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in-tua-deep · 3 years

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Oooooo the red bock au sounds so interesting! Does Five caught himself thinking of his brothers just as numbers and weapons like Reginald talks in his book? Does he read Vanya book to remind himself that they are still human even though he reads it through lens of someone hurt by them all? And I feel like the handler would know either way about the books but o it's so much fun to see five being paranoid

I think having both books and both perspectives reminds Five that... he’s getting some very biased accounts of his own siblings. I think that when he’s still young, he writes down as many memories as he can remember because... he starts to forget, at some point.

Vanya’s book talks about how volatile Diego and Luther’s relationship is, and so Five writes down the time Luther and Diego teamed up to toss Five off a balcony when Five kept switching the pens in their hands with pipe cleaners during a lesson (and he will maintain until his dying day that he was just practicing his control, c’mon guys!)

when Reginald’s notes call Allison an “insufferable, narcissistic creature,” Five remembers Allison bribing him to cause trouble and distract Reginald so that she could use the microwave unobserved to heat up some water bottles as makeshift heat packs for Luther’s sore muscles

when Vanya calls Ben “easily manipulated,” Five recalls Ben arguing theories with him at 2am after one of Ben’s training sessions where Ben almost flipped his bed when Five jokingly suggested that he could use the horror’s tentacles to bounce up and down like a pogo stick before Ben tackled him and tried to beat Five to death with an encyclopedia of sea creatures (affectionately)

I think having Reginald’s journal actually helps in a lot of ways, because Five automatically autocorrects literally all of Reginald’s thoughts to be like, mostly inaccurate and much harsher than they need to be. So when he reads Vanya’s journal he also autocorrects and is able to recognize that it is a very biased and somewhat harsh view of his siblings

(he