzo ?

What the hell ?

Are we talking about the boss who is not afraid to show (not say, but SHOW) how deeply he cares about his employees ? Are we talking about the demon who adopted Loona and says to everyone that he loves his daughter ? Are we talking about the Blitzo who shares his passions everywhere even on Instagram ? You think someone who is afraid to be rejected would be afraid to commit ? He knows how to express his feelings, he even lies to make the ones he loves happy (yes, I’m talking about Moxxie’s taste in music, duh).

And he does talk about his relationship with Stolas, but do you remember how he calls it ? A transaction.

The book in exchange of passionate fornication.

Nothing more, nothing less.

When people says that Stolas is his boyfriend, Blitzo denies it because he doesn’t want to be seen as just a lover, just a partner, he doesn’t want to have an image of a demon who had success because he is lucky an higher being felt in love with him.

No.

He planned that.

He organized that. He slept with Stolas to stole the book, he still sleeps with Stolas FOR the book.

That demon has ambition that is not related to love.

« Have you even listened to what Blitzo’s subconscience said ? »

… Actually no, not really.

I’m sorry.

English isn’t my native language so it was harder than usual to understand ‘Moxxie’ gibberish (also, I was tripping balls listening to Brandon Rogers playing everyone voices).

I started this all post while not considering what was said, I only listened to my guts which twisted while watching Blitzo being chained because of Stolas.

I’m sorry. I may be wrong…

… But I never believed Blitzo loved Stolas and I won’t start now.

So how can I explain how what is showed and what is saying are related ?

Maybe because Blitzo is scared to be put on a pedestal in his friends minds whereas what he is doing with Stolas isn’t completely right. But he must do it for a reason. Like I said, that demon has ambition.

This is about power.

I think Blitzo has a goal in mind (which he wasn’t able to obtain alone, like Robot Beetlejuice said), a goal he will gain by sacrificing the respect his friends have for him.

You know… whatever it takes.

I think he knows he will disappoint them so he wants to enjoy his remaining time with them while not getting too close to them so the fall won’t be that hard.

« So you agree ? Blitzo is in love with Stolas but can’t make it real. »

Still no.

For all the reason I said before, Blitzo doesn’t seem attached to Stolas. It’s not that he hates him but he doesn’t really care that much.

« Or he pretends he doesn’t care, after all Moxxie said… »

Yes.

Moxxie.

Wait a second.

It started with Moxxie.

This entire scene isn’t about Stolas and Blitzo relationship, it’s about Blitzo and Moxxie.

« I’m torturing you in your own hallucination. »

(Yep, I have access to the dialogues, you can’t stop me now.)

You are right, it shows Blitzo’s fear : his fear not be a good friend to Moxxie. How could he ? His past relationships were garbage, even recently he hired someone how wasn’t trustworthy, and he’s currently having an affair with someone he doesn’t really like.

I said earlier that the golden feathers put Blitzo into a clean costume, a disguise no one is supposed to see through.

Except that Moxxie does.

Moxxie knew all along that Blitzo is only pretending, Moxxie is more hurt when Blitzo isn’t honest with him than when Blitzo says awful comments to him.

Moxxie sees Blitzo with the broken heart on Blitzo’s forehead, exactly like how Blitzo sees himself.

Do they talk to each other while tripping ? Do they listen to each other ? Do they only hear what they want to hear ?

Because their thoughts are way too synchronized (Moxxie talking about how Blitzo pushes everyone away, Blitzo being at the top of some stairs…).

Maybe they do talk to each other and then have their own perception of this conversation in their minds :

Blitzo feeling it like accusations that burn his skin like golden feathers who shut him up and chain him and blind him so he will have to abandon everything he is and loves to obtain his goal, Moxxie believing it like their relationship can go higher and evolve and be fine and equal finally.

OH, AND THERE’S SOMETHING MORE : I know there is a theory about Moxxie being a fallen royalty and I think this episode showed that if it’s true, Blitzo knows, with how in his hallucination Moxxie eloquently talked and then transformed into a princess while climbing the stairs (without needing Stolas’ feathers).

Maybe that’s also why Blitzo doesn’t think he is worthy to be friend with Moxxie. And why he is angry at him : because he is jealous, Moxxie gave up everything Blitzo wanted for unknown reason (but probably for Millie, why annoys Blitzo even more not to mention that while Moxxie gave up power for an healthy relationship, Blitzo is craving for power by using an unhealthy one).

« Okay, let’s say that the hallucinations were about Moxxie and Blitzo. But… But THE KISS ! »

Oh yeah the kiss, let’s talk about that !

When Stolas goes to kiss Blitzo, our favorite demon pulls the king’s hair so it won’t happen and… Gosh he doesn’t want to be kissed by Stolas, does he ? I’m sorry but, no, this doesn’t feel right. I may not be an expert about romance but… what ?

This is about power.

Blitzo doesn’t hate having sex with Stolas, I mean, he thinks the role-plays are weird but he goes with it, and I think that’s because during the role-play he is always the one who dominates the other.

Just like with the kiss. The kiss happened only because Blitzo made it so.

It makes sense, those role-plays : Blitzo wants to forget he isn’t the one with power (which is why he made that sad face when he sees Stolas on his throne or when Stolas saves them because he is so strong and Blitzo maybe feel sad that he isn’t strong enough to protect his group, that he still needs the help of someone he knows will ask for compensation after ?), and Stolas wants to forget he is the one with power (and forget that his favorite imp probably doesn’t love him back so he lets him do whatever he wants to do to him and maybe he will fell in love ?).

Anyway.

I feel… No, I’m sure this all dream sequence is more about the power people have on Blitzo.

And power shouldn’t have something to do with love.

Maybe one day Stolas and Blitzo will put aside their differences, the huge gap between them, maybe they will realize that their ranks have a big impact on their relationship and THEN have a real, romantic, healthy one.

But for now seeing Stolas and Blitzo together is heartbreaking for me because one of them feels forced while the other is completely in love.

#helluva boss #stolas #blitzo #analysis #truth seekers #spoilers #moxxie #i'm the one seeking the truth right here #gosh what i am doing #going deep for an animated show #now i hope i'm right #the lore is hell

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squeeneyart · 3 years

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Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 23

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger!

It's harder to say it out loud.

Jon and Martin catch up.

As the seconds ticked by and Martin failed to respond, Jon adjusted a small bag slung across his shoulder. “It’s um- I understand this might come as a shock. I hadn’t meant for my entrance to be so dramatic, but this place seems to insist on a particular atmosphere.”

Martin heard the words as they slipped past on the wind, the skin drawing his full attention. It wasn’t like his mother’s, dusty and worn and so very old. No, this seemed to shine in the rain and seawater, but his chest constricted at the sight of it.

Despite Jon’s efforts to conceal it, a shiver ran through his shoulders.

“Right, sorry,” Martin croaked out, then coughed until his throat behaved itself. He found his hand still gripping the door knob and gave it a twist. “Sorry. Yeah, come on in.”

Jon’s stiff shoulders dropped, and with some eagerness he walked up the stairs to escape the rain. “Sor- Thank you. It’s not the best night to be out dressed like this.”

He wasn’t wrong. Warm light poured out from the doorway onto the front porch, illuminating Jon in his soaked-through fleece jumper and jeans, a far cry from the waterproof seal coat in his arms. It was no wonder that Jon was quick to enter the house and leave the damp, cold night behind. With one last look outward, Martin dipped inside and shut the door behind him.

Jon seemed uncertain where to go next and stood next to the coat hooks, leaning from one foot to the other.

“Do you want to...um, put it down? You can hang it up in the shower if it’s still wet,” Martin said, placing his own coat on a hook as casually as he could manage. “I don’t know if hooks would be, um, good for it?”

With a nervous glance downwards, Jon nodded and slipped his shoes off. “Right. That makes sense. I guess it is dripping everywhere.” Yet he continued to stand on the front rug.

Ah, right. “If you don’t want to lose sight of it, that’s-”

“It’s not- I’ll go hang it up now. Is it down the-”

“Second door on the right.”

“Right.” And Jon stalked down the hall into the toilet and closed the door, leaving Martin by the front entrance.

Martin wasn’t going to scream and freak Jon out right off the bat. Not that Jon worked too hard to give him the same courtesy.

Jon was a-

Shit. Martin pressed a shoulder against the wall and forced himself to breathe. It was fine. It made sense, right? Jon’s interest in selkies was bound to come from somewhere. He was knowledgeable in a way that would’ve required access to a selkie directly, and finding one couldn’t have been easy.

There was a twisting in his upper chest, but he heard the door down the hall open and straightened himself out. Jon came out in a plain t-shirt and different trousers, evidently leaving his other clothes to dry.

He rubbed his upper arms. “An explanation is probably necessary.”

Martin took a good look at him, all skinny limbs and uncertain glances. Bags much deeper than before dragged down under his eyes and without the extra layers hiding him away it was even harder for Jon to hide how much he was shivering.

“You-” Martin pushed up his glasses and rubbed his eyes. There was no helping it. He walked to the living room and motioned for Jon to follow. “I’ll make some tea.”

In spite of himself, Martin found it in him to fuss. He ushered Jon onto the couch and pulled the old blanket down from where it lay over the top just so it fell behind Jon, resisting the urge to pull it snug. At first Jon lifted a hand to wave him off, but as he sank further into the seat he let out a weary sigh and leaned forward onto his knees.

“Thanks.”

“Mhm. Be right back.”

Martin strode toward the kitchen in a way that he hoped didn’t look like bolting and escaped Jon’s line of sight.

A kettle. There was a kettle on the countertop. It was… technically not washed, not for a few days. Good. That gave him some time. He got to work, scrubbing at it much longer than necessary to settle his thoughts. As if there would ever be enough time for that.

So. Jon was on his couch after revealing himself to be one of the sea folk, looking cold and tired and very uncomfortable with the circumstances. That was all he had to work with, that and the cheap tea bags he tossed onto the countertop.

He’d gotten groceries for two. That would be the polite thing, to offer food.

If Jon intended to stay for more than an evening. This might be one rest stop on the path to elsewhere, land or sea. He certainly wasn’t packed for an overnight stay with that tiny bag he’d apparently managed to fit with him inside his coat, a train of thought Martin had no desire to follow. Maybe he’d even eaten… on the way? Hm, no, that wasn’t a great place, either. Whatever, he might not be looking for much more than a place to sit a while.

And then the tea was ready and poured out into two mugs, one with a pastoral scene of some sheep and the other a faded logo of a long-gone tackle shop. He’d run out of time.

The two mugs lent warmth to his hands as he walked back to the living room, catching himself before he tripped on his own feet. On the other side of the room, Jon had chosen to bundle himself up at one end of the couch, legs and all tucked into the blanket. It was all Martin could do to offer him the sheep mug without making eye contact and pray that the lamp light was too dim to reveal the red across his face.

Thankfully Jon didn’t seem to notice Martin’s awkward demeanor as he slipped his hands from under the blanket to curl his fingers around the mug. “Thank you, again. I’m sure you have questions.”

He would, wouldn’t he? He had several a moment ago, but unfortunately with all the heat emanating from his ears it seemed every question had risen right out of his head. Instead Martin sat on the other end of the couch. “You’d know better about where to start.”

From under the blanket Jon squared his shoulders. “Right. I don’t think there’s much to explain on this first point. I’m a selkie, or sea folk as you once said. I hope it explains the intensity of my… concern, regarding your mother.”

Martin squirmed a little. Jon's anger at the possibility of Martin holding one hostage took on a much more personal bent in hindsight. It must’ve been like a horror movie to find the skin there. “Yeah, I got that part.”

“As for my showing up here today, I…” Struggling somewhat with words, Jon took a sip of tea and gave a small noise of approval. “Okay, from the beginning. The day I’d finally finished with all of the extra work piled onto me, I’d settled on digging further into Elias’ connection with the Lukases. Possible overlap in goals, reasons for why the three of us were sent to this town, etcetera.”

He continued. “There wasn’t much. If I had to guess, it’s all largely in financial records that I have no access to, but I’d hoped that other strange happenings connected to the Lukases would explain something.”

“But they didn’t,” Martin said.

Sighing, Jon said, “No. So I changed direction and focused on Elias’ goals. If it wasn’t the lighthouse he wanted us to look at, then there were two options: either he just sent us out there to look at nothing, or he thought we would find something else of interest. Or that I might find something I’d been looking for.”

Martin’s heart could’ve stopped. “You don’t think-”

“He of course knew of my research into selkies. It’s the main reason I was eager for this position, all the resources he offered. I kept my more… personal motivation quiet, of course, stuck to how it was ‘underrepresented in our field’, which is entirely true and I could- anyway, I thought I was careful.” Quickly, he turned toward Martin as if he’d realized something. “And I was, with regards to you and your mother. I promise I never said anything about what I found. That secret isn’t going anywhere.” He rested the mug in his lap, tapping his fingertips on the white ceramic.

“But?”

“It appears I wasn’t doing a good enough job hiding myself. He always knew.” His mouth set into a grim line. “When we first got back I thought something was off about my flat, but the workload had gotten so high and there was so much to think about that I brushed it off.”

He gripped his knee through the blanket as it bounced with agitation. “I know someone came into my flat while I was gone. I know this because the day after your incident with Simon Fairchild it happened again, and this time he was sloppy.”

A tremor had crept into Jon’s voice, just enough to be heard, though it wasn’t for the cold or for fear exactly. Anger? Irritation?

“I was sent to check on something outside the city, not far but enough that I was able to get reimbursement for a night’s stay. It wasn’t the first time I’d been sent off without warning, obviously-” Jon motioned in the general direction of the town. “-but something was wrong. I could feel it, just like I could feel that someone had been in my flat.” At this point Jon stopped and leaned over to rub at his forehead, his shoulders rising and falling with long, deep breaths.

“Jon?” Martin said. He lifted his hand and then placed it on the back of the couch.

The tired man shook his head, “I’m fine. Just let me finish.”

“So I went back late that night. Didn’t tell anyone, didn’t cancel my hotel. And when I entered my flat, what did I see but a figure in the dark rifling through my things. A familiar one at that.” A sardonic edge snuck into his voice. “Never expected Elias to be the type to get his hands dirty in a work sense, let alone an illegal one.”

“There was a struggle. I rushed at him without thinking, and when pressed he eventually admitted to knowing what I was. I knew what he was looking for then, didn’t really need to ask, and so I… ran.”

Martin’s hand twitched, but he kept it in place. “That sounds… awful. I’m sorry.”

With a shaky inhale, Jon said, “I-I ended up staying with an old friend of mine for a few days, outside of town. When I initially got the job she’d agreed to keep my, um… my skin, while I was in the city. So Elias was never going to find it by looting around my things, on either attempt.” He smiled, eyes empty and humorless. “Paranoia pays off sometimes.”

“Sounds like you have a good friend, then,” Martin said, looking down at his barely-touched tea. “Why’d you leave?”

“Because three people and a cat take up a lot of space in a one-bedroom?” Jon replied with a small but genuine laugh. “My friend, Georgie, she lives with her girlfriend. Her girlfriend and I don’t get on at the best of times, and cohabitation while I’m a terrified mess is not the best of times. The cat didn’t seem to mind, though.”

“I figured the next safest place would be in the water, while traveling at least. I couldn’t take much with me, but I wouldn’t need much either. My main goal was to just stay hidden as best as I could.” He looked back at Martin sheepishly. “Which I hope is a good enough reason for my number being unavailable.”

Martin nearly dropped his tea. “What?”

“What?” Jon frowned, brows knit together in confusion. “Oh. Um, yes, I deactivated my account. Maybe a bit more precaution than necessary, but at that point I was too nervous to take any risks. Tossed my mobile as well.”

A horrid wave of guilt hit Martin right in the stomach. The number wasn’t reachable, which he’d have known if he’d just called. Stupid, of course Jon had a reason for not calling. How much more of an ass could he be, assuming things when Jon had his own worries to deal with? Not everything had to be about himself and his problems.

“Makes sense,” he said, hiding his own unhappy mouth behind the mug.

“Anyway, I left the land for… an amount of time. It was hard to keep track. And it’s still the wilderness, so it wasn’t safe. Eventually I decided being stuck surrounded by wild animals wasn’t going to help me and figured this was the best place to go next.” He leaned back. “I couldn’t exactly see Tim or Sasha for updates, though they know to pretend to trust Elias for now, thanks to Georgie. Once I see them in-person, it’ll be safer to explain why I’d disappeared on them.”

And in the meantime pretend that Jon was off to the side, too busy to bother with a group text. He might as well have been asleep the whole time with how obvious it all was. And there he’d been writing Jon off without evidence instead of feeling concern. Horrid.

Jon took a deep breath. Some of the tension slipped away from his forehead, smoothing the creases into faint lines.

“Had a harder time than expected finding this place considering the lighthouse looming over everything. I think I got turned around after losing sight of the coast and the fog certainly didn’t help. But things cleared up enough, and now I’m here.”

Martin withdrew his arm from atop the couch and leaned away into the arm rest. “And now you’re here.”

There in the present, they sat on their respective sides of the couch. Jon settled further back into the cushion, pressing both hands to his mug of tea and enjoying the warmth it brought to his skinny fingers.

The man needed to sleep. It was clear in his struggling eyes, his voice, his shoulders obscured by the blanket’s folds. How long had he been at it, swimming mile after mile until he found his way here? How much further was he planning to go?

“Are you okay?”

Martin started, ripping his eyes from Jon’s face. “Fine, yeah. Just, just taking it all in I guess.”

Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “I know it’s a lot. If you wouldn’t mind, though, I wanted to ask if anything else happened here since I left.”

Martin replied, “Not much. I delivered the letter for Simon a few weeks ago. Peter has been spotty ever since and has been on a boating trip for a few days.”

“The only way to avoid Fairchild, maybe. Until he goes out on his own yacht. Or flies there.”

Martin snorted and took another sip of tea.

“And nothing else has changed?”

In the grand scheme of things? “No. Not really.”

“Good. I’d worried about getting here- well-”

“Too late?” Martin said with a rougher edge than he’d intended, and he saw Jon flich. Quickly, he continued, “I’m fine. If anything you didn’t have to deal with weeks full of nothing like Tim and Sasha.”

It was Jon’s turn to snort. “That would’ve been preferable, I think. Being so out of the loop, not knowing what to expect when I managed to get back. It wasn’t pleasant.”

“So, what now?”

Jon chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I’m not entirely sure. There isn’t anywhere else for me to go now. But since you asked, there was something I’d been considering.”

Twisting in place, he faced Martin directly with a nervous expression. “Truth be told, I don’t know anyone else like me, not personally. The sea might as well be the woods or the mountains for all I know on how to navigate them. If anyone was going to be able to help me with my particular situation, I figured it would be-”

“My mum.” The words came out throttled.

The room shifted, the sides of his vision blurred until all he could see was the dead television. If he stared at that point long enough, he could almost see the burnt-in images of something he’d left on pause for too long.

From beside him, he heard the rustling of the blanket.

“I- yes, th-though if that’s too much trouble I understand. I would never want to make you or your mother’s lives harder by getting her involved with me. I know I’m a liability to her safety just coming here, but I’d at least wish to speak with her, ask if there’s anywhere or anyone she knows that could help if she herself is unwilling. She’s already asleep I assume, so I could wait until tomorrow-”

“She’s gone.”

His words cut through the air with a swiftness, the quiet settling in so deeply that he could almost hear tv static as his mind tried to fill the gap. With nothing to be heard and his vision so caught by the television, Jon might as well have vanished into thin air.

But he hadn’t. With something between wariness and disbelief, Jon muttered, “...Gone.”

“Four days ago.” Martin blinked away the tunnel, looking down at his own hands. “Took her skin and nothing else.”

“That’s… Did she say when she might come back?”

Without answering, Martin stood up and walked to the kitchen. When faced with Jon’s protestations he placed a hand up, signalling for the man to wait, and from the kitchen table plucked the unmoved note. Then, wordlessly, he handed it over to Jon and sat on his own end of the couch.

The note was short enough. “...That’s it?”

“Yeah. Sorry I can’t be of more help.”

“That’s- you don’t need to apologize to me. I imagine it’s been difficult.” A pause as Jon set the note on the side table, and then, “You did the right thing.”

Something pushed upwards in Martin’s throat, something bitter and harsh and awful, but he clenched his teeth and kept his tone even. “It’s for the best.”

“If there’s any… If you have any questions, I’ll do what I can to answer them.” As Jon spoke he was plainly starting to regret it. “But I suppose you would know her better.”

Martin frowned and said nothing.

“Right… right. Family business.” Jon drained the rest of his mug and then dragged his fingers down one cheek. “If you’re all right with it, I’d like to spend the night here and figure things out tomorrow, when I’m feeling more myself. I’ve sorely missed sleeping somewhere dry and horizontal.”

“You really slept that way with your face sticking out?” The image of a little seal head popping up out of the water fast asleep came to mind, a welcome distraction. He let himself smile a little and leaned a cheek into his knuckles. “You seem a bit drift-y, yeah.”

“I hope that’s not meant to be a pun. And sleeping in the water is difficult,” Jon replied, deadpan. “So I have permission to co-opt your couch?”

“Knock yourself out. I need to get to bed, anyway.” He pushed himself back up off the couch and grabbed both mugs. As he walked back to the kitchen, he looked back at Jon. “... She left her medication here. Does that mean anything?”

Jon shook his head. “She’ll be fine. She won’t need them unless she returns to a human form, according to my own, er, experimentation.”

Martin nodded and waved goodnight with one of his full hands, making his way back into the kitchen one final time to place the mugs in the sink. Every motion reminded him that he too was tired, so tired, so they would be washed another time along with the plate of whatever it was he’d made for himself. Had he offered Jon something to eat? No, but the man was capable of asking for things.

One thing had been helpful. He looked at the half-empty pill bottles that sat undisturbed on the counter and with one swift motion tossed them into the bin.

#tma #the magnus archives #breathe in the salt #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #sasha james #timothy stoker #peter lukas #jonmartin

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sinisterlyhan · 4 years

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01. lee minho / 9486 words

fwb!minho, oral (f & m receiving), unprotexted sex, female reader, slight angst and fluff, romance, lots of kissing, mc being kind of a brat, minho being kinda dominant

a/n: ahh, i finally wrote for minho! i hope this is good ;;

the thee bags of sugar you poured into your cup of hot coffee have probably been completely dissolved by now, considering the obsessive way you kept stirring the liquid with your teaspoon and not actually drinking it.

keeping your eyes out the glass window by the coffee booth, you allowed your mind to drift off to a familiarly foreign place as you mindlessly watched the passersby.

your lashes fluttered along with each shift of your eyes, your gaze jumping from one insignificant person to another as you accessed the idea that people are literally everywhere around you—annoying kids, depressed students, tired parents, and the slow folks.

the concept, more than often, flies past you on a daily. therefore, when you sit down and truly acknowledge the number of people you brush past every day, it is quite a staggering fact.

but what’s more bewildering than that, though, was the fact that out of all these people you could meet and think about, the only person who has ever really been on your mind was lee minho—a nice classmate, a good friend, and a few quick fucks.

a few. you heaved a lonesome sigh and replaced it with a bitter huff of laughter.

you wished it was only a few quick fucks. you should have stopped after a few of them and you should have never picked your hand up and sealed his ‘fuck buddy?’ deal with a firm handshake. but you were lonely back then, dry and lonely.

you had wanted love, genuine or not, and minho’s seductive kisses down your body were the closest thing you could get to feeling appreciated, so you made the biggest mistake of agreeing to be friends with benefits with him.

it has been half a year since you two established the relationship; the sex was frequent during the first few weeks, and then the passionate nights started to space out a little until you two spent more time with plans to hang out than to fuck each other.

your immature mind hadn’t been smart enough to fathom the idea of you ever falling in love with somebody like minho, because you knew you weren’t the type to blatantly fall for someone out of your league. it was the kick that got your to seal the contract.

but alas, minho has been more than irresistible the past few months.

he wasn’t just a fuck buddy, he has never been just that from the start of it all. nothing about your new relationship was awkward despite you two being silent classmates for so long until a house party came and messed it all up. and unlike what you expected, he never tried to distance himself to keep that sole status.

he wasn’t aloof, nor did he act like a stranger. minho was a good friend, a good classmate, and a good fuck if you may say so.

he has helped you with your classes numerous times; printing assignments last minute for you in the library because you were too sleepy to do so last night, scanning his thorough notes for you unprompted because he noticed you struggling during class, reading through your materials out of his class time just so he could further explain something to you.

he’s also been the best emotional support you’ve had; he has never complained when you unreasonably snapped at him because of too much stress, he puts up with your constant overthinking and temper tantrums, and he gets you snacks on his own grocery run because he thought you might get some cravings sometime during the day.

and, of course, the sex has never once been dull ever since you met him, but it was in a lot of the little things he does that makes your heart ache the most; it was him always making sure you’re okay, and him constantly giving you praises. how he loves to make eye contact and hold your hands. how he knows exactly when to be soft and when to be hard.

when did he stop being just minho to you, you haven’t the faintest idea. but your feelings for him have changed drastically over these amazing months, and it became your downfall because he has not contacted you for weeks.

just complete radio silence, nothing, gone.

“i’m telling you he likes you, okay?”

you rolled your eyes as you snapped out of your trance. turning your head to look at jisung, you pursed your lips and shrugged in bland disbelief. “shut up.“

“no, you shut up and listen to me,” he leaned forward on his seat, his eyes glaring because he was sick and tired of being ignored by both of his friends. but now he’s got a fifty-fifty chance of being a matchmaker, so he planned to go all out. “i have known minho for as long as my fat baby legs can waddle to the sandbox in the park, okay. and not once have i seen him run away like this.”

“this, this thing that he is doing?” his finger excitedly jammed against the surface of the table as he stared at you pointedly, emphasizing his words with each jut of his jaw. “this is serious, and what serious thing can he be afraid of?“

you waited for him to speak, but the silence he purposefully left out was urging to be filled in. you looked away, baffled, and you scrambled your mind to think of something to say.

“i don’t know? faili–“

“wrong!”

“a dise–“

“terrible answer!”

“ma–“

“zero points for yo–ow!”

“knock it off, jisung!” you scolded with annoyance after you flicked his forehead with your fingers, shoving his head back to the cushion of the booth seat. “i know what you want me to say… i just won’t say it.”

“he loves you, (name),” jisung said, hiding every bit of uncertainty behind his persuasive facade—his presentation face, as he calls it. “i really think he does.”

and he wasn’t lying. jisung gave the situation a fair share of analyzing, and he concluded with the fact that minho might just have fallen in love with you. because one thing he knew about minho was that while he is kind, he is not nice.

there is a distinctive difference; kindness is selective, it is earned, it is given by choice. nice is blind, it is a mindless thought, a moral conscious.

anything that goes between minho and his goal, or his dignity, or some dramatic factors as such, minho will not hesitate to lash out. he is kind, not nice.

and you—you’ve been plucking the kindness out of him like he was a river that could never run dry.

disrupting his study schedule to tutor you? ditching his long-term friends to keep you company? apologizing first and being the bigger person in petty arguments?

minho was good to you when he didn’t have to, and he still was kind to you when he didn’t want to. he wanted to keep you happy, he gets the thrill of being able to take care of you, and you can feel comfortable around him.

jisung would even go so far to say minho was head over heels for you now, with his heart bleeding dry for your sake. and he’s running away from it because the concept, the feeling was foreign to him.

“just go to his house, find him. he probably misses you like crazy,” he urged tentatively. “talk it out, or fuck it out if that’s what you guys are used to.”

“do you think it’s that easy? like i can just go up to his home and kiss him?“ you asked, exasperated that jisung didn’t seem to understand the limitation of your tolerance for humiliation and appearing desperate to other people.

“sure, why not! i’d totally do that if i were you!” he boasted, clapping his fist to his chest as he huffed through his nose. “it’s not like he isn’t jerking off to the thought of you anyway! it’s either that or he’s crying himself to sleep at night!”

“that’s…” your voice awkwardly trailed off.

“too much?”

“no, no, just…” you hummed with a slight shake of your head, unable to break through his innocent gaze and not sure how to tell him you missed seeing minho in his naked glory. so instead, you chose to back down. “nothing.”

you blinked, still processing his previous words in your head as you finally brought your coffee up to your mouth to take a short sip.

the sugary taste was barely seeping into the bitterness of your coffee, the last three bags of sugar you added having done nothing to help you savor the taste. and you thought about how minho would probably switch his drink with you or offer to order you a new one if he was here.

jisung watched as you put down your cup and reached for another bag of sugar. he laughed, shifting his legs and leaning against the back of the booth. “the sugar is bad for you.”

“i know,” you muttered as you shook the bag and let the content spill all over your drink.

jisung watched with nonchalance as you picked up your metal spoon and started stirring your coffee again. and he didn’t say a single word.

minho pushed his glasses perched upon the bridge of his nose, and he continued with his note-taking as his eyes focused on the massive text displayed on his laptop screen.

it was all he has done this day. right after morning classes, he headed out for lunch by himself and simply went home. he tried to ignore the stubborn unfamiliarity of spending most of his time alone, hoping the ghost of your voice would eventually stop haunting his heavy steps into the local boba shop, or even just to the edge of his bed when he decided to take a short nap.

he woke up alone, dazed and annoyed. but he was mostly tired; tired of being alone when he knew you were a call away, tired of drowning in chosen solidarity because he wasn’t brave enough to confront his feelings, tired of being scared that you wouldn’t return the affection his heart discreetly held for you.

it was very unlike him, and the change was frustrating. minho never thought himself to succumb to romance yet here he was, making bad decisions and pushing you away when all he wanted was to hold your body close.

the uneven grip on his pen caused him a sudden scrape across the lined-paper. he glanced down the rogue tweak of the letter 'r’ and he clicked his tongue. dropping the pen, he rummaged through his crowded pencil case for a white-out, just in time as the doorbell to his apartment rang.

he furrowed his brows as he perked up, his head turning to look behind his shoulder at the door. discarding the matter at hand, he stood up and made his way to the front door, where he sung the door open and immediately revealed you standing before him.

“hi,” you breathed out when you met eyes with him, your gaze hardening slightly in sudden timidity.

minho gave you a quick scan before he nodded. he, too, feeling rather awkward at what felt like a confrontation to him. “hey.“

“can i come in, or are you going to keep shutting me out?” you laughed meekly, pointing into his apartment and letting your eyes move away from him briefly before returning to his face. “i’m already here anyway, you might as well.”

“i… yeah, sure, come in,” he said, taking a step aside as he opened the door for you. he watched you head inside, kicking your shoes off and shoving them to the side. he eyed the plastic cup in your hand, and he attempted to make light conversation out of it. “you got coffee?”

“oh, yeah. i was hanging out with jisung just then,” you said, turning to face him. you stuck your hand out, giving him the cup. “do you wanna try some?”

“no, i’m good.” he waved his hand.

you looked at him, a faint pout forming on your face before you shrugged and brought the straw up to your mouth. “okay then, it’s probably better for you anyway,” you sipped the coffee, “i dumped like… six bags of sugar in it.”

the change of facial expressions on his face was priceless. he went from processing your words in confusion, then his eyes widened in surprise, and at last his brows furrowed in dismay that you were still sipping the drink like you didn’t just turn it into a liquefied candy cane.

“okay, no, i’m confiscating it,” he said after allowing you a few more obnoxious sip. he grabbed the cup away from you and held it out of your reach, ignoring your continuous protest. “do you know how unhealthy that is?”

“yes, but it’s sweet!“ you complained.

“it’s sweet until you get type-two diabetes.” He rolled his eyes, turning around and heading over to the fridge located in the open area where the kitchen was. “especially when you don’t just drink one cup of coffee every other week, you drink it several times a week, which can toll up to a lot of sugar intake and i am not about to let you run around self-sabotaging your health–”

he stopped talking when he turned away from the fridge and immediately saw you standing before him. the proximity of your faces was a little too close for his liking—not his subconscious, just his stubbornness—and he didn’t know what to do when he was confronted with it so abruptly.

he hasn’t seen you in some time, which gave him no opportunity to create such intimacy. and even though he had missed being able to feel comfortable with you being close, he suddenly didn’t know what to do. he would love to keep his emotions in check, and he would love to not spill secrets he had no intention to tell.

you glanced down to his lips and automatically huffed. jisung’s words flew back into your mind then, telling you to just kiss him now that you’ve made a mistake of stepping into his personal bubble. it wasn’t like minho was actively pushing you out anyway. you could just try, and if it doesn’t work out in your favor, you could just play it off.

a gasp left his chest when you suddenly leaned in and kissed him. your hands went up to cup his jaw, bringing him closer to you when you felt him starting to reciprocate the kiss. you have longed to do this for so long, sometimes it felt like you’d forget the way his lips feel if you go without it for one more day.

the nervousness within was slowly started to vanish, but part of your brain registered how minho wasn’t kissing you with the same vigor he used to whenever you two share a kiss. it felt out of place to feel his mouth move so slowly against your own, and it was not in a harmonious way.

his lips slacked against yours because his brain wasn’t functioning well. minho has missed you more than ever and this—this was practically a dream come true! he was finally kissing you again, and he wanted nothing more than to keep going, to put roam his hands all over you again.

but he couldn’t. he couldn’t allow himself more depths to fall for you, he couldn’t keep digging his own grave with uncertainty and doubt.

he would rather guarantee he can still be friends with you after sorting out his feelings, than risk you not returning his affection and jeopardizing your comfortable relationship.

“w–wait, (name)–stop–” he pulled away from you, taking in a breath of fresh air when his lips detached from yours. the air was eerily cold, he didn’t like it at all.

your hands dropped from his face, your heart sinking to your stomach the same way. that was enough indication—him pushing you off pretty much told you everything you needed to know about how he felt, and god, you felt so conflicted at the discovery.

you were mad at yourself for letting him allow so much control over you. the sheer anger that bubbled in your chest when you felt tears brimming at the back of your eyes was immeasurable. you warned yourself about this, you warned yourself about him, yet you still fell. and now you felt weak and hopeless because he didn’t love you back.

you also felt wronged somehow. the fact that minho has been such a kind friend to you has given you the false assumption that he would at least give you an explanation. if he didn’t want to keep the sexual relationship, he should have just been truthful to you instead of trying to ghost you for weeks and leaving you to your lonely thoughts.

but you wouldn’t have cared if you didn’t like him. him ignoring you wouldn’t have been a problem if you didn’t fall for him.

“what is your fucking problem, minho?” you asked, your anger boiling up. but despite that, your voice was more leveled than ever, as if you were exhausted. it was all being suppressed in your chest, burning and rotting away.

you smiled at him a little, the forced kind of smile, and you sarcastically laughed when you spoke, “if you got bored of me, you could have just said so.”

minho opened his mouth, surprised. but the light glimmer behind your eyes created a new kind of chaos in his head. he has seen you cry before, and this time it was all him.

“i–no, that wasn’t the problem, i just–”

“did i do something then? are you mad at me, or something like that?“ you cut him off with a scoff, shaking your head slightly as you frowned at him. “because you left me alone for weeks. you were a terrible friend to me, and i had no idea if it was me or you.”

“i’m not bored of you, (name). neither am i mad at you,” he replied quickly, sighing as he looked at you with softened eyes. “it's—something personal happened, nothing was your fault.”

you pursed your lips together, feeling slightly less agitated as your questions slowly got resolved one by one. “what is it, then? what happened to you?“

“i…” i fell in love with you.

you waited for seconds for him to talk but all minho could do was look down at the floor, fearing for what would happen to you and him if he ever told the truth. a sigh left your lips at his silence, disappointed that he couldn’t give you a proper answer.

“fine, don’t tell me,” you said, turning around to leave the kitchen area.

“hey, wait, where are you going?” he followed suit, panic flooding into his eyes.

“away from you,” you muttered as you put on your shoes. “don’t worry about seeing me again, i won’t bother you anymore.”

minho hasn’t realized he was unintentionally ruining the relationship until this point. in his attempt to keep his feelings secured and hidden, all to prevent the breakage of your friendship, he failed to notice the damage all the avoiding did to it.

now you were planning to leave him forever, to walk out and completely cut him out of your life. and oh, he was scared. he could not bear to never seeing you again, or even just to stomach the thought of you hating him because of his stupidity.

“wait, no, hold on–” he grabbed ahold of your hand when you grabbed the doorknob. before you could fling him away, he turned you around to face him and, impulsively, grabbed your face to crash his lips against yours.

yes, crash. with the amount of force he was using, the word crash would deem fit. you tried to push him away from you, but your little fists were futile to his broad chest, and soon enough he had you weak at the weeks with the exasperating way he was kissing you.

you could taste this one, his emotions were vivid at the tip of his tongue as he finally learned to surrender himself into you. he was desperate, he was lustful, he was burning at the tips of his skin just to kiss you like there is nothing else he could mean more than this exact moment.

when he pulled away, he leaned his forehead against yours and looked into your eyes. it was intimidating and confrontational, everything he thought he couldn’t handle now being pierced through his action so he could prove a point.

“i didn’t…” he shook his head. “i’m so sorry for ignoring you, i did it because i… i didn’t want to ruin our friendship… because i realize i won’t be able to fall out of love with you if we keep being friends, if we keep sleeping together.”

that took such a drastic turn. you never thought things would turn out this way for you, but here minho was, looking so deeply into your eyes and telling you he avoided you because he was scared his love would ruin your friendship. what a damned miracle!

“you… you coward, stupid, dumb, annoying–” you lightly punched him across the chest, feeling such staggering relief that you felt like crying. “you didn’t even give me a fighting chance, you just assumed i won’t like you back.”

“i know, i’m sorry.”

“you didn’t even try to drop hints, how was i suppose to let you know i love you back?”

“i know, baby girl, i’m sorry.”

the shock within him vanished quickly. he didn’t have the time to express his delight the way he would want to. you were standing before him in all your glory—beautiful, genuine, emotional.

and he wanted you with him in a way that was much closer than this.

nudging his nose against yours, minho let his lips meet yours at a slower pace this time. he was gentle with you, his arms holding at the side of your waist to pull you closer as you two kissed.

your hands flew to circle his neck as you stumbled out of your untied shoes and into his chest. minho let himself linger on your lips for a while before he started to trail his kisses down your jaw.

your neck was a territory he has marked many times before, and he never fails to make sure he adds something new every time his lips touch the skin. his teeth grazed past your neck before he met at the crook of it, and he obnoxiously sucked a dark bruise on your skin just so you would whimper in surprise.

sigh—how he missed that whimsical little sound. it was always so heavenly to hear, even when the action that caused it was more than devilish.

he marked his way back up to your lips when his fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt. he slipped his hand under it, his palm touching your bare skin for a brief second before he retreated them to clutch at the fabric of your shirt.

“can i take your shirt off, baby?” he mumbled into your mouth, his hand already raising slightly in anticipation.

you nodded, raising your arms as he complied and pulled your shirt up. you two broke apart to allow it to go through before leaning back toward each again. minho discarded your shirt off to the ground, his hands couldn’t wait to finally meet with your torso.

he kissed you fervently, his fingers holding the same amount of enthusiasm as they glided past the small curve of your waist. up and down, a faint squeeze to hold you in place, and then he pushed you forward so your back hit the door.

putting a hand between the back of your head and the hard surface, minho reluctantly pulled away from you, this time with no intention to dive back to your lips again because of all the other access to your body you’ve given him.

he breathed heavily, his voice growing raspy. “i’m gonna make it up to you.”

“i expect you to,” you replied boldly, causing him to raise his brow.

that was not something you would otherwise say in a situation like this. minho would have put you in your place if you ever attempted to give him an attitude. but he planned to let it slide this time, after all, he did hurt your feelings and he was at fault here.

“good.” was all he said before he started to move down your body.

his lips met at your collarbones, then to your chest where he skipped over your bra and went straight down to your stomach. he planted light kisses all over your skin, his tongue occasionally swiping across to wet up your body a little more.

he was kneeling before you by the time his hands met the waist of your pants, and he looked up with brows raising teasingly at you as his hands circled to the front. his fingers carefully popped open the button before they hooked through the belt loops and slowly pulled them down to your ankle.

your knees trembled at the touch of his hands, gliding up and down the back of your thighs and ever so slightly tugging you toward him. your breath hitched in your throat when he leaned up to kiss your clothed core, the sudden touch sending a surprise jolt across your mind.

foreign but familiar—it just came too sudden. you hadn’t realized this was actually happening until your panties were dragged past your thighs, the cold air a stinging proof that you’re with minho right now, and his lips were getting dangerously close to where you’ve been aching to have him these past weeks.

his hands curled around your legs, gripping your flesh firmly to keep them apart as he liked it. he moved up your inner-thighs. he continued to send tingly sensations all over your body until he stopped for a second, as if waiting for a dramatic effect, for a lingering thought to vanish before he latched his lips to your pussy.

his tongue darted out to lick between your folds, feeling the wetness gathering at your entrance upon the pleasuring stimulation. your moan went straight into ears, lighting up the delight inside him, and he continued to lather himself all over your cunt, wasting no time to poke his tongue in and out of you rhythmically.

you grabbed a messy chunk of his hair, pulling at it as you desperately tried to rust against his face, taunting him to shove his tongue deeper inside your heat. the position made your legs feel sore, and the mere attempt to grind down on him was just difficult, but you could take none of those into mind that when his mouth mercilessly sucked at your clit until it was red and swollen.

he was luxuriating himself in you—in your taste, in your voice, in your movement. your essence dripping past his tongue in a slurpy motion, your walls clenching at the digits he had graciously slipped into your heat, and ecstasy took your voice up into a milky whine when his teeth barely grazed past your clit as he sucked at you.

the heat in your chest expanded and engulfed itself all over your body. without yourself even realizing, your legs have moved apart to give minho more access to touch you even more.

“fuck, minho, please!” you exclaimed, your head hitting against the door.

ahh, you still know how to beg. perhaps not as profusely as he would have wanted you to but you were polite nonetheless. not to mention, your fingers scratching through his soft locks was enough indication that he was doing a splendid job. and he couldn’t wait to hear more of you, to feel more of you.

moving his face down to your heat, he drove his tongue inside you once again while his thumb went to press circles on your throbbing clit. you let out a choked moan, the sudden change of stimulation a very pleasant surprise, and he has your climax pinned at his mouth in no time.

gathering up your juices into his mouth, minho finally pulled away from you and stood up. he didn’t bother to wipe your essence off his lips, he just went straight for your mouth as he pressed his lips against yours. and you were in too big of a haze to distinguish the taste of yourself and his saliva, still trying to come down from the orgasm you’ve missed having from him.

minho brought his hand up to your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb carefully as he contemplated his next move. perhaps he was putting a little pressure on himself to make sure this encounter would be perfect, because he thought it somehow needed to be after hurting your feelings.

but part of him also ached for a good fuck after so long. not just with anybody but with you. the scorching desire in his chest would ultimately fuel his instincts today, and maybe he’d not be able to keep his cool when he could finally be inside you.

just the thought of it made his insides burst. he should have never distanced himself from you. it was such a stupid idea.

“up,” minho commanded as he leaned down to tug at your thighs. and you listened to him, jumping up so he could catch you around his waist, your arms going around his neck as your lips moved past his face to run freely down his neck.

you were enjoying the feeling of his skin, kissing him all over in ways you wished you had been able to. your teeth bit down harder when you heard his tiny giggle at your almost amateur attempt on leaving him a hickey, a frown appearing on your face at the fact that he wasn’t taking you seriously.

he brought both of you over to the couch and he dropped you down on the surface, his body quickly hovering over yours as he got onto the couch as well. you looked up at him, your eyes smiling funnily in a way that made him pause his movement.

this was supposed to be a heated moment, yet somehow a single quirk of your lips was able to make his walls crumble.

“what’s so funny?” he asked, pinching your waist and causing you to squeal at the itch.

“nothing! it’s just…” you reached down for his hand and brought it up to your face, kissing his rough knuckles as you smiled at him. “i’ve missed you, that’s all.”

minho wavered, the glint behind his eyes dimming with a sense of being completely enamored. at the way your lips would smile, at the way your gaze held all of him, even just at how your smaller hand gripped his own. he was so infatuated, he could see no end to it.

“i’m sorry for suddenly leaving you,” he said, leaning down by dropping onto his forearm. your fingers still clung into his palm when he moved it up to your chin, his thumb tracing the tip of it before it moved up to your lips. “i promise i won’t do it again.”

his thumb traced your lower lip, a movement so sensual that you couldn’t think about much of anything else. just the mere fact that you got him back, and that he too has fallen in love with you, was enough to make you drop every ounce of your sanity.

you felt like you’ve got all you need already.

“kiss me, minho,” you pleaded quietly, opening your mouth more so his thumb would shift across your teeth.

he felt your legs move underneath his body, pressing together in a squirm. and he knew you wanted him between them, he knew you were waiting for him to pull them apart instead of doing it on your own. because everything needs to be done by his hands, that has always been the way you two worked, and you would obey him with ease.

flashes of your naked body came before his face. flashes he imagined when he was alone at night, trying miserably to replace you with a toy, or sometimes even himself. his lids dropped as he shifted to look down at your body, soft and awaiting his instructions, and he lightly growled to himself.

impatience suddenly took over him then, the previous moment gone in a blink of an eye. he leaned down to capture your lips, his hands going to your knees to spread them apart so he could place himself right in the middle.

you complied with him, kissing him back and tugging at his shirt as a signal that you wanted it off his body. minho huffed through his nose, slightly annoyed that he has to break away from you but he quickly yanked the collar of the shirt and pulled it over his head.

the flex of his arms was visible as he did so, and your eyes widened shyly without looking away. god, you’ve always loved the way he was built—just muscular enough to ogle at and not too much that they become uncomfortably distracting.

having second thoughts after seeing his toned chest, you decided to sit up from your spot and pushed your hands against him. minho frowned at you, his voice silent but his head-tilt asking a thousand questions. he was going to kiss you, why have you stopped him!

you grinned as you pushed him back, using your body weight to make him fall to the other side of the couch until he was under you this time. you laid on top of him, your small frame trapped between his legs as your head right at the crook of his neck.

minho was about to verbally ask you for your intention, but his eyes rolled up into a close when you kissed his neck. your hands roamed across his chest, your nails dragging ghostly against his skin in an unrecognized pattern as you peppered your kisses and kitten licks all over him.

he sighed in content, feeling your lips on every inch of his body, hot and loving. and he loved being treated this way, like he was being worshipped, like he was a god and you some mere peasant who had to rely on him for a living.

“(name),” he said, his voice sharp as he opened his eyes.

you perked up at him from the waist of his pants, your hands teasingly located near the middle. they had been scattered all over his abdomen, touch here and rubbing there, but never once did they meet at the middle where the obvious bulge of his pants was.

looking at his unsatisfied expression, you could only feel a sense of amusement as you pouted. your lashes fluttered up at him as you scooted back a little for better access. your smile was unfading when you leaned the lower side of your cheek right on top of his clothed member.

“what?” you asked, your smile widening at the hiss he let out.

“stop teasing me,” he said.

“hmm…” you pursed your lips, your finger dragging past his thigh to your face, then you palmed down on the shape of his member. “but it’s so fun.”

for someone with a waterfall dripping past your lips, you sure could find some time to be bratty like this.

rolling his eyes, his tongue poked at his inner-cheek as he turned away for a brief moment. when he looked at you again, his gaze was less hooded than it was amused. but it wasn’t your kind of amused. it wasn’t playful but degrading, the glimmer of it making you shiver.

“you want to say that again, baby?” he asked, his hand moving down to your head. he gently ran his fingers through your hair before he tugged at your scalp, his action light but not without harshness in it.

you whimpered under your breath, your brows furrowing helplessly as your head tilted to the side. “no.”

“good girl.” he released your hair then, gesturing toward himself. he nodded at you, smirking, “keep going.”

you didn’t mess around this time. your hand reached to the rubber waistband and easily pulled his sweats down to his thighs. you scooted your body up, your mouth salivating at the mere sight of his clothed member. you quickly tugged down his boxers, letting his cock spring out before you carefully grabbed its base.

minho sucked in a deep breath at your touch, your small hand covering around the base of his shaft. he closed his eyes with a blissful sigh when your lips finally touched his tip, giving him a little kiss before pressing them against him to dart your tongue over his slit.

licking past his red tip, you trailed your tongue over his shaft once before you went back up to his tip. then you finally took him in your mouth, your head bobbing up and down at regular speed as your hand rubbed the uncovered area.

minho groaned, his hand quickly flying down to your head. he let it lay there, only wanting something for him to hold onto as you sucked him off. great pleasure released from his abdomen, spreading all across his body as you hollowed your cheeks and licked him up as your head moved.

he opened his eyes to look down at you. for a second, you were focused on keeping him in your mouth, but you seemed to have felt his eyes on you so you glanced up at him.

he cursed at your wide-eyed, innocent—well, as innocent as you could look with his dick in your mouth, at least—expression then. his chest doing a flip as you slowly dragged your lips up to his tip to add stimulation to it, the smooching sounds you let out deafening to his ears.

there was something about your facade. it was the way he knew you were just putting up a naive front to rile him up, looking as pure as possible as your lips printed a smile on the top of his shaft, your tongue still poking out to lick him irregularly as if you get to be in control here.

(and, yes, to a certain level you do have control. to a maximum level, you have his utmost attention and all of his heart.)

holding onto the base of his cock, you tilted your head to the side and squinted your eyes mischievously at him. dragging the side of his tip against your cheek slowly, you let out a lewd hum, something like a relieved moan but it didn’t lack a tinge of questioning noise in it, and you watched him as if waiting for his patience to crack, waiting for his tough walls to fall beneath your feet.

he was falling. his face didn’t much show it, and either did his muscles tense under your body weight. but minho was completely surrendered to you; how could he not? you’re such a pretty thing, your warm mouth feeling heavenly as they moved up and down his shaft in an agonizingly slow pace.

his breathing was elevated now, he could feel his chest suffocating with deep arousal, and he wanted nothing more to have your walls wrapped around him now. forget your lips, he needed the tightness around him.

“okay, no,” minho spoke after a moment of thought. he attempted to sit up, his hands moving out to grab at your elbows. “you, get up, now.”

you listened to him, sitting up from your spot while he pulled at your arm. you followed his lead, letting him bring you onto his lap where you heat met with his hardened member. The confusion that once lingered in your head immediately faded away when you felt his girth snug between your folds, a whimper leaving your lips excitedly as you grind down on his member, wanting more friction out of a mere touch.

minho huffed, a tingly sensation fixated at his abdomen. his movements were beginning to get hasty but he has a general direction of what he wanted to do. he wanted you, that was all he knew. and with you sitting prettily on top of him, his mind knew exactly what he had to do despite the pitter-pattering of his heart.

although clumsy, he was precise when he gabbed you by your waist and hoisted you up with your help. he moved his hand down to hold up his dick, angling it right at your entrance before he glanced up at you through his tousled hair.

his eyes were striking, dazzling you as he waited for permission to handle you. you weren’t able to say much, a knot present at the back of your throat that could only be released when you could finally feel full again, full of him. so instead of talking, you brought your hands to your sides where his laid, and you lightly spread your knees further apart to drop onto his cock.

minho moaned lowly, feeling the warmth of your entrance as his tip got lathered up with your essence. he took that as a green light, and with a tightened grip on your skin, he guided you to sink on his length by pushing your body lower and lower until you were sat with him stuck within your walls.

your eyes shut when you felt his stretch, opening you up so deliciously that you needed a moment to breathe. you took all of him in you, his length a pleasantly erotic sensation inside your cunt that even a small scratch of friction could get your head all fuzzed up in a dream.

you felt full, oh so very full, in the most delightful way possible. you felt like smiling when you adoringly looked at him, because you loved him so and you didn’t think you could get this back again. your walls unconsciously clenched around him when you felt like shifting your position a little, and the little breathy sounds he let out a kind of music you adored.

he stared back at you after the sudden commotion and his heart melted. your faint smile was an undeserved treasure you somehow decided to grant him on a daily, and the fact that you always made him feel so snug and good, both chastely and sexually, was nothing short of a miracle.

his hand slipped from your waist to lace through yours, holding you softly as lust blossomed in his eyes.

it has always been the two of you who could make each other feel this way. the thrill of first love, the nostalgia of being intimate, the fear of losing one another—no wonder you two fell in love, it was a match made in heaven.

he brought you down to kiss him, and your arms instinctively flew around his neck. you allowed him a second of solace before pulling away just enough to speak, your voice small with praise. “fuck, you feel so good.”

he laughed, biting at your jaw where his face got draped over by the falling of your hair. “good, but i’m about to feel even better,” he whispered before reattaching his lips to yours. between the tangled lips, you could hear a needy whine sounding from the back of his threat, and you giggled into his mouth. he wanted you to move.

you carefully brought yourself up, your walls scraping past his cock in the process and catching up a burn. then, slowly but still at a non-torturous pace, you lowered yourself back down on him. you kept up with the speed, going up and down on his lap and moaning with every new stretch of your walls.

minho’s hands slipped from yours to caress all over your body, touching you gingerly as if you were his pretty porcelain doll. when his hands met your chest, he gave a small frown at the bra that was still attached to your body, and he quickly unhooked it to expose you completely.

your thighs stuttered when you felt him clamp his palm over your breast, the sudden jolt of pleasure hitting your head. his hands moved to cup your side, his thumbs reaching to press against your nipples and twirling circles with it. then he leaned forward to take your perky bud into his mouth after kissing around the bouncy area, licking your milky smooth skin before his tongue swiped across your nipple.

he kissed across your chest, his lips unable to remove from your skin as you relentlessly moved up and down on him. the plethora of pleasure, the immeasurable amount of enjoyment manifesting into this electrifying sensation all across your veins. it was all from the way minho felt so good inside you, and the passionate touch of his mouth on your everywhere.

“ahh–min–” you hugged him close with a sudden scream, only able to utter his name halfway. the jolt had knocked the air out of your lungs when his cock brushed against your sweet spot, making your knees buckle weakly and your movement halting to a messy rhythm.

minho raised a brow, feeling playful upon seeing your drastic reaction. he pulled away from your face, his eyes searching for your face. “hmm? min–what?”

you furrowed your brows then, a blush escaping to your cheeks at his seductive voice. as you struggled to keep up with the thrusts, you pursed your lips together and flashed minho a soft grimace before you squeezed your eyes shut again at the sensation. you didn’t plan on finishing your cut off sentence and you just wanted to keep hitting the sweet spot over and over again, because god, it made you feel so, so good.

but minho wanted otherwise. unfortunately, he has the upper hand here. he wasn’t the one who’s been moving rigorously the past minutes, he still got lots of stamina stored up for him to hold you in place. you whined when he did, his hands pushing down on your hips to prevent you from sliding up his dick.

you looked at him, your eyes wide as sweat glistened on your forehead, sticking the hair to your pretty skin. the arousal was dripping inside you, aching to be moved around, longing to be penetrated.

hoping to gain an ounce of sympathy, you pouted with a slump of your shoulders and pleaded, “minho, please.”

“hmm,” he squinted his eyes, lightly snapping his hips deeper into you. “please…? please what, baby.”

you clenched your fists, feeling the annoying pain of his slow, slow thrusts. part of you wanted to see how long he could keep up with this, this burningly slow pace. but hellish ache at your pussy overshadowed your tendency to be bratty and childish. all you wanted was to feel the pleasure again, so you begged as he wanted you to.

“please fuck me, minho,” you asked, desperation pumping out of your mouth like gold, “please fuck me–your cock feels good, i–i want more!”

minho laughed lowly, the moany sound hiding under the edge of his voice when he saw how you struggled to speak. the heat on your cheeks adding to the overall flair of his sight, your bare appearance the greatest art he’s ever laid his eyes on. and your words made him soar off the moon, you needy little thing! you’d break yourself with embarrassment to keep feeling the euphoric feeling only he could make you feel, wouldn’t you?

how pathetically adorable. maybe he should help you out a little, the moment a silent fulfillment to his own desire to pound himself quicker into you.

he gripped your hips tighter by digging his nails into your skin and he helped you up on his length. he waited for a moment before he forced your fragile body down on his cock, earning a chocked strangled whimper from you. he continued in a regular rhythm. occasionally, he would push his hips up to meet with your pussy, adding to the strength of the pound and making your moan louder with the strike.

you let loose of your muscles when you felt that you’ve lost the control, and you pressed yourself closer to him in hopes to regain the previous position. the magnified gratification came unknowingly like a ghost, his dick finally able to find your g-spot again, and this time stayed haunting you with every slick thrust.

as your pussy started to salivate more with each snap of your hips, the squelching noise was also becoming harder to ignore. it mixed in with your heavy breaths, the sound of sex reverberating around you both, and you could feel your orgasm approaching inch by inch, threatening your release.

minho was watching you carefully, his eyes fixated on your face as he observed every little movement. your jaw hung open at the constant moaning, your eyes barely able to open clearly because of the overwhelming sensation—everything about you made him feel confident, possibly even narcissistic at some point.

but he really enjoyed the fact that you succumb to him so easily, and you shamelessly showed it through your body without even knowing.

he wondered if you knew you were clenching incredibly tightly around his cock. it didn’t seem to be a conscious action, considering how you could barely string a coherent sentence together. judging by that, though, minho knew your climax was approaching close, and he planned to get you to it with as much care as possible.

pulling you off him suddenly, he sat up quickly and pushed you on your back. he hovered over your body, only laying on top of you after he re-inserted himself inside of you. your legs went around his hips, bringing him closer by the back while he leaned his head down to briefly kiss your neck.

“hey,” he smiled, his hand caressing through your hair as he looked down at you with soft eyes.

you raised your brows at him, silent breathes huffing in and out of your nose as he started to thrust into you again. you touched his face, squeezing his cheeks with a smile. “what?”

minho was right. he does feel closer to you like this.

his eyes shifted down to your lips and back up into your eyes. affection engulfed him quickly, it does every time he stares into your eyes. he gets reminded of the way he fell in love with you again and again whenever he does.

and he never minded the constant reminder. he enjoyed the process. it was a lot of emotional talks, playful banter, and a lot of good sex. all of which he felt like he could have with you for the rest of his life, he wanted to have with you for the remaining of his stupid lifetime.

he unconsciously pounded deeper into you then, his mind wanting you to feel all of him to the rawest sense. you moaned at the sudden change of force but you welcomed it by opening your legs a little more for him.

your toes were curling after a few more hard thrusts, your stomach churning impossibly at the way his cock felt sliding in and out of you. when you felt the tightening feeling in your chest, you looked up at minho and grabbed his hand, huffing out hastily, “min–minho, i’m close.”

“i know,” he hummed loving at you, picking up his pace to bring you over the edge.

you arched your back at the feeling, a silent scream leaving your mouth. he pinned your hands to the side of your head, his hands hugging your small ones, and when your head moved back down to face him, he wasted no time to put his lips on yours again.

god, it was like he literally cannot keep himself off you.

your mind was getting foggy. you weren’t sure whether it was from the passionately way he kissed or from the burn between your legs, but you felt like you couldn’t quite process anything clearly anymore. well, anything except for one thing.

when minho pulled away, he kept himself close. his lips were grazing against yours but he wasn’t close enough to kiss you. and you could feel his lips move against yours ghostly when he whispered, “i love you.”

you processed that one. the words hit you really strongly too, your heart practically sunk up to your throat at them. you wanted to say it back, you planned to say it back, but you only sucked in a strong breath when minho rammed against the sweet spot in you. your eyes rolled back at the unprecedented attack and your back lifted off the couch once again.

“oh fuck–minho, please, please–ahh!”

he continued with a few more harsh thrusts before you released around his cock with a whine, your hands tightening around his at the pleasure. he had his head buried at the crook of your neck, his hips continued to move as he drowned himself in the scent of your body. he was chasing his own high now, his cock twitching inside your warm hold as he pounded into you.

your walls slurped him up, tightening around him to add stimulation. and when he felt like he was about to come undone, he quickly pulled out of you and sat up. his hand moved to his cock, quickly pumping along his length as his eyes trained on your sweaty, delicate body.

you looked at him before slowly sitting up, you went on all fours and crawled closer to him before positioning your face before his cock. minho shakily breathed out a sigh when you nudged your face against his tip, then you stopped at your opened mouth, waiting for him to pour himself over your tongue.

“ugh, you’re gonna swallow me, baby girl?” he hissed out, and he bit his lower lip when you nodded, widening your eyes naively at him.

he groaned, his abdomen tightening at the mere sight of you, hot cum sprouting out of his slit and landing on your stuck-out tongue. you held your breath, feeling the liquid dripping past your tongue before taking it back into your mouth and rolling it around. when you looked back up at minho, you grinned a little and stuck your tongue out at him.

his lips twitted at the sticky substance lingered on the tip, little lines stretching from your lips to your tongue. fuck, you filthy thing! how dare you make his heart all disheveled and gone.

“fuck, you’re so hot,” he muttered under his breath as you sat back on your heels.

you laughed, wiping your mouth and swallowing the last of him. “thank you, you’re not so bad yourself.”

he rolled his eyes then, the corner of his lips turning up into a graceful smile. he tackled you to the couch then, your hot body pressed against yours, but the atmosphere was more romantically chaste than sexual this time. you two were just two lovers naked in each others’ arms, putting complete and utter faith in each other that you would be held safe.

you two went quiet, basking in the silence. but you could hear him, his heart and his skin, pumping and brushing along yours.

would you have thought of this months ago when you first met minho? no. you have dreamt of it, but you never thought it could be true. and the dream was shattered when he suddenly decided to ghost you weeks ago.

but it didn’t matter now. you were here with him, he was holding you tightly like it was the only thing he knew to do.

“i meant to say it back,” you broke the silence first, “i love you too.”

despite knowing the answer already, minho still breathed out a sigh of relief anyway. he pressed a kiss to your head, his eyes closing calmly as he nodded. “i know.”

you smiled. minho has been a lot of things—a nice classmate, a good friend, and a few quick fucks. but you never indulged in the idea of you and him together. the idea that minho could be you and him together, that he could be a partner, a boyfriend.

the idea that minho could be an ‘us.’

#stayhavennet #inkidz #stray kids smut #skz smut #minho smut #stray kids dark hours #skz dark hours #i came to a realization that i never know what to put in the description tag so if anyone has any suggestions #or if there are anything i am supposed to put down please do tell me ;;;

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perriwinklesblog · 3 years

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Right so let’s try and just go through what happened with the TNT and who it could have done this.

I feel like there’s two main scenarios (I imagine there are other scenarios but these are the ones most discussed)

TNT set off in person on the roof/just inside the roof of the prison.

TNT on a red stone timer so it wouldn’t need someone to set it off.

I feel like these are the suspects (again, I believe there are others being discussed but these are the main ones)

Awesamdude

Ranboo (Enderstate)

Technoblade

So let’s think through a few things.

(This is a very, very, long post, my conclusion is essentially hard accuse Ranboo)

First up the most likely of all scenarios, TNT manually exploded on the roof.

This scenario is the most likely due to ease of pulling it off and the fact no one noticed a TNT timer being set up on the roof of the prison.

Tubbo suggested through his investigations that perhaps it was a last minute plan due to the sand being disturbed around the prison. The idea that the TNT was last minute feels very plausible to me.

We know Dream has the ability to control people and possibly telepathically communicate with people somehow without being around them (example Ranboo) so it is possible that whilst Tommy was talking to him, he realised his obsession was never going to come back. He needed to find a quick way plan. He wrote the waivers with Sam. He knows the rules of the prison. He could have sent out a message for the TNT to be set off or for any other plan, not to escape but to trap Tommy with him. Why would he do this? To give him time to manipulate Tommy on his side and then convince him to help him escape.

If it was a last minute, on the go, distraction plan, it would explain the sand disturbance and why not much actual visible damage was done to the prison.

If the individual had a trident, escape from the scene of the crime without much evidence would have been easy. Jump off the back of the prison and trident away somewhere where they could regroup and establish an alibi.

But who would do this?

Only two are likely to have done it this way, Awesamdude and Ranboo.

Skipping Awesamdude for now the only other person able to manually set off the TNT at the time was Ranboo.

I think we could all agree Ranboo would not have been consciously aware he was doing this. This is evident from the way he reacted to the news of Tommy trapped in there etc and due to our prior knowledge of Ranboo and his sleep walking ender state.

We also know that Dream has taken advantage of the whole understate already and has a clear relationship with this side of Ranboo. We also know all it takes is a smiley face, given to him by anyone, to set him off. We still do not know what he did or where he went when Dream asked Sapnap to give him a message.

We know Ranboo’s shovel had lower durability again once more and with the sand having been disturbed... that could be a possible reason why.

Ranboo also knows where Fundy’s creeper spawner is to get gun powder, and he also has access to the gun powder in Phil and Techno’s house.

With Ranboo previous work with Dream really puts him in the heat. But it could be a red herring, it all fits together too well almost but perhaps we’re paranoid, perhaps we don’t want it to be Ranboo and perhaps it is just him. Okams razor, the simplest solution is usually correct.

Ranboo also has tridents allowing him to do the trident escape method.

Why is it not Ranboo? Well... I’m struggling I won’t lie I’m struggling.

The other suspect for this scenario is Sam.

Sam had time to go to the roof of the prison and set off the TNT and make sure it didn’t do any lasting damage and leave no evidence behind.

It also would not be suspicious of him to be up on the roof of the prison.

He also knows all the secrets of the prison and all the passageways making it easy for him to leave and get back without being noticed.

Sam is also known for TNT. Not just because of his creeper king skin but often he’s the one that has it outwith the lore. On Tubbo’s birthday he showed up with TNT. (Quite a lot) There is also TNT somewhere in the prison as a failsafe mechanism. He could have easily taken some of this and moved it for the purpose of the stunt.

So Sam could have done it but why would he have done it?

Sam is the Warden and people often forget when he is in this role, nothing but keeping Dream in the prison matters. It’s everywhere in the waivers and conversations Sam has with people. The prisoner being kept in the prison is top priority.

I have a whole post on Sam’s fatal mistake and the possible reasons in his decision making here.

But for now let’s focus on why would the Warden do this?

Quite frankly he wouldn’t. His reaction to Tommy’s suggests he wouldn’t. He is wracked with guilt, and has clearly been seen grieving. His sense of responsibility has lead him to take the full blame. With the other characters on the server missing the fact that Dream killed Tommy, but focusing on The Warden’s Failures.

But if we focus on before Tommy’s death. It still doesn’t make sense why he would set this up. It served no purpose for him to have Tommy trapped in there with Dream. He hired guards after the incident which is pointless if he orchestrated the whole thing. Even if he trying to cover up his involvement it still wouldn’t make sense to bring in two people who could easily come across your lies.

Most people focus on the fact that Dream hired him to make this build. I could hire a builder and then trap someone in the building the builder built but that doesn’t mean he was involved.

Sam had no idea the prison was for Tommy. It was originally meant for someone else (We still don’t know who by the way) but then Tommy runway from exile and Dream repurposed it for him. (Obviously from the get go it was for Tommy but in lore it wasn’t originally meant for him)

What I’m trying to say is, just because Sam is the builder, does not make him on Dreams side. In fact Sam saw Tubbo and Tommy off, gave Tubbo gifts, said goodbye to them. Sam’s character recently generally tries to help everyone on the server and stayed out of most of the conflict, It’s just with this prison and the egg that conflict has been thrust into his lap and generally he tries to do the right thing.

It just feels wrong to have someone who managed to resist the murderous urges of the egg to keep his dog alive, then becomes part of the plot to trap Tommy in the prison. It also goes against the Warden’s code and if anything Sam is all about the Warden’s code.

So in this scenario, I believe the most likely suspect is Ranboo. Sam may have had an easier time setting up the TNT but Ranboo has a better connection and motive to trap Tommy in the prison.

This brings us onto Scenario 2, TNT with a red stone Timer.

During Tubbo’s stream the idea that someone could have earlier and set up a red stone timer which would mean someone didn’t have to be there to set it off come up. I do not know red stone mechanics but those who do seem to believe this would have been possible.

Now this would mean, the person could have gone onto the server at a time where no one else was on or perhaps when someone else was on but they knew they wouldn’t be anywhere near the prison and set up the timer.

This is a risky plan as someone could have come across it all and either set it off before it was meant too or report it to the Warden or Sam could have come across it. Due to this I’m less likely to believe this is what happened.

If the sand around the prison was mined for the TNT this would mean the culprit was sloppy. They literally could have gotten sand from elsewhere. So if it was done this way they were either sloppy or that sand wasn’t used.

There is also the element of, how did they know Tommy was going to visit Dream and when he was going to visit him. The only way this scenario works is if they were setting off the TNT to allow Dream to escape but with how little damage there was done to the prison, it would suggest that this wasn’t the goal. The goal definitely was to trap Tommy in with Dream.

But this way does mean we can consider a wider range of suspects.

Really, all suspects could easily pick up the knowledge to do this so it’s more about the reason behind whether they would do it or not.

We’ve already gone through reasons of if and why Sam and Ranboo would be on Dreams side so I won’t go into detail with themes quickly I will say

Sam has the most knowledge on red stone but unlikely to have done it due to unlikely being on Dream’s side.

Ranboo could have done it this way but again, how would he have known when Tommy was going to be in the prison.

So this brings us to Technoblade.

Personally I think the idea Technoblade was involved is one of the weakest of all the suspects.

Yes Technoblade owes Dream a favour but I truly believe this favour might have been killing Tubbo or getting something for resurrecting Schlatt. I believe he would have wanted to harm Tommy by having Tubbo killed and he’s been wanting to revive Schlatt for a while now. (I feel like theres a side to Schlatts character we don’t know about but he’s important to Dream for some reason?)

Anyway, yeah I don’t think the favour Dream has in mind for Technoblade is freedom from the prison. The TNT didn’t even do much damage to the prison. Plus Technoblade is very showboat. He loves his speeches, he loves to leave a mark. This is waaaaaay to sneaky. He’s want people to know when he’s done stuff. He wants people to be slightly scared of him (I could go in on the reasons behind that but not the point of this). It just wouldn’t be normal for him to do it this way. Plus this clearly wasn’t about breaking Dream out the prison but trapping Tommy. And if it was about trapping Tommy, he’d want Tommy to know it was him.

There just isn’t as much good solid evidence pointing to Technoblade. And him having the gunpowder? Rockets. The man loves a rocket and he also loves to have supplies.

It just doesn’t feel very Technoblade to me. Especially setting up so it explodes later. He’d want to watch.

This whole scenario just doesn’t quite fit so for this, offline suspects are pretty much in the clear for it.

However, if Scenario Two turns out to be true, I would place my money on Ranboo setting it up.

If you’ve made it this far to my rambling, well done. I am impressed.

For my conclusion, I’d like to say I am more often than not wrong. One of the amazing things about this server and the creators part of it, is how they really can flip things around and turn it a way you wouldn’t expect.

There is an issue of Red Herrings. Tommy is famous for doing this directly to our faces. Saying things to make us believe one thing and then doing something different and at the moment with all the evidence basically suggesting Ranboo, there is a slight chance that those clues have just been to throw us off.

So overall, at the moment, Ranboo is looking to be the guilty party.

This is all pain.

#dream smp #awesamdude #ranboo #tubbo #tommy #tommyinnit #tommy mcyt #technoblade #dreamwastaken #discourse #warden sam

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michaelbjorkwrites · 5 years

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Narrative Anchors: How to hold your readers’ attention, wherever you take them.

One of my old fiction professors, Tom, used to always grab coffee with us students whenever our story had been workshopped.

We'd meet at the downtown coffee shop, where we fought the flocks of students for a table, pulled out a couple wrinkled copies of the story, and discussed feedback over bland coffee.

It was during one of these discussions that Tom pointed out something I'd stumbled into doing well. (He's very good at that.)

"I think this is great, Mike," he said, tapping my story on the table. "From the opening line, the question is whether these two will sleep together, and that grounds us. If my attention ever wavers, I can always fall back on, 'Oh, well have they slept together yet? No, not yet? Okay, cool. I still know where we are, then, and where we're headed.' That makes the story easy to follow."

This wasn't, admittedly, a major focus of our conversation. We moved on to discuss more important things (like the story’s key flaws), but somehow that comment stuck with me over the years.

And now, looking back, I realize it was the first time I started thinking about something I'd eventually call "narrative anchors."

What's a narrative anchor?

It's something I made up. But trust me, it's helpful.

In short, I consider narrative anchors to be the craft elements you include in a story to ground your reader. On the one hand, they can help you craft a story that rings with simple, crystal clarity, and on the other hand, they can empower you to challenge readers with fresh, creative storytelling, without ever losing them at sea.

I put narrative anchors into three categories:

Plot Anchors

Character Anchors

Style Anchors

Plot Anchors

Plot anchors are a clearly defined situation, goal, or destination for a story. Tom (above) pointed out a situational plot anchor in my story, but you'll find plot anchors everywhere. For example, in Avatar: The Last Airbender, Aang needs to master the four elements and defeat Fire Lord Ozai. We know from the beginning that defeating Ozai is the end-goal, so we feel grounded at every stage of the story, knowing where we’re going.

Moby-Dick, by Herman Melville, is another great example. Ahab is hellbent on hunting down the White Whale, and we never lose sight of that goal, even as the narrative stretches across hundreds of pages.

That’s the point of a plot anchor: to give your reader a clear direction, so they always know where they’re going.

Character Anchors

These anchors are the clear motivations and arcs you give your characters. Disney does this well in their musicals, always using an "I want song" (more about those here) to clearly declare what their main characters want: Mulan wants to express her true self, Hercules wants to find where he belongs, and so on. The rest of the story then circles around that character's pursuit of their "want."

When readers have a strong understanding of your character's motivation and journey, they have a much easier time following the story as a whole.

Style Anchors

Style anchors are my handy little catch-all for every other craft choice you make to bring clarity and simplicity to your work. Style anchors can include: short chapters or paragraphs; simple and accessible language; straightforward writing forms; clarity of description; engagement with the five senses; using a smaller cast of characters; sticking to a single POV; and so on.

Cool. So when (and how) do I use these narrative anchors?

Tip 1: Don't start with anchors. Start with the story. Take your idea, begin developing the characters and plot, and start writing.

Tip 2: As you write and revise, start thinking about anchors. Ask yourself what kinds of anchors you already have in place, what others may be helpful to add, and whether or not you're doing enough to ground your readers in the story.

Tip 3: Consider your audience. Readers of popular fiction will want to be reasonably grounded, so you should try to always use at least a few anchors. But if your audience likes super artsy, experimental fiction, you may be able to get away with fewer tethers.

Tip 4: That being said, don't be afraid to challenge your readers, whoever they are. If you want to get creative, go for it. If you want to experiment with form, language, plot, character arcs, or whatever, PLEASE do!

Tip 5: But when you challenge readers one way, try to compensate by grounding them in other ways. For example, maybe your story lacks a clear plot anchor, but you include a character with a clear arc and motivation. Or maybe your story is incredibly challenging on a stylistic level, but you give readers a clear character motive and plot (this was my experience reading Moby-Dick).

Tip 6: If big anchors don't fit, consider smaller ones. For example, if your story lacks a BIG plot anchor like defeating Fire Lord Ozai, maybe use smaller plot anchors to drive individual sections of the book. Or maybe instead of a BIG declaration of your character’s motive at the beginning, include little anchors for your narrator that act like breadcrumbs for their motives and development.

Tip 7: Mix and match anchors as necessary, because there is no magic formula.

Long story short?

Write the story you want to write — then use narrative anchors to keep your readers reading, wherever your story takes them.

Tom may not have said that all in so many words, but if I bought him a coffee, I bet he'd agree.

Good luck, everybody, and good writing!

— — —

Your stories are worth telling. For tips on how to craft meaning, build character-driven plots, and grow as a writer, follow my blog.

#writeblr #writeblogging #writing #writing advice #Writing tips #writing tip #plotting #how to write #characterization #writers #writing resources #writer resources #storytelling #writing fiction

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pastelsandhazelnutcoffee · 4 years

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Tips for your first semester at university - A Masterpost

So, I know that it always depends on the country you live in, but here in Austria the next university semester starts on the first Monday of October. I have been at University for 3 years now and I remember how lost I was when I came there first. So I thought that I´d share my experience for those that start university this semester.

Important: This guide is written especially for universities and not for colleges of higher education as they have a different system when it comes to lectures and such.

1. Inform yourself as much as possible about your university.

Nowadays, all universitys have their own homepage. What might be confusing however is that most universities don´t have only one. Big universities normally have a general homepage for all things that regard the university as a whole, like registration, academical celebrations or for example the actions that the university takes because of corona. This page is important for the first steps you have to take, like registration, getting your student ID and also for important news. This page will also show you what your university stands for, how they present themselves (for example if or how they support gender equality, students with physical or mental issues or their stance on climate change and what they do about it).

Often times, there are also one more pages for student services that help students with their questions and are responsible for organisatory stuff. Always check out their FAQ, it might help you a lot and sometimes they even have explaination videos. Most of the time, there are also contact options for you, like a telephone number, mail adress or even (when there is no lockdown) consultation hours in their offices.

At big universites, every faculty has at least one homepage, sometimes even more then one (for example one for students and one for the professors, sometimes another one for the curriculum and such...). And no, all these websites often are not linked to each other, so better safe them with a bookmark in your browser because otherwise finding a certain homepage again might cost you quite some time...On these pages, you normally can find the curriculum and sometimes even the recommended studying path - basically meaning which course you should take in which semester.

2. Find out where the buildings are and get to know them

Many universities have more than one building or campus. When you have to commute between them, it is important that you know how to reach them, how long it takes you to reach them (from home and from another building) and where the most important lecture halls and seminar rooms are. In most countries, the university buildings are open to the public you can just walk in and look around as long as you don´t walk into a seminar or lecture in the middle of it! If you can´t find a certain room, you normally can also ask the concierge for help. Maybe even take notes how to reach each building and the most important rooms so that when you are in a hurry and get overwhelmed by all the new experiences, you have a backup in case you forget something.

3. Plan your time wisely

You have to register yourself for the lectures and seminars you want to take each semester, so make sure you plan your time wisely. If you have to commute between buildings, don´t make yourself a tight shedule! You never know if you have questions for a professor after a lecture, if you want to exchange numbers with other students, if a lecture takes longer than planned or if the public transport arrives on time. Also, your first semester will be way more exhausting than you expect, no matter what you are used to! Never plan a full day at university for your first semester and I would also advice you to register for less courses than recommended. You can still do more in the following semesters and the first one is always the most difficult as you are not used to the new system. Keep days free for the asignments you have to or the notes you need to rework.

4. Get to know the surroundings of the buildings and the reading and studying halls.

Sometimes you will have some time between courses so it is important for you to know, where to spend these breaks. It also depends on what you want to do during this time: Talk to friends, eat, have a nice walk or read/write something for university? Most universities have rooms for studying and reading, where you have to be silent but also some where you can work together with other students and talk to them. Search also for bakeries, take-aways and a refectory so that you know where to get a meal from, if you have forgotten to bring something. Sometimes it is best to walk into some side-streets for normal grocery shops, as they often sell sandwiches and salads but are way cheaper than the refectories and restaurants in and around the university itself.

5. Have a student planner AND a calendar on your mobile phone

If you have a stundent planner, it easier to take notes about your assignments or write something down quickly. It is not dependend on a battery and you have a lot more space than on calendar or to-do-list apps. However, it can happen that you forget it on some days, so always a phone calendar as a backup to remind you of which lectures you have where and when!

6. Try out which way of taking notes works best for you

There are so many ways how you can take notes during courses, so try out which of them works best for you. I will soon make a special post about the different ways of talking notes and organizing them, so if you don´t know about this topic, make sure to check out the upcoming post!

7. Networking is key

You are not in a normal class anymore. You won´t see the same people in every course, so try to meet new ones in every course. You don´t have to be friends with everyone, but just exchanging numbers and helping each others out with homeworks or when you can´t visit a lecture every now and then is a great help. Also join Facebook, Discord or Whatsapp Groups and read what other students write in them. If there are none - make your own and invite as many students that you meet as possible. Ask other students - especially some from higher semesters - if you have quesions about organizational stuff, rules for thesis papers and recommendations of professors or courses.

8. Document your semester

Don´t spend too much time on it, but make sure to document some important details of your semester. Which professors do like or don´t like and why? Make sure to write down their names too, not only their courses, so you know where to register again. Write down which studying or note-taking techniques work beste for you and which don´t. Write down at which times of the day you are very productive at home and when is the best time for you to be at university.

10. Read the curriculum and the recommended study path thoroughly

The curriculum includes which courses you have to take, where you can choose and if there are requirements for some of them. It also includes description what you will learn in which course and approximately how much effort it takes to complete a course. Of course these descriptions are not always completely accurate but they will give you a good overview and especially which requirements are needed is very important to know and keep in mind.

Not all but many faculties also offer recommended study paths.These recommend, consdering not only the official requirements but also your knowledge and the efford, which courses you should visit in which semester. Often times, these are really helpful, so ask students from higher semesters if these are helpful and if they agree, then definitely stick to them!

11. Use Apps for students

There are many apps that can help you. Some of them are specifically made for connecting you better with your university by giving you direct access to your account, your mails, your time table and the latest news of your university. Other apps help you focus or keep organized. I will do another post on this topic too, so make sure to check it out too!

12. Don´t get a job immediatelly

If you can, don´t get a (part-time) job immediatelly. If you can afford to not earn money for some months, wait at least until your second semester to get a job. The first semester is challenging enough and no matter how tempting it seems to earn a nice amount of money, it is important that you can find your place at university.

13. Start studying early

I swear to you that during your school time, you never wrote an exam with such a huge amount to study - most likely not even your A levels. So either revise every weekend what you learned during the week or start studying at least some weeks before your finals to make sure you don´t underestimate it.

14. Keep yourself motivated

A semester at university can be very exhausting and challenging. You might not like all the courses you are registered for but also can´t drop out of them. So you need to keep yourself motivated, even in the middle of the semester when the next holidays and the rewards for your efforts seem far away. Keep your goals in mind, reward yourself every now and then for all the studying you are doing and use stationery that motivates you.

15. Bring enough food with you

You won´t always have the time to buy a meal at university and even if you have the time, more often then not they are overly expensive. Bring food from home that you can eat during your breaks, if possible even while walking - you may need to eat while walking to the next lecturing hall. Make sure the food won´t go bad during the day and bring brain food to. Also bring water with you and refill it during your breaks. Bring something like coffee, black or green tea, energy drinks or coffeinated gums too for long days or when you have to start very early in the morning.

16. Keep pencils and some sheets of paper everywhere

Modern technologies like mobilephones and laptops are nice and handy, but they are always dependend on their batteries. Therefore you should keep pen and paper in every bag you use, every jacket, every trouser or wherever you can keep them. By doing this, you make sure that you can always take notes, no matter what else happens. Also make sure you have a drawer or a place near your desk where you can collect these notes so you won´t loose them!

17. Keep the balance

A lot of people think that university means partying and having lots of free time. Others study all the time, having barely any free-time. With most of the exams taking place at the end of the semester, one can easily forget how much studying it takes to complete a course. On the other hand, all the new testing formats and the complex topics can seem overwhelming. Therefore it is very important that you keep a good balance between studying and freetime. Especially outside the finals week, it is good to keep one or two hours free per day that you use only for hobbies and leisure time.

18. Don´t let others pressure you about your grades

Yes, a lot of students like to brag about how fast they get on with studying and how good their grades are. Fact is, that you can´t see their university certificate, so you can´t even know if they are saying the truth or are just bragging. Furthermore, even if they say the truth, everyone goes their own path with their own pace. You don´t have to be the best or better than anyone. Do the best you can but never harm you physical or mental health for your grades!

19. Don´t be scared to change your field of study

In school you barelly get to know the different fields of study. Even subjects you have at school like a language or maths are totally different at university. If you realize that a field of study is not right for you, it is totally okay to change it! There is nothing to be embarassed about. It is important that you do what you like and what you can do - not everyone will be successful in every field. That does not mean that you should give up because one course becomes a bit difficult or because you got a negative grade on a final. Throwbacks and some troubles are normal in every study and don´t mean that you´re not qualified for it. But if you realize that it is not what you are interested in, it is better to choose a different field.

20. Don´t expect everything to be interesting

No matter how much you like a field of subject, there will always be some courses that you will find less interesting than outers. Keep yourself motivated when you have to do such courses and don´t give up because of them if you like most of the other courses and lectures.

21. Inform yourself about the types of courses before you register for them

Most faculties offer many different types of courses, all of them meaning a different effort and different ways of performance controls. Lectures normally don´t require you to be present (although it is helpful) and only have one test at the end of the semester. Seminars don´t have finals, instead you have to write a portfolio or thesis paper. Exercise courses normally have at least one test in the middle of the semester and one final plus multiple assignments or homeworks. There are many more kinds of courses, depending on your field of study.

22. Don´t expect too much from yourself

University is actually way harder then colleges or school. It´s the most difficult type of education you can choose, so don´t expect perfect grades from yourself. No matter how good your grades where at school, it is totally fine if you don´t keep them up at university! That does not mean that you became less intelligent, just that university is way harder than school!

I hope this post is helpful for some of you! I will be doing an own post soon on how to go about your first digital semester!

#university #studyblr #studyspo #studyinspo #studying tips #study tips #masterpost #study masterpost

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tyrilblue · 4 years

Text

Live for me

Part II - Rome’s power

Marc Antony x MC (Alba)

Word count: 2700

If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know ✨

You can find Part I here

Ante diem iv Nonas Septembres XXXI

(September 2nd, 31 b.C.)

Roman-Egyptian encampment.

Actium promontory, Greece.

Marc Antony scribbled hastily on a makeshift table, stopping every so often to check for noises. The encampment was eerily quiet in the dead of night, washed by moonlight. The only sound Antony could hear was the crackling of the fire at the center of the tent. He sat in silence, his pen hovering just an inch above the parchment, his head crowded by a million thoughts.The world's future, together with his own, would be decided at dawn. Antony's last, great stand against Octavian's forces could take place any minute, depending on the moment of his enemy's arrival. Thankfully, Cleopatra still did not doubt his loyalty and love. With her support he had his fair chances of winning, but good commanders knew never to take victory for granted.

In that chaos of uncertainty there was only one thing he now knew for sure.

He wanted to see her again.

Antony never thought he could feel such a thing, but after decades of warfare, plotting and bloodshed, all his heart ached for was peace. Of course, power was still his goal, but he did not view it as the only option anymore. A younger version of himself would have laughed at his weakness, and at times he still thought aging might have softened his heart. Still, he wasn't so ready to give up the rest of his life anymore, if his fate was to live beyond that battle.

At that thought, images of Alba promising to die with him flashed through his mind. His heart ached as he remembered her, as beautiful as a goddess in a cloud of white silk, and he desperately, hopelessly went on writing.

«My dearest Alba, I hope this message finds you alive and well. The final battle against Octavian will take place tomorrow in the bay of Actium, and my fate - our fate - will be decided then. All these months in exile have taught me much, but more than anything I now know I do not want to give up on our future. No matter the outcome of this war, if I do not die in battle, I will do everything that is in my power to come back to you. If I lose, we shall flee Rome together. Please, disregard the last message I sent you. If the battle should not fare well for me, run and seek shelter in the home of Lucius Pontius. I am giving this message to him, a trusted soldier, who will be leaving on a merchant ship at dawn. I hope he manages to reach you before the news about my possible defeat reach Rome. I want to live for you, with you, even if that means being idle for the rest of my days.»

Antony skimmed the text once more, waiting for the ink to dry, then he added their secret code, small enough to go unseen, at the bottom of the paper. He and Alba had agreed she should trust no one's words while he was away, even if they should come from his most trusted messenger, so they'd established a code to make sure their letters to each other could not be forged.

He sighed. He felt hopeless, his logical mind couldn't allow him to hope, because he knew that the news about a war's outcome could travel faster than the wind. He read the letter over again, kneading his brow in frustration, then started to wrap the parchment in a roll.

At that moment the entrance to the tent opened, letting in a ray of moonlight that was quickly shadowed by queen Cleopatra's figure. Antony's heart shrank with dread on seeing her, despite the queen's beauty. She was dressed in her night attire, her linen tunic billowing in the soft sea breeze coming from outside.

"Marc Antony" - she said in her typical low, mellow tone, her Latin hinting at her Egyptian nature. "Why did you leave our tent? I have been missing you". She was calm, but there was a silent threat hidden in her soft words. Antony had gained most of her trust, but after Caesar, no amount of flattering and calculation could gain him her absolute faith. Cleopatra walked towards him, and Antony was careful to act natural, leaving the half-wrapped roll of parchment exposed so as not to raise suspicions on her part. The queen laid her golden hands on Antony's shoulders, drawing circles with her thumbs. He let out a sigh of pleasure, only partly meant to satisfy her.

"Is the upcoming battle troubling your sleep?" - she asked, and suddenly her lips were on his neck, kissing him softly.

"Yes, my Queen, deeply" - Antony replied, "But your hands are working a very powerful magic". He let his head fall back onto Cleopatra's shoulder, hoping to concentrate her attention on him instead of his letter on the table. He softly grabbed her wrist, moving her hand from his shoulder to his chest, and lower under his toga. He felt her smiling in the crook of his neck.

"Would some attention from me ease you into our goddess Nwt's arms?" - she asked, her voice as sweet as dates.

"It certainly would" - Antony replied, and in one final move to distract her, he pushed his chair back and stood up to kiss her. The sudden movement caused the the small table to wobble, and Antony's stylus fell with a tinning sound. He couldn't but watch helplessly as Cleopatra's eyes travelled from the fallen pen up to the parchment on the table, narrowing as soon as they landed on his letter.

"Have you been writing?" - she asked, falsely naïve.There was nothing Antony could do to prevent what was about to happen. He gritted his teeth, waiting, his mind racing in an attempt to find an explanation as Cleopatra took the parchment and unrolled it, reading quickly.

"What is this?" - she looked up at him with a deadly stare in her black eyes, "This Alba... Alba, the Gaul courtesan of Rome?".

Antony put on his best smile, faking amusement and shaking his head.

"Yes, my Queen, exactly, Alba of Lena's scholae" - he said, "And my old lover". Cleopatra's eyes flashed with rage at his words, but Antony raised his hands in surrender.

"I am only using her, my Queen, to obtain information about our enemy" - he explained calmly, "Her futile feelings for me have proved invaluable since I left Rome". The artful disdain in Antony's voice seemed to convince Cleopatra, but she kept looking at him with suspicion.

"Of all the spies you could have in Rome, of all the men who would be ready to serve you, why her?" - Cleopatra's voice ringed with contempt when referencing Alba, and for a split second Antony had to clench his teeth in a surge of rage. Then his lips melted into his usual, cool smile, and he stroked Cleopatra's cheek with the backs of his fingers.

"Because she is no common spy, she is still the most renowned courtesan in Rome" - Antony raised his eyebrows conspiratorially, and Cleopatra smiled for the briefest moment. "She has access to alcoves and bedchambers no spy could ever dream of entering". The queen of Egypt seemed to ponder his words for a few, endless seconds, then she turned, seemingly satisfied but still resentful, walking away from Antony with his letter clutched in her hands.

"However useful she may be, you certainly won't need her help now that we are so close to our victory" - she stated, and with a coy smile she ripped the parchment into pieces, throwing them into the fire pit at the center of the tent.

"Now come, my love, I need my commander to be well-rested for battle".

Antony, seething, looked at her as she crossed her arms and stood waiting for him. He cast a glance at the remaining fragments of his message burning quickly among the embers, noticing just one corner of it had been spared. It now lay on the ground outside the fire pit.

"What are you –" - Cleopatra burst out angrily, but was immediately cut off by the sound of a war horn breaking the silence of the encampment.

"Octavian" - she whispered. "He's here".

A few tense moments passed as the two of them looked at each other, a mix of fear, determination and anger in the eyes of both. Outside, the camp was starting to stir with the clang of metal and shouting in both Latin and Egyptian. Then, the horn sounded again, calling for blood.

"One way or another, this battle will show me the extent of Rome's power" - Cleopatra said, and without another word, she left the tent in a cloud of linen. Antony wasted no time trying to interpret her sentence, which sounded a lot like a prophecy. There was no way he could remove the suspicion from her mind now, so he rushed to pick up the surviving scrap of parchment and his stylus. Without thinking, he dipped the pen in a pool of spilt ink on the table and wrote as fast as he could.

«Alba, live for me

V.XIV.L»

And then he was outside, paper in hand, shouting the first orders and calling for his armour as the black expanse of the sky slowly started to turn into the colour of lavender flowers. As soon as his servants were next to him he turned to one of them.

"Fetch me legionary Lucius" - he commanded.

Ante diem iv Nonas Septembres XXXI

(September 2nd, 31 b.C.).

Bay of Actium, Greece.

The sky roared with thunder, but it was almost inaudible among the sounds of battle. The waves clashed heavily against the ship's hull, making it rock dangerously as the battle raged on.

Antony couldn't tell how long they had been fighting. The sky had turned a deep, ominous grey, soaked with rain. Standing on the deck of his ship, higher than any other, he could see a landscape of destruction. Wood splintered under the blows of catapults, the water was stained red and everywhere he looked he saw fire, smoke, death. The battle was even, no side was prevailing, and Antony had to make a move to turn it in his favour. Lightning made armours and weapons shine for a split second, and as he was about to order the ballistae to shoot, he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned, raising his sword in one swift movement, just in time for it to clash with the blade that was about to sink into his neck. One of Octavian's legates now stood in front of him, and Antony gritted his teeth. They had managed to board the ship, probably on a small boat that had passed unseen. A short distance away from him on the deck, he saw his soldiers start to fight with a small squadron of enemies. With a growl, Antony took his sword away from the lock and ducked out of the way, letting the legate stumble forwards. The two of them settled into a fighting stance, swords at the ready. The first drops of rain started to fall, but he was focused on his task.

"You and your Egyptian whore will never win this war, Marc Antony" - the legate snarled in an attempt to distract him. Antony couldn't help but smile. The man clearly believed Cleopatra was the woman he was fighting for. He silently repeated his vow to return to Alba, then, without answering the legate's provocation, he attacked with a cry.

The deck was becoming slick with rain, but Antony couldn't let the fight distract him from commanding the fleet for too long. He dealt a series of vicious blows to the legate's defense, taking advantage of his arrogance and growing tiredness. Whenever he saw an opportunity, he aimed his blade at the exposed skin of his arms and legs in order to weaken him.The legate stepped back from him to catch his breath and Antony smiled at his upcoming victory. He was about to attack once again, when suddenly an enormous wave hit the side of the ship, throwing him off-balance. The legate used his distraction to go back to the offense, and before Antony could stop him, he tore a long gash on his thigh. The pain was blinding for a second, but Antony managed to block the following blow to his throat. He furiously responded, finally locking the legate's sword with his and making it fly from his hand, beyond the railing and into the raging sea below. Before his enemy could draw another weapon, Antony pointed his sword at the legate's neck, ready to slit it open. He was about to let the blade run, when the man's smile stopped him.

"You have been betrayed, Marc Antony" - the legate smirked, "Octavian knows all of your strategies. You cannot win". Antony pressed the blade further into the man's neck, and as he swallowed in fear, a drop of blood ran down its surface. Antony's mind travelled faster than lightning, trying to figure out who could betray him among the few who knew his strategy for the battle.

"Quintus Dellius" - the legate preceded his thoughts, "He came begging for Octavian's favour, offering you on a silver pl...".

His last words were choked by Antony's sword, and the legate's lifeless body dropped to the floor. Blood spilled over the deck, mingling with Antony's, that was dripping thickly down his leg. He looked around frantically for more enemies, but his soldiers were gradually taking back control over the ship. He allowed himself to wince in pain and look down at his wound. It was long, deep and needed mending, but he'd suffered worse over the years. He tore a strip of linen from the garments under his armour, and gritted his teeth as he tied it tightly around his thigh. The blood flow was momentarily stopped by the cloth. It would be enough to get by for some time.

"Ballistae! At the ready!" - he shouted, trying to bring back order in his fleet, but as he looked around he saw his soldiers look at him first, disoriented, then out at the sea. The battle seemed to have died down momentarily.

"Domine!" - one soldier turned towards Antony, then went down on one knee in deference.

"Speak, legionary, what is it?"

"Domine, her Majesty the Queen of Egypt has ordered a retreat!".

Antony looked up, and that was when he heard the sound of the horns. His heart dropped as if it was suddenly as heavy as his sword. The Egyptian side of the fleet was hoisting the sails and putting out the oars, and the first ships were already starting to drift out of the bay. Antony rushed to the bow, trying not to show his limp. Once there, he saw Cleopatra's ship sailing away in front of him. The horns sounded the retreat once again, and Octavian's forces stopped the attacks completely, waiting for orders. For a few moments an eerie silence reigned over the bay, only the crashing sound of the waves on wood to break it.

Cleopatra turned around and locked eyes with Antony. Her look was full of disdain, only colored by the smallest hint of regret. Her words echoed in his mind. One way or another, this battle will show me the extent of Rome's power.Then, she turned her back to him and looked ahead. With a small motion of her hand she ordered for the oarsmen to start rowing, then disappeared below deck.

Antony looked around... Helpless. All he could see were damaged ships and tired, wounded, dead soldiers. Not even the best strategy could possibly turn that into a victory.

The battle was lost.

Rome was lost.

Everything was lost, and he would soon be captured.

TO BE CONTINUED

Taglist: @ritachacha @thatcatlady0716 @missameliep @goddesskrystaljung @storyofmychoices @tacohead13 @gonewithpersephone @winchesterwolves @isometimesplaychoices @kay-ali @why-am-i-eeyore @princess-geek

#acor marc antony #marc antony x mc #choices marc antony #marc antony fic #marc antony #acor fanfic #acor choices #acor antony #choices acor

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treh-co · 4 years

Text

FAHC Headcanons

So I feel like a good amount of my hcs are a lot different than other people’s??? And I’ve done a LOT of thinking abt them so! Here’s kind of like a masterlist of my general hcs! I’m just gonna go through this person-by-person.

(This got Kinda Long, so it’s under a read more. Sorry mobile users,)

Geoff

Obviously, he’s the one who started The Fakes. Basically, he went into the military after high school, came back and was like “Damn. Hated that” and then some old friends are like “Hey wanna do crime” and he was like “Fuck it”. That ended up being the beginning of The Roosters, which would grow to become the most powerful crime syndicate in Los Santos.

However, when they started shifting more towards managing the organizations they controlled, Geoff felt like he was missing the hands-on action. With the others’ blessing, he branched out to create his own gang under the syndicate, which would be the Fakes.

Geoff was the acting boss, supervisor, and manager of the Fakes for many years, while still juggling responsibilities with the Roosters. After a while, he felt the stress of it all begin to weigh on him, so he decided to pass some of it off. He made Trevor the acting supervisor of the crew’s regular business, while he handed management of behind-the-scenes matters to Lindsay. He’s still technically the boss, though, and any Big decisions go through him.

Jack

Jack actually met Geoff when they were in the military together. While he was a journalist, she was a pilot, and while she’d always been a sort of straight-laced, innocent kid growing up, she discovered that she actually loved flying. More than that, she loved the excitement of a chase or a gunfight. When she got back, she found herself bored.

That was around when Geoff called her up with an offer- one that not only allowed her to get back in the cockpit, but promised twice the action way more money than she ever got in the military. Of course, she said yes.

Jack’s main role in the crew is transport and evac. She can fly or drive anything, from a city bus to speedboat to a cargobob. Unofficially, she’s a sort of second-in-command for Geoff. He usually discusses any business stuff with her before making decisions. She’s also probably the most capable medic in the main crew, though she’s not an expert, and will pass off the responsibility if they have access to someone more formally trained.

Gavin

I imagine Gavin comes from a criminal family. Nothing exciting; standard white-collar stuff, embezzlement and fraud. They were substantially wealthy from their exploits and sent him to private school and all that, but Gavin found it all horribly boring. By the time he reached high school, he was experimenting with every type of low-level crime he could think of; theft and vandalism, all that shit.

Eventually, his habit of making enemies got him in over his head, and eventually he found himself in serious hot water. Out of options, he forged some papers and got a flight out of Britain. He’d far from learnt his lesson, though. He didn’t plan on cleaning up his act, and he decided to hide in plain sight, in the most crime-infested city America had to offer- Los Santos.

That was where he met Geoff. He was working odd jobs around the city, still new to America (and, though he’d never admit it, pretty lost and scared- he’s only sixteen). He gets hired by some asshole to take out Geoff, and he isn’t familiar enough with the scene to know better, so he goes for it. When Geoff has the knife out of his hands and a gun pointed at his head in less than two seconds, he’s pretty sure he’s fucked- but Geoff doesn’t shoot. Because fuck, how the hell is he supposed to take out this scrawny, terrified kid? So he talks to him instead, and when he finds out that Gavin has no loyalties to the guy that hired him and has a much broader skill set than Geoff would have expected, he decides to take him in.

As for my take on The Golden Boy- I personally don’t see Gavin as a hacker, and tbh I personally Cannot picture him suave enough to be some smooth-talking informant. In my mind, he’s sort of the crew’s everyman. He does a little bit of everything- stealth, dealing, hacking, fighting- he isn’t really an expert at any of it, but if you need something done, he probably knows enough to help.

Michael

Michael was raised in New Jersey with his brothers. His life was fairly normal, to be honest. He got a gig as an electrician, and it sucked, but he was doing okay. And then his mom got sick, and things started falling apart. Long story short, he ended up turning to more unsavory ways to get the money she needed for her treatment. He found out that he was pretty good at making bombs, and even better at cracking skulls.

Michael only ever dipped into those practices to help his mom, but once you go in, it’s pretty hard to get out. He was running with a gang in New Jersey for a long time, until one day, their leader sold them out to the cops. He and some friends ran away to Los Santos, but still got caught, and suddenly he was locked up in a LS prison.

It was in prison that he met this guy named Gavin. After bonding through some good old fashioned prison fighting and saving each other’s asses, Gavin told him that he’s part of a powerful gang that was planning on breaking him out. He said that he needed help with the prep work they needed done on from the inside, and if Michael helped him, they’d break him out with Gavin. Against every instinct, Michael agreed, and they broke out together. After they got out, Geoff decided to offer Michael a job- partly because he was impressed with him, and partly because Gavin wouldn’t stop whining until he did.

Michael is great for a steady gun or a good fight on missions, but his expertise is in demolitions. He’s self-taught, but he’s one of the best in the business, and he has fun with what he does.

Lindsay

Lindsay has always thrived on chaos. This presented itself more innocently in her childhood, but once she reached her teen years, it quickly spiraled into something more dangerous. She was always looking for something more risky, more exciting. Speeding, then shoplifting, then vandalism; it was never enough.

That being said, it shouldn’t have been that big of a surprise when some friends easily talked her into her first burglary. From then on, it was an easy slide into the more serious world of crime. She was a gun for hire by twenty, had long left her well-meaning parents behind, travelling with no real goal and making both allies and enemies everywhere she went.

When she cropped up in Los Santos, trailing gunfire and spray-paint cat tags where she went, Geoff knew she was meant to be one of them. He hired her for some odd jobs at first, just to make sure; but just a few looks at her style proved his theory. He offered her permanent position and she took it on a whim.

True to her role, Lindsay is the crew’s wildcard. Sort of like Gavin, except her skills are more specifically in the “fuck shit up” range.

Jeremy

Born and raised in Boston, Jeremy had a not-so-great home life and started hanging with the wrong crowds from a young age. He grew up through fistfights and car wrecks, and by the time he was grown, he didn’t really know anything else. He was actually pretty close with his gang back home. They were the ones who taught him the importance of loyalty; how important it is to have people you can trust. Nothing good lasts forever, though. When another gang- much bigger, much stronger- started picking them off, their leader made the tough choice to disband. Despite communal reluctance, she got them all set up to go underground in different parts of the country. Jeremy was sent to Los Santos.

While there, Jeremy saved a boy he saw being jumped in an alley. The boy turned out to be a hacker and information dealer named Matt. Jeremy was homeless at the time, and Matt offered to let him stay at his place as thanks. Somehow, this quickly turned into them being roommates and friends, and then partners, when they decided it would be a good idea for Jeremy to tag along on Matt’s deals for protection.

While helping Matt, Jeremy made a name for himself in underground fighting rings, known by his half-joke moniker “Rimmy Tim”. One night, a non-regular sat in to watch the fight, and afterwards approached him with an offer. The stranger was one Geoff Ramsey, and the offer was for a job with the Fakes. Jeremy happened to know who the Fakes were- and be a big fan of their work. He was nervous, but he accepted the offer, and it only took a few weeks for them to essentially pull him in.

Jeremy is, in simple terms, the crew’s muscle. He drives, he shoots, and most importantly, he can fight. If anything needs doing that involves those three things, he’s good for it.

Matt

Matt grew up in a small, boring town with a small, boring family. He filled his boredom with the digital world. Eventually, he started diving deeper; learning how to code, and then how to program, and then how to hack. By the time he was seventeen, Matt was going by the alias of “Axial” on dark-web forums, dealing information and breaking into everything from private systems to locked-down, international servers.

After turning eighteen, Matt decided he was sick of his home town and used the money he’d gained from his illegal business to disappear and move somewhere more exciting- Los Santos. After a few months of living there, he met a boy named Jeremy, who saved him from a deal gone wrong. He liked Jeremy, and it seemed like Jeremy liked him; despite the suspicions they both probably should have had in their lines of work, they became fast friends and roommates, deciding to work together.

When Jeremy got hired by the Fakes, Matt was disappointed, but resigned to the fact that he would be back on his own. Until he was pulled away from his work one night to a knock at the door, and found the Vagabond there, ready to take him to the penthouse. Apparently, the crew had been in need of a hacker for a while; and a certain new member had put in quite the good word for him.

Matt is, obviously, the crew’s hacker. He doesn’t really go on the field too much; he’ll tag along if there’s a proximity requirement on his part, or if a bunch of people are unavailable and they really need a backup driver or something, but for the most part he operates from the penthouse. He’s usually on comms during the heists to give directions or help with security or recon in real-time.

Trevor [TW: Sex work mention]

Trevor grew up in a trailer park in Blaine County, raised by a single mom. She loved him, but was involved with all the wrong people. When an altercation with an ex-boyfriend ended up deadly, fourteen-year-old Trevor up and ran as fast as he could, and ended up in the streets of Los Santos. He got by with begging and soup kitchens at first, but he started picking up tricks, on his own or from others he watched. Pickpocketing, manipulation, shoplifting; whatever he could use to get a bit of an advantage, he took.

It was just a while after he turned eighteen that a man he met outside a bar proposed he enter a different “path” of business. Trevor was reluctant, but he was also desperate, and the man made a lot of promises. He ended up spending two years as a prostitute, until one night he’d had enough. He killed the man who’d been selling him and ran once again.

Once again faced with life on the streets, he returned to what he knew he was good at- lying and stealing. He came up with the alias of Reached, and became a thief and informant by commission, fairly well-known. He became close associates- maybe even friends, if such a thing existed in Los Santos- with another duo, Rimmy Tim and Axial. One day, they gave him a call- saying their new employers needed someone with his skills on a job. To make a long story short, when the Fakes met Trevor, he was pretty much already a part of the team.

Trevor is a thief by trade. Stealth, deception, and stealing is what he does best. He’s a master lock picker and an expert at slight of hand, and is far too good at putting on an innocent face.

Alfredo

Alfredo was raised by a big, loving family; but people are a product of their environment. A combination of wrong place, wrong time, and peer pressure had him messing around with local gangs far before he should have even seen a gun. But Alfredo always had a knack for precision, and he had the aim of a trained vet, and he was probably a little too busy being cocky to understand the risks he was taking.

Eventually, those risks caught up with him. He was in a lot of hot water and he knew his family was in danger. He couldn’t let them get hurt on his account, so he ran to protect them. He considered turning a new leaf when he got to Los Santos, but quickly realized that if that was the plan, he’d picked the wrong place to do it. It wasn’t long before he was dragged back into work as a gun for hire.

He was good- really good, and when some hot shot rolls into the city with a sniper and skills like that, it shakes things up, and word gets around. Word even gets to some of the most powerful men in the city- including Geoff Ramsey, who decides that if this kid is really as good as he’s heard, there’s no way he’s letting him get snatched up by anybody else first. His invite to Alfredo is more short-notice than it was with the others, but he and the crew click in about two seconds flat, so it really doesn’t take a lot of convincing.

Obviously, Alfredo is their sniper. He’s a hell of a shot with any gun, and can do fine with up-close combat when he needs to, but he’s at his best when he’s giving cover from a rooftop.

Fiona

Fiona comes from one of France’s most infamous criminal organizations. Her parents run the group, and she was raised, essentially, as the heir to the business. She’s been trained since she was a child to be the best at any skill she might need. An array of languages, hand to hand combat in five forms, dozens of weapons, from blades to melee to guns- most of all, she studied deception.

There was a small problem, though. Fiona appreciated everything her family did for her- but there was also no way in hell she was just going to drag on the family business. She wanted to make a name for herself, and she wanted more than the stuffy, starch-white world they were giving her. So she ran away to America. She spent a few years travelling, testing out different paths. At one point, she ended up in long-term employment with a gang. Except she ended up hating said gang, and she wanted out.

Luck happened to be on her side. One day, she was told that they’d kidnapped two people who happened to be members of a powerful crew called the Fakes. Fiona knew the second she laid eyes on the two- a strangely similar looking pair named Trevor and Alfredo- that they were her ticket out. She made a deal with them, that she’d let them escape if they took her with them and kept her safe, and the three of them had a wild adventure that lasted about a week, and ended in the three of them strolling into the penthouse, ragged and exhausted but looking like they’d just had the time of their lives, with Trevor and Alfredo proudly declaring that Fiona was now their newest member.

Fiona is a master of disguise. She’s good at a lot of things, but putting on an act is what really sets her apart. Give her a wig and a makeup kit and she can turn herself into a new person in five minutes flat- complete with an accent and everything. She’s the go-to when the crew need undercover jobs done.

#fahc #fake ah crew #fake achievement hunter crew #fahc geoff #fahc jack #fahc ryan #fahc gavin #fahc michael #fahc lindsay #fahc jeremy #fahc matt #fahc trevor #fahc alfredo #fahc fiona #headcanons #ghost archives

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dundunny · 3 years

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Review: Assassin’s Creed III

I have to first make a disclaimer that I started this game in 2018 so my memories of the earlier parts are a little hazier. This probably is down with the first game as one of the worst in the series. Let me start by saying the franchise hasn't impressed me: The characters aren't very interesting and the plot is dumb, but I love climbing all over historical urban environments. I haven't played Assassin's Creed II since the early 2010s, but to this day I can remember with startling clarity parkouring Ezio up the cathedral in Florence.

Assassin's Creed III doesn't really have that. Boston and New York in the 1700s haven't created the architecture that's jaw-dropping enough to draw interest; hell, a good portion of New York is fucking burned down. So the vast majority of the game is wilderness. And herein lies the studio's problem with game design since day one: They create massive environments, but there isn't a lot of stuff in them. What they do is construct famous landmarks with fine detail, but the everyday buildings people live in look exactly the same and there isn't enough visual difference for me to navigate or even care about what I'm looking at. Let me compare to Arkham Knight. Yes, storefronts were replicated, but in my head I can still remember the lighthouse by the movie studio, the intersection for Gotham's version of Time Square, how the train tracks moves through that Eiffel Tower thing, the Halloween balloon floats by the GCPD, the shops underground below the skyscrapers, and the dock area on the southern part of Founder's Island. If I'm asked to even vaguely lay out a city map for Boston or New York, I've literally got nothing. Ubisoft just made bunch of skins for buildings and plastered it everywhere.

This is massively worse in the "frontier" because if you've seen one tree or log, you've seen them all here. Oh, I can recall the coastline to the west and east, where the fortresses are, Lexington, Monmouth, etc. But it's not fun to run through. Let's take another game, Breath of the Wild. Most of that game was climbing up the side of mountains or fighting in forests or swimming up a waterfall. I haven't played that game in a long time, but I still can vividly recollect shrines, ponds, cottages, stabbing enemies on scaffolding over a ravine, finding a tower surrounded by tar, the beautiful rocks around Zora's Domain, stumbling upon dragon skeletons... Exploration was the reward in that game. It's just not in Assassin's Creed III. Yeah, there are the feathers or treasure boxes, but I just indifference. As I said, tree 1 looks basically the same as tree 384.

The next issue is Connor. He's just boring as character. Altair went from douchebag to humble leader, Ezio was cool in everything he did, but Connor... I don't think he ever really knew what he was doing. His thing is revenge, specifically against Charles Lee for burning down his village and killing his mother. Everything else he did was really trying to put roses on his actions. Yeah, Ezio's was vengeance as well, but he really became a leader who furthered the Assassin cause. Conner... well, he made the homestead but just kinda invited people to live there and none of them were assassins. He meanders his way to his end goal by saying he wants to protect his village but ends up killing those of his people who don't agree with his methods (including his childhood friend). He allies himself with the Patriots, even though it should be very evident they don't like Native Americans any more than the British, and then is surprised when he learns Washington has killed some of his people. Also his voice actor is not very good. Really, I would've preferred to play the game as Haytham and I was so sad when we found out he was a Templar.

Assassin's Creed III also closes the Desmond arc. The premise behind the franchise is interesting—that you can access memories of your ancestors through your DNA—but as the series progressed I found the modern-day portion to become the most farcical part. Yeah, it was cool back in Assassin's Creed II when you saw the first glimpses of the "truth" and realized there was this ancient civilization that the Assassins are probably descended from. But then we learn that everything was destroyed in a solar flare (which somehow causes massive earthquakes?) and we have to stop it from happening again. Ubisoft, is that the best you can come up with? Where the hell did that come from? You walked away from that conference room thinking that was a good idea? When Desmond has to make his big decision about his fate and that of the world, at this point I'm just incredulous about the whole situation that it means nothing to me.

However that section does provide the funniest part of the whole game: When Desmond breaks into Abstergo, for some reason he and all the guards are drawing swords on each other. Why? It's literally 2012. Why aren't you all using guns? Can you imagine touring the White House and all the secret service are sporting scimitars instead of a glock?

So yeah, this was a very underwhelming installment. Normally I try to collect as much as possible and play the DLC because even after all my bitching Assassin's Creed is still fun to play, but I didn't have the emotional attachment or amusement to put in the extra effort. Hopefully the next game will be better.

#assassin's creed #assassin's creed iii #connor #ratonhnhaketon #desmond miles

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tickle-bugs · 4 years

Text

Relax, We’ve Got You

Summary: Percy’s ministry work has him stressed beyond belief. The twins decide to intervene, for their own purposes.

@glitchybrat: harry potter fic prompt: percy's been working his ass off all weekend and he's stressed out so the twins decide to help him unwind 👀

The Ministry was kicking Percy’s ass.

Being promoted was probably one of the greatest honors and worst mistakes of his life. For all the glamour that his career afforded him, he also had mounds of paperwork cluttering every inch of his desk and spilling onto the floor.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. It’d take him eons to get this done. He was convinced that the Minister was giving him busy work and didn’t even need half of the documents that he made Percy edit, redraft, sign and organize. Of course, it would be blasphemous to say such a thing aloud, so he kept those thoughts to himself.

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes trailing up to the small shelf of knick-knacks above his desk. Sandwiched between random books, action figures, and framed photos was a chocolate frog box full of trading cards from his first year, still in good condition despite the time.

He carefully opened the lid of the small box, flipping through the cards he had. Nestled between Dumbledore and Bertie Bott was a small piece of paper, folded and flattened with care so as to be imperceptible when rifling through the deck. He opened it up for the first time in almost a year.

It was two photos, folded so tightly that they appeared to only be one. The first was of Oliver Wood mid-flight. After a few seconds, the photo moved, and Oliver smacked a Quaffle away from the Gryffindor goal posts, intently focused. Percy brushed a thumb over it.

The second was his favorite photo by far. It was him and Oliver after an intense Gryffindor vs Slytherin game. He watched as he and Oliver struggled to figure out how to pose, before deciding to wrap their arms around each other’s shoulders. Just before the photo froze, Oliver moved his arm down to photo-Percy’s waist, pulling him close and smiling brighter than he’d ever seen. Photo-Percy did the same, leaning his head on Oliver’s shoulder. Percy smiled. He still remembered how horrible Oliver smelled after that game.

He glanced at Hermes, who was sleeping on a perch near his open window. He and Oliver hadn’t spoken in ages. Would it be strange to write to him? To ask how he was?

The sound of thundering footsteps sent him fumbling with the chocolate box, as he struggled to put the photos back. He slammed the box back into its usual spot just as Fred and George burst through the door, chests heaving. It looked like they’d run a marathon given how red their faces were.

“Perce, we need a favor,” George said, leaning against the doorframe. Fred giggled, seemingly involuntary, but George elbowed him in the ribs to shut him up.

“What is it? I’m busy.” Percy picked up his quill again, squinting at the parchment before him. It was some kind of administrative petition that made absolutely no sense.

“You don’t look busy.” George leaned over Percy’s shoulder, grabbing a few random parchments from the piles on the desk. He skimmed through them for all of ten seconds before putting them back in random places, decidedly, and rightfully, bored.

“Please, come in,” Percy muttered, trying not to let the twins distract him. He’d distracted himself enough already.

“Of course he‘s busy. Look at how tense his shoulders are, how tired he is.” Fred leaned over his other shoulder, poking Percy’s cheek.

“Here, let’s do something nice for him.” George turned Percy’s chair, and before he could complain, started kneading his brother’s tense shoulders. Percy groaned, sliding down in his chair. Fred crouched in front of Percy’s bare feet.

“Give me your feet.”

“Why?” Percy narrowed his eyes, scooting his legs away.

“I want to feed them to the gnomes,” Fred said sarcastically, yanking Percy’s legs forward, “You act as if I’ve done something to you.”

“You have. Multiple times.”

“Why live in the past? That’s water under the bridge. I’m trying to be kind to you. Do you want this massage or not?” Fred stared him down.

“Fine,” He mumbled, and Fred pressed his thumbs into Percy’s arches.

“See how nice it is to relax?” George murmured. Percy was unable to keep a sigh at bay when George found a particularly nasty knot. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment. He hadn’t realized how wound up he’d been until his brothers started forcing the tension from his muscles. It made sense, given how he’d been hunched over his desk for what felt like years.

“It’s okay. We’ve got you.” Fred smiled, and Percy let himself sink deeper into his chair. He was so tired and the massage felt so nice.

At least it did, until George squeezed his shoulder a little too softly and Percy let out a tiny giggle.

“Oh Percy,” Fred said, as if he was genuinely in pain. Percy looked up at George, and his heart sank when he saw the same expression. He knew that look, and it was never good.

“Listen, you don’t have to do this,” Percy said, raising his hands in surrender. He cursed himself for smiling already, but he couldn’t help it.

“Oh, but we do.” George said audibly smirking, and Percy knew he wasn’t getting out of this.

“Didn’t you guys need something? You barged in here earlier. What can I do for you?” He cleared his throat, looking between the twins.

“You’re right. We did need something from you. Earlier, George and I were trying to test a hypothesis. It’s something that’s been bothering us for a while, so we figured there was no better day than today to get our answers.”

“What was the hypothesis?” He asked, already dreading the answer.

“Excellent question. For years, we’d been pondering one specific question. Out of the seven of us, who is the most ticklish?” Percy’s eyes widened, and when he tried to get up, George forced him back down by the shoulders.

“So, to answer your original question, there is something you can do for us.” Fred locked Percy’s ankles in a vice grip.

“Laugh.” And with that, twenty devious fingers descended upon Percy’s skin. He exploded into shrill, high-pitched laughter, already flailing like his life depended on it. George’s fingers fluttered all around Percy’s neck, traveling over the shells of his ears or down to his collarbones every once in a while. Percy kept trying to dodge, but George would always be at his other side, ensuring he couldn’t escape.

“Oh he’s easily number four. Look at how quickly we broke him!” Fred said casually, scratching gently at the base of Percy’s toes. Every time Percy tried to grab George’s hands, Fred upped his attack, and vice versa, which resulted in a unique brand of desperate laughter.

“Are you mental? He’s in the top three with you and Charlie.” George said with full confidence, and both Fred and Percy turned bright pink—though the latter was more due to giggling.

“I just don’t see it,” Fred muttered.

“Did you get the balls of his feet yet?” George gave him a look and Percy squeaked, trying to free his feet with renewed vigor.

“I’ll be honest, I forgot about that. Thank you.” Fred adjusted his grip, ending Percy’s hope for escape.

“You’re welcome. It’s important to be thorough. Don’t you agree, Percy?” George smirked.

“N-Nohoho!” He tried to twist out of the chair, but George wouldn’t let him.

“Well, that kind of mindset will only get you into trouble. Are you not thorough in your Ministry work?” Fred’s fingers hovered above Percy’s soles, sweeping in close and wiggling threateningly but never striking.

“Fred, please. Don’t do it. I’ll do the dishes for a week. For both of you. Please.” Percy kept trying to pull his legs away, knowing from experience exactly how badly this would tickle.

“Begging already?” Fred beamed.

“Sounds like something a three would say.” George said and Fred laughed over Percy’s indignant squawk.

“Now I see it. He’s definitely a top three. I mean, watch,” Fred said, and with one finger he ever-so-gently scratched at the ball of Percy’s right foot and he screamed.

“All it takes is one finger to break him. Incredible.” Fred moved his blunt nail in maddening patterns, sending tickly shocks through his entire nervous system. He could feel it everywhere, maddeningly light and impossibly powerful. When Percy tried to kick free and earned more ruthless focus on those spots as a reward.

“Ihi hahate bohoth of yohou! Stohop! Ahaha, Pleahase!” He threw his head back, which was really inconvenient, as he gave George complete access to the front of his neck and underneath his chin. Percy started hiccuping, his nose and neck scrunching as Geroge pinned him with his fingers. Fred remembered that digging in made things worse, and Percy screeched, nearly falling off of his chair.

“He’s looking rather red.” Fred pinched one of Percy’s toes and he giggled tiredly.

“I suppose we have the data we need.” George swiped a finger up the side of Percy’s neck before relenting entirely.

“Percy, take a nap. You’re no use to anyone when you’re tired and cranky.” Fred gave Percy’s knee a squeeze and he yelped, but instead of pulling his knees to his chest, he threw an arm over his forehead.

“Speaking of which, is Charlie asleep?” George patted Percy on the head.

“He normally takes his naps around now, yes.” Fred raised an eyebrow, waiting for George to clue him in.

“What if we cut the line a smidge and do some preliminary research?” George wiggled his fingers a little and Fred grinned, stretching his fingers.

“Sounds perfect to me.”

They were gone as quickly as they came, chattering excitedly about strategy and their experiment.

Percy flopped onto his bed, already feeling the ache of laughter fade from his lungs. As much as he grumbled, the twins had helped in their own strange way. The levity felt nice in his weary bones.

He drifted off rather quickly, dreaming of Quidditch captains and giggles, completely oblivious to Charlie’s desperate laughter booming from down the hall.

#my fics #hp #ticklish!percy #percy weasley #the weasley twins #i couldn't not include a nod to perciver because its such a cute ship #also i tried to hint that george and fred were in a tickle fight before they found percy but idk if that was clear #anyways i hope you enjoy!

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bustedbernie · 3 years

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So how do you feel about US foreign policy, specifically accusations that we're straight up imperialists? I ask bc it seems a lot of our actions in the MENA region seem specifically designed to, well, steal their oil reserves, particularly in places like Iraq and Libya. Do you think that at least, will change under the Biden Administration?

It’s a complicated question, isn’t it? I don’t think the USA is traditionally imperialist. It does not function as an empire or do what traditional empires have done. But that’s also part of its power. Some theorists talk about “new imperialism” or other words to describe the phenomenon. But leaving these definitions aside, the most agreed upon idea is that the USA is definitely the most powerful hegemon on the planet currently.

That hegemonic influence is also hard to define. Some are saying the EU (along with Russia and China) make up the other powerful players, while others put the EU under the American umbrella through NATO. This distinction is hard, though I’d say that they are separate but often work together so often that it’s a non-starter. But it is sure that the USA uses its power to advance interests of itself and its allies and generally does so more or less effectively. And the use of military bases globally is used by both supporters and opponents of the idea of American imperialism. Traditionally imperialist countries extract from a nation, set up proconsuls or some form of official position, etc. The US pays a lot to have bases everywhere, many countries benefit both economically and strategically from their presence, and in some places, the US ends up providing much of the defense for some nations, even if its only in appearance. It definitely uses these bases to ensure stability for itself and its allies as well as to maintain markets for its consumers. That will be an important point below.

MENA is complicated, too. The region found itself affected by that traditional imperialism (France, Britain, Spain, Italy, Ottomans, etc). I often see the partition of the Ottoman Empire and the imposition of borders that weren’t necessarily “good,” but a lot of the base for the current political arrangement seems to date to this era. The USA was more or less isolationist at this point, though definitely becoming more involved in the aftermaths of both the Spanish-American War and the First World War. Anyway, the more explicit imperialist things also seem to come from this era. BP involvement in Iran, Suez Canal, etc.

Long story short, the USA isn’t a traditional imperialist, but in the post-world war II period, it definitely took on the role of super power. And with the specter of the Soviet Union as a rival Hegemon, MENA became another unfortunate front in their proxy wars and fights for advantages. A lot of the writers on the topic of new hegemonic power, particularly in Europe and the USA, state that the fact that their leaders are answerable to the electorates of their countries and that their citizens demand stability and easy access to goods has created a dynamic where leaders do whatever they can to maintain a certain global access. For Iraq, from what I’ve read, the motive wasn’t to “steal oil,” but to ensure that that oil remained within a supply chain that privileged the United States and its allies. I guess it then becomes a pedantic argument. And Donald Trump has made statements that sound traditionally imperialist (why don’t we just take all the oil?). A lot of folks write off those statements as a symptom of his stupidity, but i tend to believe he’s evil and doesn’t care about fracturing other regions for his own gain or perceived gain.

Despite Trump, I think the trend line is still ticking down in terms of direct, forceful US involvement. There still remains a sticky ideological and economic battle in the region between the US and Russia that will continue to cause issues for years to come, but in general, the Obama administration began to really divert resources from heavy engagement and began putting them into soft-power. Using our influence, money and infrastructural know-how to instead invest in countries. And if Bush wanted to truly create US allies from the ground up in Afghanistan and Iraq, Obama was willing to help those nations along but was also willing to cut losses and acknowledge that a lot of this power wrangling wasn’t worth it, without even getting into the deep ideological battles.

I’d imagine Biden won’t just discontinue traditional American policy. But, I think we could see an acceleration of the use of soft-power against the use of hard-power, particularly as Americans ourselves have become far more supportive of a less heavy-handed approach. In terms of MENA, it will be very interesting to see the Bidan approach to Saudi Arabia. His platform even talked about taking a hard-line against the country for their role in Yemen and he’s long been open to taking severe measures against human rights abuses abroad. I think we’ll see him use that approach to influence countries to adopt a more soft approach in womens and queer rights issues (he was in favor of trade sanctions against countries that execute gay people i believe) and he definitely believes in working with the European bloc to use our economic power to make those changes. In any case, I’d say as he takes office to watch how he handles Saudi Arabia in particular for clues on where he will take policy in the region. For many years, backing Saudi Arabia to maintain power dynamics, stability and trade in the region has trumped a lot of other goals. He also intends to “Hold Russia Accountable,” and given Russia’s desire for a foothold in the region, it’ll also be important to watch that dynamic.

Long story short, the US isn’t traditionally imperialistic but we shouldn’t let wording get too in the way of acknowledging the fact that the US has an incredibly large influence. And I think the Biden admin will represent a shift. The question I don’t know how to answer is how massive or minuscule the shift will be.

#andthroughbrooklyn

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arcticdementor · 3 years

Link

Oscar Wilde supposedly said George Bernard Shaw "has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends". Socialist blogger Freddie DeBoer is the opposite: few allies, but deeply respected by his enemies. I disagree with him about everything, so naturally I am a big fan of his work - which meant I was happy to read his latest book, The Cult Of Smart.

DeBoer starts with the standard narrative of The Failing State Of American Education. Students aren't learning. The country is falling behind. Only tough no-excuses policies, standardization, and innovative reforms like charter schools can save it, as shown by their stellar performance improving test scores and graduation rates.

He argues that every word of it is a lie. American education isn't getting worse by absolute standards: students match or outperform their peers from 20 or 50 years ago. It's not getting worse by international standards: America's PISA rankings are mediocre, but the country has always scored near the bottom of international rankings, even back in the 50s and 60s when we were kicking Soviet ass and landing men on the moon. Race and gender gaps are stable or decreasing. American education is doing much as it's always done - about as well as possible, given the crushing poverty, single parent-families, violence, and racism holding back the kids it's charged with shepherding to adulthood.

…

For decades, politicians of both parties have thought of education as "the great leveller" and the key to solving poverty. If people are stuck in boring McJobs, it's because they're not well-educated enough to be surgeons and rocket scientists. Give them the education they need, and they can join the knowledge economy and rise into the upper-middle class. For lack of any better politically-palatable way to solve poverty, this has kind of become a totem: get better schools, and all those unemployed Appalachian coal miners can move to Silicon Valley and start tech companies. But you can't do that. Not everyone is intellectually capable of doing a high-paying knowledge economy job. Schools can change your intellectual potential a limited amount. Ending child hunger, removing lead from the environment, and similar humanitarian programs can do a little more, but only a little. In the end, a lot of people aren't going to make it.

So what can you do? DeBoer doesn't think there's an answer within the existing system. Instead, we need to dismantle meritocracy.

DeBoer is skeptical of "equality of opportunity". Even if you solve racism, sexism, poverty, and many other things that DeBoer repeatedly reminds us have not been solved, you'll just get people succeeding or failing based on natural talent. DeBoer agrees conservatives can be satisfied with this, but thinks leftists shouldn't be. Natural talent is just as unearned as class, race, or any other unfair advantage.

One one level, the titular Cult Of Smart is just the belief that enough education can solve any problem. But more fundamentally it's also the troubling belief that after we jettison unfair theories of superiority based on skin color, sex, and whatever else, we're finally left with what really determines your value as a human being - how smart you are. DeBoer recalls hearing an immigrant mother proudly describe her older kid's achievements in math, science, etc, "and then her younger son ran by, and she said, offhand, 'This one, he is maybe not so smart.'" DeBoer was originally shocked to hear someone describe her own son that way, then realized that he wouldn't have thought twice if she'd dismissed him as unathletic, or bad at music. Intelligence is considered such a basic measure of human worth that to dismiss someone as unintelligent seems like consigning them into the outer darkness. So DeBoer describes how early readers of his book were scandalized by the insistence on genetic differences in intelligence - isn't this denying the equality of Man, declaring some people inherently superior to others? Only if you conflate intelligence with worth, which DeBoer argues our society does constantly. It starts with parents buying Baby Einstein tapes and trying to send their kids to the best preschool, continues through the "meat grinder" of the college admissions process when everyone knows that whoever gets into Harvard is better than whoever gets into State U, and continues when the meritocracy rewards the straight-A Harvard student with a high-paying powerful job and the high school dropout with drudgery or unemployment. Even the phrase "high school dropout" has an aura of personal failure about it, in a way totally absent from "kid who always lost at Little League".

DeBoer isn't convinced this is an honest mistake. He draws attention to a sort of meta-class-war - a war among class warriors over whether the true enemy is the top 1% (this is the majority position) or the top 20% (this is DeBoer's position; if you've read Staying Classy, you'll immediately recognize this disagreement as the same one that divided the Church and UR models of class). The 1% are the Buffetts and Bezoses of the world; the 20% are the "managerial" class of well-off urban professionals, bureaucrats, creative types, and other mandarins. Opposition to the 20% is usually right-coded; describe them as "woke coastal elites who dominate academia and the media", and the Trump campaign ad almost writes itself. But some Marxists flirt with it too; the book references Elizabeth Currid-Halkett's Theory Of The Aspirational Class, and you can hear echoes of this every time Twitter socialists criticize "Vox liberals" or something. Access to the 20% is gated by college degree, and their legitimizing myth is that their education makes them more qualified and humane than the rest of us. DeBoer thinks the deification of school-achievement-compatible intelligence as highest good serves their class interest; "equality of opportunity" means we should ignore all other human distinctions in favor of the one that our ruling class happens to excel at.

So maybe equality of opportunity is a stupid goal. DeBoer argues for equality of results. This is a pretty extreme demand, but he's a Marxist and he means what he says. He wants a world where smart people and dull people have equally comfortable lives, and where intelligence can take its rightful place as one of many virtues which are nice to have but not the sole measure of your worth.

…

I'm Freddie's ideological enemy, which means I have to respect him. And there's a lot to like about this book. I think its two major theses - that intelligence is mostly innate, and that this is incompatible with equating it to human value - are true, important, and poorly appreciated by the general population. I tried to make a somewhat similar argument in my Parable Of The Talents, which DeBoer graciously quotes in his introduction. Some of the book's peripheral theses - that a lot of education science is based on fraud, that US schools are not declining in quality, etc - are also true, fascinating, and worth spreading. Overall, I think this book does more good than harm.

It's also rambling, self-contradictory in places, and contains a lot of arguments I think are misguided or bizarre.

…

At the time, I noted that meritocracy has nothing to do with this. The intuition behind meritocracy is: if your life depends on a difficult surgery, would you prefer the hospital hire a surgeon who aced medical school, or a surgeon who had to complete remedial training to barely scrape by with a C-? If you prefer the former, you’re a meritocrat with respect to surgeons. Generalize a little, and you have the argument for being a meritocrat everywhere else.

The above does away with any notions of "desert", but I worry it's still accepting too many of DeBoer's assumptions. A better description might be: Your life depends on a difficult surgery. You can hire whatever surgeon you want to perform it. You are willing to pay more money for a surgeon who aced medical school than for a surgeon who failed it. So higher intelligence leads to more money.

This not only does away with "desert", but also with reified Society deciding who should prosper. More meritorious surgeons get richer not because "Society" has selected them to get rich as a reward for virtue, but because individuals pursuing their incentives prefer, all else equal, not to die of botched surgeries. Meritocracy isn't an -ocracy like democracy or autocracy, where people in wigs sit down to frame a constitution and decide how things should work. It's a dubious abstraction over the fact that people prefer to have jobs done well rather than poorly, and use their financial and social clout to make this happen.

…

I think DeBoer would argue he's not against improving schools. He just thinks all attempts to do it so far have been crooks and liars pillaging the commons, so much so that we need a moratorium on this kind of thing until we can figure out what's going on. But I'm worried that his arguments against existing school reform are in some cases kind of weak.

DeBoer does make things hard for himself by focusing on two of the most successful charter school experiments. If he'd been a little less honest, he could have passed over these and instead mentioned the many charter schools that fail, or just sort of plod onward doing about as well as public schools do. I think the closest thing to a consensus right now is that most charter schools do about the same as public schools for white/advantaged students, and slightly better than public schools for minority/disadvantaged students. But DeBoer very virtuously thinks it's important to confront his opponents' strongest cases, so these are the ones I'll focus on here.

…

These are good points, and I would accept them from anyone other than DeBoer, who will go on to say in a few chapters that the solution to our education issues is a Marxist revolution that overthrows capitalism and dispenses with the very concept of economic value. If he's willing to accept a massive overhaul of everything, that's failed every time it's tried, why not accept a much smaller overhaul-of-everything, that's succeeded at least once? There are plenty of billionaires willing to pour fortunes into reforming various cities - DeBoer will go on to criticize them as deluded do-gooders a few chapters later. If billions of dollars plus a serious commitment to ground-up reform are what we need, let's just spend billions of dollars and have a serious commitment to ground-up reform! If more hurricanes is what it takes to fix education, I'm willing to do my part by leaving my air conditioner on 'high' all the time.

…

DeBoer spends several impassioned sections explaining how opposed he is to scientific racism, and arguing that the belief that individual-level IQ differences are partly genetic doesn't imply a belief that group-level IQ differences are partly genetic. Some reviewers of this book are still suspicious, wondering if he might be hiding his real position. I can assure you he is not. Seriously, he talks about how much he hates belief in genetic group-level IQ differences about thirty times per page. Also, sometimes when I write posts about race, he sends me angry emails ranting about how much he hates that some people believe in genetic group-level IQ differences - totally private emails nobody else will ever see. I have no reason to doubt that his hatred of this is as deep as he claims.

But I understand why some reviewers aren't convinced. This book can't stop tripping over itself when it tries to discuss these topics. DeBoer grants X, he grants X -> Y, then goes on ten-page rants about how absolutely loathsome and abominable anyone who believes Y is.

Remember, one of the theses of this book is that individual differences in intelligence are mostly genetic. But DeBoer spends only a little time citing the studies that prove this is true. He (correctly) decides that most of his readers will object not on the scientific ground that they haven't seen enough studies, but on the moral ground that this seems to challenge the basic equality of humankind. He (correctly) points out that this is balderdash, that innate differences in intelligence don't imply differences in moral value, any more than innate differences in height or athletic ability or anything like that imply differences in moral value. His goal is not just to convince you about the science, but to convince you that you can believe the science and still be an okay person who respects everyone and wants them to be happy.

He could have written a chapter about race that reinforced this message. He could have reviewed studies about whether racial differences in intelligence are genetic or environmental, come to some conclusion or not, but emphasized that it doesn't matter, and even if it's 100% genetic it has no bearing at all on the need for racial equality and racial justice, that one race having a slightly higher IQ than another doesn't make them "superior" any more than Pygmies' genetic short stature makes them "inferior".

Instead he - well, I'm not really sure what he's doing. He starts by says racial differences must be environmental. Then he says that studies have shown that racial IQ gaps are not due to differences in income/poverty, because the gaps remain even after controlling for these. But, he says, there could be other environmental factors aside from poverty that cause racial IQ gaps. After tossing out some possibilities, he concludes that he doesn't really need to be able to identify a plausible mechanism, because "white supremacy touches on so many aspects of American life that it's irresponsible to believe we have adequately controlled for it", no matter how many studies we do or how many confounders we eliminate. His argument, as far as I can tell, is that it's always possible that racial IQ differences are environmental, therefore they must be environmental. Then he goes on to, at great length, denounce as loathsome and villainous anyone who might suspect these gaps of being genetic. Such people are "noxious", "bigoted", "ugly", "pseudoscientific" "bad people" who peddle "propaganda" to "advance their racist and sexist agenda". (But tell us what you really think!)

…

This is far enough from my field that I would usually defer to expert consensus, but all the studies I can find which try to assess expert consensus seem crazy. A while ago, I freaked out upon finding a study that seemed to show most expert scientists in the field agreed with Murray's thesis in 1987 - about three times as many said the gap was due to a combination of genetics and environment as said it was just environment. Then I freaked out again when I found another study (here is the most recent version, from 2020) showing basically the same thing (about four times as many say it’s a combination of genetics and environment compared to just environment). I can't find any expert surveys giving the expected result that they all agree this is dumb and definitely 100% environment and we can move on (I'd be very relieved if anybody could find those, or if they could explain why the ones I found were fake studies or fake experts or a biased sample, or explain how I'm misreading them or that they otherwise shouldn't be trusted. If you have thoughts on this, please send me an email). I've vacillated back and forth on how to think about this question so many times, and right now my personal probability estimate is "I am still freaking out about this, go away go away go away". And I understand I have at least two potentially irresolveable biases on this question: one, I'm a white person in a country with a long history of promoting white supremacy; and two, if I lean in favor then everyone will hate me, and use it as a bludgeon against anyone I have ever associated with, and I will die alone in a ditch and maybe deserve it. So the best I can do is try to route around this issue when considering important questions. This is sometimes hard, but the basic principle is that I'm far less sure of any of it than I am sure that all human beings are morally equal and deserve to have a good life and get treated with respect regardless of academic achievement.

…

That last sentence about the basic principle is the thesis of The Cult Of Smart, so it would have been a reasonable position for DeBoer to take too. DeBoer doesn't take it. He acknowledges the existence of expert scientists who believe the differences are genetic (he names Linda Gottfredson in particular), but only to condemn them as morally flawed for asserting this.

But this is exactly the worldview he is, at this very moment, trying to write a book arguing against! His thesis is that mainstream voices say there can't be genetic differences in intelligence among individuals, because that would make some people fundamentally inferior to others, which is morally repugnant - but those voices are wrong, because differences in intelligence don't affect moral equality. Then he adds that mainstream voices say there can't be genetic differences in intelligence among ethnic groups, because that would make some groups fundamentally inferior to others, which is morally repugnant - and those voices are right; we must deny the differences lest we accept the morally repugnant thing.

Normally I would cut DeBoer some slack and assume this was some kind of Straussian manuever he needed to do to get the book published, or to prevent giving ammunition to bad people. But no, he has definitely believed this for years, consistently, even while being willing to offend basically anybody about basically anything else at any time. So I'm convinced this is his true belief. I'm just not sure how he squares it with the rest of his book.

…

"Smart" equivocates over two concepts - high-IQ and successful-at-formal-education. These concepts are related; in general, high-IQ people get better grades, graduate from better colleges, etc. But they're not exactly the same.

There is a cult of successful-at-formal-education. Society obsesses over how important formal education is, how it can do anything, how it's going to save the world. If you get gold stars on your homework, become the teacher's pet, earn good grades in high school, and get into an Ivy League, the world will love you for it.

But the opposite is true of high-IQ. Society obsessively denies that IQ can possibly matter. Admit to being a member of Mensa, and you'll get a fusillade of "IQ is just a number!" and "people who care about their IQ are just overcompensating for never succeeding at anything real!" and "IQ doesn't matter, what about emotional IQ or grit or whatever else, huh? Bet you didn't think of that!" Science writers and Psychology Today columnists vomit out a steady stream of bizarre attempts to deny the statistical validity of IQ.

These are two sides of the same phenomenon. Some people are smarter than others as adults, and the more you deny innate ability, the more weight you have to put on education. Society wants to put a lot of weight on formal education, and compensates by denying innate ability a lot. DeBoer is aware of this and his book argues against it adeptly.

Still, I worry that the title - The Cult Of Smart - might lead people to think there is a cult surrounding intelligence, when exactly the opposite is true. But I guess The Cult Of Successful At Formal Education sounds less snappy, so whatever.

…

I try to review books in an unbiased way, without letting myself succumb to fits of emotion. So be warned: I'm going to fail with this one. I am going to get angry and write whole sentences in capital letters. This is one of the most enraging passages I've ever read.

School is child prison. It's forcing kids to spend their childhood - a happy time! a time of natural curiosity and exploration and wonder - sitting in un-air-conditioned blocky buildings, cramped into identical desks, listening to someone drone on about the difference between alliteration and assonance, desperate to even be able to fidget but knowing that if they do their teacher will yell at them, and maybe they'll get a detention that extends their sentence even longer without parole. The anti-psychiatric-abuse community has invented the "Burrito Test" - if a place won't let you microwave a burrito without asking permission, it's an institution. Doesn't matter if the name is "Center For Flourishing" or whatever and the aides are social workers in street clothes instead of nurses in scrubs - if it doesn't pass the Burrito Test, it's an institution. There is no way school will let you microwave a burrito without permission. THEY WILL NOT EVEN LET YOU GO TO THE BATHROOM WITHOUT PERMISSION. YOU HAVE TO RAISE YOUR HAND AND ASK YOUR TEACHER FOR SOMETHING CALLED "THE BATHROOM PASS" IN FRONT OF YOUR ENTIRE CLASS, AND IF SHE DOESN'T LIKE YOU, SHE CAN JUST SAY NO.

I don't like actual prisons, the ones for criminals, but I will say this for them - people keep them around because they honestly believe they prevent crime. If someone found proof-positive that prisons didn't prevent any crimes at all, but still suggested that we should keep sending people there, because it means we'd have "fewer middle-aged people on the streets" and "fewer adults forced to go home to empty apartments and houses", then MAYBE YOU WOULD START TO UNDERSTAND HOW I FEEL ABOUT SENDING PEOPLE TO SCHOOL FOR THE SAME REASON.

I sometimes sit in on child psychiatrists' case conferences, and I want to scream at them. There's the kid who locks herself in the bathroom every morning so her parents can't drag her to child prison, and her parents stand outside the bathroom door to yell at her for hours until she finally gives in and goes, and everyone is trying to medicate her or figure out how to remove the bathroom locks, and THEY ARE SOLVING THE WRONG PROBLEM. There are all the kids who had bedwetting or awful depression or constant panic attacks, and then as soon as the coronavirus caused the child prisons to shut down the kids mysteriously became instantly better. I have heard stories of kids bullied to the point where it would be unfair not to call it torture, and the child prisons respond according to Procedures which look very good on paper and hit all the right We-Are-Taking-This-Seriously buzzwords but somehow never result in the kids not being tortured every day, and if the kids' parents were to stop bringing them to child prison every day to get tortured anew the cops would haul those parents to jail, and sometimes the only solution is the parents to switch them to the charter schools THAT FREDDIE DEBOER WANTS TO SHUT DOWN.

I see people on Twitter and Reddit post their stories from child prison, all of which they treat like it's perfectly normal. The district that wanted to save money, so it banned teachers from turning the heat above 50 degrees in the depths of winter. The district that decided running was an unsafe activity, and so any child who ran or jumped or played other-than-sedately during recess would get sent to detention - yeah, that's fine, let's just make all our children spent the first 18 years of their life somewhere they're not allowed to run, that'll be totally normal child development. You might object that they can run at home, but of course teachers assign three hours of homework a day despite ample evidence that homework does not help learning. Preventing children from having any free time, or the ability to do any of the things they want to do seems to just be an end in itself. Every single doctor and psychologist in the world has pointed out that children and teens naturally follow a different sleep pattern than adults, probably closer to 12 PM to 9 AM than the average adult's 10 - 7. Child prisons usually start around 7 or 8 AM, meaning any child who shows up on time is necessarily sleep-deprived in ways that probably harm their health and development.

School forces children to be confined in an uninhabitable environment, restrained from moving, and psychologically tortured in a state of profound sleep deprivation, under pain of imprisoning their parents if they refuse. The only possible justification for this is that it achieves some kind of vital social benefit like eliminating poverty. If it doesn't, you might as well replace it with something less traumatizing, like child labor. The kid will still have to spend eight hours of their day toiling in a terrible environment, but at least they’ll get some pocket money! At least their boss can't tell them to keep working off the clock under the guise of "homework"! I have worked as a medical resident, widely considered one of the most horrifying and abusive jobs it is possible to take in a First World country. I can say with absolute confidence that I would gladly do another four years of residency if the only alternative was another four years of high school.

If I have children, I hope to be able to homeschool them. But if I can't homeschool them, I am incredibly grateful that the option exists to send them to a charter school that might not have all of these problems. I'm not as impressed with Montessori schools as some of my friends are, but at least as far as I can tell they let kids wander around free-range, and don't make them use bathroom passes. DeBoer not only wants to keep the whole prison-cum-meat-grinder alive and running, even after having proven it has no utility, he also wants to shut the only possible escape my future children will ever get unless I'm rich enough to quit work and care for them full time.

When I try to keep a cooler head about all of this, I understand that Freddie DeBoer doesn't want this. He is not a fan of freezing-cold classrooms or sleep deprivation or bullying or bathroom passes. In fact, he will probably blame all of these on the "neoliberal reformers" (although I went to school before most of the neoliberal reforms started, and I saw it all). He will say that his own utopian schooling system has none of this stuff. In fact, he does say that. He sketches what a future Marxist school system might look like, and it looks pretty much like a Montessori school looks now. That just makes it really weird that he wants to shut down all the schools that resemble his ideal today (or make them only available to the wealthy) in favor of forcing kids into schools about as different from it as it's possible for anything to be.

I am so, so tired of socialists who admit that the current system is a helltopian torturescape, then argue that we must prevent anyone from ever being able to escape it. Who promise that once the last alternative is closed off, once the last nice green place where a few people manage to hold off the miseries of the world is crushed, why then the helltopian torturescape will become a lovely utopia full of rainbows and unicorns. If you can make your system less miserable, make your system less miserable! Do it before forcing everyone else to participate in it under pain of imprisonment if they refuse! Forcing everyone to participate in your system and then making your system something other than a meat-grinder that takes in happy children and spits out dead-eyed traumatized eighteen-year-olds who have written 10,000 pages on symbolism in To Kill A Mockingbird and had zero normal happy experiences - is doing things super, super backwards!

#scott alexander #substack #book review #fredrik deboer #public schooling #long #read the whole thing

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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years

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baby, you’re like lightning in a bottle (chapter four)

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4

Huge thanks to my beta readers, @spiky-lesbian and @minky-for-short! And a massive thanks for all your patience in me getting this chapter up, turns out teaching during a pandemic is uh time consuming

Please reblog and leave a comment on Ao3 if you’d like to support me!

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Peter sat and looked at the cursor blinking on the comms screen. It’s incessant, rapid blinking seemed to line up with his own guilty heartbeat.

His report had been due for half an hour. Another hour and Mag would terminate the entire mission, assuming he’d been compromised and their goal, their planet’s freedom, would be set back who knew how long. Peter knew that and still, he was sitting here, with no idea what to write.

He even came back to the apartment five minutes after the report should have been sent off though he hadn’t even realised until he was sitting on his cot, looking at the screen. Five minutes, five whole minutes, more time than he’d ever allowed himself to make such a mistake in his entire life. Five minutes that, a day ago, would have had him cursing himself for a failure. Not fit to walk in his father’s footsteps.

But tonight, he had just sat there and stared at the blinking display, feeling nothing. And now, with more precious seconds ticking away, he still hadn’t the first clue how he was going to explain himself. He just sat cross legged, feeling numb in the fingertips as the realisation sunk in that he’d left part of himself behind without even knowing it.

It would be so easy to blame Juno Steel. After school, he’d invited Peter to come along with them to the park, just to hang out, that was all, but the fact that it had been him doing the inviting rather than his brother had pulled the yes out of Peter’s mouth before any more sensible part of his brain could interject. It would be easy to blame him for how long he’d stayed too, far past what he’d originally intended. Because every time Peter had thought he should be making excuses, Juno had seemed to choose that moment to smile at him, or challenge him to climb the next tree, or take a drag on his cigarette and exhale long and low in that way that fascinated Peter so much. There had always been the way his eyes looked in the quickly gathering sunset, the way he leaned back against the tree trunks when they’d all made camp in the field that sat at the centre of Halcyon Park, his rasping, barking laugh when Ben would do or say something funny or Mick would be oblivious about something obvious. There had always been another reason to stay, another thing that had led to this hole in who he’d thought he’d been. A hole that was five minutes wide and had rendered him numb.

It would be so easy to blame Juno for tonight and every other day where Peter had been feeling this way, forgetting why he was here and forgetting his mission. But he knew the blame was on him.

Because he was the one who was falling in love.

Those words didn’t sit easily in his mind but there was no denying the truth of them now they were there. With changing his face, his name, his life so often, Peter always tried to know himself completely, mostly out of fear that he’d eventually lose what was really Peter Nureyev if he didn’t. And he knew that he was in love with Juno Steel.

As inconvenient as that was.

He would choose Brahma. Of course he would. He’d worked far too hard, suffered and lost far too much to let something like this derail him. What was this compared to what his father had died for, what Mag had been sacrificing?

What has his own silly heart compared to all that?

With that decided, Peter tapped out his report, going into a kind of autopilot as he gripped the guilty feeling with both hands and made himself feel it’s low, shameful burn, like grabbing barbed wire. Mission proceeding. Target will be accessible beginning next week. Holding steady until then. Apologies for the delay.

As if to hammer home how foolish he’d been, Mag’s reply came almost instantly, barely a minute after his own had disappeared from the screen to be scrambled, broken, reassembled hundreds of times over in the expanse of space so it couldn’t be traced.

Don’t scare me like that again. Look after yourself.

Peter winced and stuffed the comms back into his bag, turning onto his side to face the wall. Two more days. Then he could do his job, go back to Brahma with his broken heart in his chest and remember who he was.

And hopefully he would have at least learned something.

Peter tried to keep himself at a distance over the next two days which smacked of far too little far too late but at least he could tell his guilty heart that he was doing something. He didn’t participate in conversation as much as he had, he professed to having a lot of homework when they asked him to hang out with them after school, he told himself that the disappointment he saw hidden behind their expressions didn’t bother him.

But it was the change in Juno that made it almost too difficult to bear. Peter had never really felt anything like this before, let alone having it reciprocated so he didn’t know how much he was just flattering himself or letting his brain run away with its own fantasies. But there did seem to be something different in how Juno was when Peter was around.

He was still grumpy and surly, apparently that was his natural state of being, but he certainly wasn’t outwardly hostile since Peter had broken a nose for him. They were certainly friends now; he was part of The Oldtown Gang, as Mick seemed determined to dub them despite everyone in said gang refusing to go along with him. Juno sat next to him when they spent lunchtimes at their camp, he’d ask him if he needed any help in the classes that were supposed to be new to Ransom. Sometimes it felt like he didn’t really need to be sitting quite so close to Peter as they’d sit in their circle and trade jokes and insults back and forth. Sometimes Peter felt like Juno’s eyes were on him, like he was studying his face for something, but when Peter would look, Juno would just be staring at his class notes. Some smiles that Peter caught felt like maybe they’d been meant just for him.

But Peter told himself he was being a fool. Well, even more of a fool than he already was being by falling for Juno in the first place. But to imagine that he could actually be feeling anything similar was just a form of self torture. Even if there was a chance anything more than one sided could grow between them, wouldn’t he rather not know? It was already going to hurt enough as it was.

So Peter retreated inside himself a little, going through the motions of a normal day, barely paying attention as they lazed around in their makeshift hammocks and Ben talked excitedly about the overnight field trip they were apparently going on to Olympus City. At least until he felt everyone else’s eyes on him.

“Sorry, what?” he blinked, blushing a little under the look Ben was giving him, something knowing in it putting him on guard.

“I said it’s just going to be you and Juno over the weekend,” Benten hummed, swinging his legs, outwardly innocent but the teasing note was still in his voice, “You’ll have to promise to keep my brother out of trouble.”

“You’re not going?” Peter looked to Juno, who was giving his twin a warning look.

“Didn’t feel like spending more time than I had to with the assholes we call classmates,” he answered shortly, in the kind of way that suggested there had been another reason that he certainly wasn’t about to give up.

Peter didn’t need too much of his observation skills, after so long being friends with the Steel twins and knowing enough about the average situation of Hyperion High students, to guess that there had only been enough in their family’s funds to send one of them on the trip and that Juno had feigned disinterest so Benten could have it. He wondered how many times it had come down to that, how much Juno pretended not to care so his brother could afford to.

“Maybe you two could go to the movies or something,” Sasha said placidly, earning herself a scandalised ‘whose side are you on?’ glare from Juno, “Peter’s hardly seen any of Hyperion. And what he has seen isn’t exactly a glowing endorsement of the place.”

“If you can find me something that is, I’d love to hear it,” Juno scowled.

“Aw but sneaking into the movies is so fun! And Peter would be so good at it, they’d never catch him,” Mick agreed, prompting Ben to rest his head against his shoulder and regard Juno with a poorly concealed smugness.

“I’ve never been to the movies…” Peter said quietly, before mentally kicking himself. Do you want to be crying your way back to Brahma on Monday night?

Juno’s scowl deepened and his cheeks flushed, voice rising more than it needed to, “Look, I have plans with someone, alright? I’m busy. So maybe stop sticking your noses in for five seconds?”

There was an awkward silence as he sank back in his seat. Mick and Sasha sent quick pitying looks in Peter's direction, who pretended he didn’t see them as he stared at his hands like all of this wasn’t happening around him. He didn’t care. Why should he care? Benzaiten shrugged like that was the end of it but he was giving Juno a look that was impossible to read.

And Juno just looked everywhere but at Peter.

“Anyone catch the game last night?” Mick put in after a few agonising moments, his affable obliviousness always good for bulling past awkward situations, “‘Cos I didn’t, I realised ten minutes before the end that I was watching football rather than baseball, I was hoping one of you guys got the score…”

“Mick, it’s a completely different shape of ball, how the hell did you manage that…”

“Leave him alone, it’s hard to tell from a distance, right babe?”

First rule of thieving, Peter thought miserably, sinking deeper into himself while his friends continued on around him, bad decisions will always come back and bite you in the ass. So when one does, know you deserve it.

Peter sat in the middle of the bare, empty apartment and organised his roll of lock picking tools. Doing that always calmed him down and it had been a dull, frustrating Saturday otherwise. Just hours and hours of going through the same plans and schematics he’d memorised months ago, showing his path from the fence to one of the first story windows to the principal’s office to the server room to an entirely different window. In and out inside of fifteen minutes, enter with a flash drive full of malware, leave with it full of proof that New Kinshasa and a number of other corrupt outer world governments were laundering money through Martian construction contracts just like the one that had built this school. He’d done far more complex heists than this but with such lower stakes.

And with his back up slightly closer than across the galaxy.

First rule of thieving, there is no room for nervousness, if you can find some room then you should fill it with more planning.

With the outside world grey, cold and full of thin SimRain, there was little else to do. His takeout dinner arriving had been the only highlight in his day and now an equally dull night had settled in.

So he took out the thin silver lockpicks from their sewn in pockets and cleaned them fastidiously, one by one, making sure each type was in it’s exact place. They were a little bit of a novelty, in this age of bioprinting and retina scanners, but they were still called for on occasion and Mag had drilled it into him that no self respecting thief would be caught without the classics on hand. And besides, their comfortable, familiar weight strapped to his chest was reassuring. Like he could never fail as long as he had them close, precisely placed and polished until they shone.

The knock at the door was so unexpected, so sudden, that he slopped his cup of tea on the carpet, a few dark brown stains soaking in. Good thing he wouldn’t be trying to collect any security deposit.

He slid the plasma knife out of its sheath, pressing himself against the door with a cold, almost serene focus. He wasn’t expecting any visitors, his food had arrived hours ago. Which meant either the person outside his apartment right now was an innocent, mistaken bystander and would go after a few minutes of silence.

Or they weren’t. And more than tea would be getting spilled.

The knock came again and Peter tensed, his grip on the knife tightening. Had he made a mistake? Had one of his reports been traced despite their precautions? Had they found a flaw in his fake records? Either way, his breathing stayed shallow and steady as the seconds ticked by.

Another knock. And then a voice, rough and tired and very familiar.

“Ransom? You in there? Damn it, I was sure this was the right number…”

The knife disappeared quickly, “Juno?”

“Oh! Hi...um, hi Ransom...sorry, Ben gave me your address. Can I come in?”

Peter looked around his apartment, wincing. Explaining its state was going to be uncomfortable, it couldn’t look more like the hideout of a sleeper agent than if he’d hung a sign to that effect. But Juno sounded so lost…

He did what he could in the space of two seconds, emptying out his neatly packed suitcase and spreading the clothes around like he imagined most teenage boys did, hiding the papers under a half heartedly done homework sheet. The pile of unwashed mugs in the sink and takeout containers he hadn’t gotten around to throwing away yet helped.

“Yeah,” he called then, only just remembering to kick his tool roll out of sight, “Come in.”

Juno had a face to match his tone of voice. There were dark shadows under his eyes that had nothing to do with any eyeshadow, in fact he wasn’t wearing a smudge of makeup on him for the first time Peter had known. He wasn’t dressed in his usual way either, in an oversized t-shirt and pyjama pants with a loud cartoon pattern, the same little robot figure from the first shirt he’d seen him in. He just looked exhausted, wrung out and worn down, his lips turned down at the ends. He looked like someone who needed some comfort.

“Is...is everything okay?” Peter tried not to make Juno’s distress sound as obvious as it was.

It hadn’t been enough, Juno’s eyes were dark with shame as he stared down at his own sneakered feet and Peter’s slippered ones, “Look, I’m sorry I’m showing up like this. It’s not okay, especially since I...um...anyway, I’m sorry.”

Peter swallowed, “It’s okay. What’s wrong?”

“I had a big fight with Ma,” Juno admitted, a tremor running through his voice, “She...she kicked me out. And with everyone out of town, I don’t have anywhere else to go. You’ve got every right to tell me to fuck off but...can I stay here?”

Juno and Benten had never said much about their mother. All Peter had been able to surmise, from his observations, was that she was their only parent and there was a huge weight around both twin’s necks because of her. He hadn’t pressed on the nature of it, he had no right to, and it wasn’t going to be any different than it was for so many kids in Oldtown. And more than a fair few on Brahma.

“Of course, Juno,” Peter said gently, stepping to one side, “Of course, stay as long as you need to.”

Juno mumbled a thanks as he stepped past him. If he found the lack of couch, stream screen, any kitchen appliances aside from a kettle or sign that this place was lived in at all strange, then clearly he felt he owed Peter enough not to say anything.

“Want some tea?” Peter asked, relocking the door, “I already ate but we could go get you something…”

“No, it’s okay,” Juno said quickly, “I’m asking enough of you as it is.”

Peter sat on his cot and sighed, “Juno, you’re my friend. I’m not going to hold every nicety over your head and present you with a receipt when you leave. I want to help you so just...let me?”

After a pause, Juno chuckled, the sound rough and raw in his throat but it was real. He slumped down on the floor next to the cot, leaning back against it so his head rested close to Peter’s knee, and sighed heavily.

“You know, there’s three people on the whole planet who don’t take my bullshit. My ma, my brother and you. But you’re the only person I like hearing it from.”

Peter smiled, though the pace of his heartbeat had increased a little. Juno was so close he could smell the shampoo in his curls from the shower he must have been having that evening.

“Benzaiten did ask me to keep you out of trouble. Checking your bullshit falls under that, I think.”

Something in Juno’s expression grew thin and the exhaustion showed through from underneath. There was enough of a pause that Peter wasn’t sure he was going to speak but then he did.

“It’s never as bad when Ben’s there. Me and her, I mean. It’s like he’s a buffer, stops things getting so nasty. He shouldn’t have to do it, I hate that he’s had to, but… it’s damn effective. With him gone, things just...they got out of hand so fast.”

Peter nodded slowly. He and Mag had their fair share of blow out arguments too, not that it had ever escalated to him being kicked out. Mag would never do that, he knew what having no roof over his head would mean to his protege, but he certainly knew what it was like to have said things you didn’t know could come from your mouth in the heat of the moment.

“Has she done this before? Put you out?”

“Yeah...sometimes with a reason. Sometimes not.”

“There’s never a good reason to do that,” Peter’s voice was more leaden than he’d intended but it was the voice of someone who’d been a child, promised protection by the world, but left out in the cold, “She’s an adult and you aren’t.”

Juno looked at him, clearly curious but he let it go after a moment, picking at his own wound instead, “If I’m not back in her good books by Monday, it’ll be a whole thing with Ben, he’ll feel bad about going…”

“You do this a lot for him, don’t you?” Peter asked softly, “Protect him. Pretend to not care about things so he can afford to.”

Juno shrugged heavily, gnawing on one fingernail covered in chipped polish, “What else am I good for?”

There was so much Peter could have said in that moment, answers that came rushing up to the tip of his tongue, some that surprised even him. But they’d start a conversation he really didn’t want to have, with Juno and with himself. So instead he just murmured, “Lots of things.”

Juno looked at him, something genuinely fearful in his eyes, like he knew exactly what Peter was holding back.

“Um...I think I will have some tea. If it’s still alright with you. Damn cold outside.”

“Of course!” Peter scrambled up and practically fled to the kitchen. It was hard to say which boy was the more relieved.

Peter could cope without a lot of amenities when he went out on jobs. First rule of thieving, never care about more than what you can carry in your pockets. But the first thing he’d bought when he’d gone on one of his short, necessity driven runs to the grocery store (a different one every time of course and dodging the cameras so he couldn’t be traced) was a box of good, high quality tea. He didn’t like coffee much, hated the tremble it put in his hands that could cost him his life in some circumstances, but he’d gotten a taste for tea very early on in his time with Mag. In fact, it had been the first thing his mentor had done, when he’d brought the scrawny, skittish, terrified young boy back to his home. He’d put a steaming, sugar laced mug in his hands that it had made it so much easier to believe him when he’d said everything was going to be alright.

He couldn’t give Juno much to ease his pain right now but there was some pride to be found in gladly giving him one of his few little parcels of sweet smelling, caffeine laced comfort. That much he could do.

Juno thanked him, hugging the mug close to his chest and pulling his knees in. Nureyev sat back on the cot, folding his legs underneath him and pulling the blanket over his knees. It was getting cold, he’d been right about that.

After a few moments and a few sips, Juno sighed and said without much surprise, “You don’t have a dad, do you, Ransom?”

Immediately, his shoulders tensed, well aware that he had absolutely no evidence to refute that accusation. And absolutely no back up explanation to speak of.

“Well…” he began awkwardly, very unused to having no way out of a situation.

“It’s okay,” Juno chuckled dryly, taking another drink, “I pretty much figured you were taking care of yourself over here.”

Peter swallowed hard, hand itching around the knuckles. The plasma knife he’d hurriedly shoved back in the holster suddenly felt very heavy, not that he was even going to consider that. He was also not going to think about what Mag would do, what he would urge Peter to do, what rules he would use to make Juno’s life seem a small price to pay for the mission. The same rules he’d saved himself with.

“Honestly, it’s impressive.”

Peter froze, “I...what?”

Juno’s cheeks seemed to colour a little and he could have been smiling into his cup as he sipped, “You’re here trying to make something of yourself. Trying to get an education and switch up the shitty hand you got dealt. Granted, you picked a terrible place to do it but...you’re trying. And that’s more than I’ve ever seen anyone do.”

“Trying…” Peter tried to keep his voice steady, “Yes. I’ve often thought that’s all a person can do.”

Juno nodded slowly, leaning back. His head was now leaning against Peter’s knee, enough that he could feel the damp of his hair, the comforting weight of him. He seemed so relaxed, so casual about it all, but Peter felt as if electrical shocks were sparking between them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so close to someone, had someone touch him in such a friendly way, such simple, easy contact. Only since he’d come to Mars. Only since he’d met Juno.

For some reason, he felt absurdly guilty. He should be relieved, his disguise had survived even under Juno’s scrutiny who, Peter was beginning to think, was one of the most annoyingly observant people he’d ever met. But in his stomach was just a yawning hollow, a sad kind of emptiness. Like he’d have actually been relieved if Juno had looked him straight in the eye and seen who he really was.

Like he was tired of lying to him.

“Hey,” Juno grunted, his voice sounding further away than it had, “There’s another party on Monday night when everyone’s back. You’re coming, right?”

Peter’s throat tightened. On Monday night, he’d be going back to Brahma, back under the glare of the lasers, back in the fight. Ransom would be gone, a few lines of information that winked out of existence as if they had never been, more than dead. That was the plan.

“Yeah,” he nodded, hand moving over to lightly stroke through Juno’s curls. He’d seen Ben do that on a few occasions and it seemed to comfort him, “That sounds good.”

Juno seemed to tense a little under the touch though only for an instant, as if he hadn’t expected it. But then it was gone and he was leaning into Peter’s hand gratefully, like it was everything he’d needed in that moment. His hair was so soft, winding through his fingers in tight curls that opened for him, parted like waves. The world shrank down to just the points where Peter’s skin met Juno’s, like that simple contact was all that held the universe in one piece. He didn’t feel the weight of a planet’s survival on his shoulders, he didn’t feel like a revolutionary before he’d even had the chance to feel like a person, he didn’t feel the questions he couldn’t ask like bitter metal resting on his tongue.

In that moment, this was all he had to do. He had to be there for someone else, just one other scared, sad kid like him.

“Thanks for letting me in, Ransom,” Juno murmured softly, his voice a contented rumble in his chest.

“I’d rather you call me Peter,” he replied, after a pause where he begged himself not to.

“Hm? Oh, sure. No problem, Peter.”

It wasn’t the name he wanted to hear from Juno’s lips but it was close enough. It wasn’t a lie, at least.

“You should sleep now,” he murmured, before his throat closed too tight to mask, “It’s late and you’ve had a long night.”

“Oh I can just stay down here,” Juno said quickly, opening one golden brown eye. Clearly he was seeing that there weren’t many other options. No couch, no chair, not even so much as a rug.

Just Peter’s cot, the one he was currently sat on. Well, if I’m destroying myself, I may as well do a thorough job.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he rolled his eyes like it was no big deal, holding out a hand to him, “Climb up.”

Juno blinked then shrugged, allowing himself to be tugged onto the hellishly uncomfortable little camping bed. It took a lot of awkward maneuvering to get both of them settled, there was barely enough room for one person, let alone two. By the time it was all done, they were nose to nose, limbs in a tangle.

Juno was the first to break, snorting, “God, I’m sorry, I feel like I’ve skipped about seven friendship levels…”

“Well, I did break someone’s nose for you,” Peter grunted, trying to shift so Juno’s knee was no longer pressing against his stomach, “Surely that grants me some higher access. Just pretend I’m one of the people you’re courting…”

Juno stared at him for a moment before breaking into helpless barks of laughter that threatened to upend their precarious little arrangement.

“What?” Peter demanded, flushing pink.

“Sorry, sorry, it's just...god, courting. I don’t think I’ve ever courted anyone in my damn life. Probably no one has since, like, the 1800s or whatever…” Juno cackled.

“I’ve changed my mind. You can go back on the floor.”

“Nuh uh!” Juno suddenly wrapped both his arms around Peter’s middle, holding them fast, “No take backs now!”

Peter was so glad he had something to blame the colour of his cheeks on, especially when Juno managed to get a hold of himself and chuckled, “God, you’re so cute…”

“Shut up and go to sleep,” he muttered quickly, trying to sound annoyed.

Juno did, apparently thinking it more comfortable to just stay with his arms around Peter, resting his head on his stomach. They were still for a few moments as their breath slowed and evened out, as the exhaustion clearly caught up with Juno as he realised he truly did have somewhere he could rest and know he was safe.

With whatever consciousness he had left, he mumbled, “I mean it, Peter. I really needed a friend tonight and you came through. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Peter whispered back but Juno was asleep before he was halfway through, his body getting heavier as his muscles relaxed and he gave himself over.

All we can do is try.

It wasn’t a rule but in that moment, as he lay in the darkness and listened to Juno Steel snore softly, it made more sense to Peter than anything he’d ever been told.

Before he could think, before he could realise what he was doing, he dug his comms out of his pocket and tapped out a message to the only number he’d ever used on this thing.

Plans have to be delayed. Security concerns. Tuesday instead. Apologies.

He sent it quickly, watching the text disappear, leaving him with a dark reflection of his own face on the empty screen. What have you done?

Before any reply could come through, he tossed the comms to the floor, rolling over as much as he could, enough to bury his face in Juno’s hair. He smelled of damp and clean shampoo, coconut and clean towels and night air. A honest, planetside scent.

He knew the guilt was coming, building up in his chest, ready to burn him from the inside out. But there was a whole night in between then, to cling to Juno and imagine a future he could never have, a morning where he would open his eyes and the first thing he’d see would be Juno Steel and remember that he’d done a good thing. He’d been there for someone when they’d needed him.

Like he said, if he was going to torture himself, Peter Nureyev was going to do it thoroughly. After all, what was he if he wasn’t good at his job?

#jupeter #juno steel #peter nureyev #high school au #tpp #penumbra podcast #the penumbra fanfic #please reblog and comment!#benzaiten steel #mick mercury #benmick

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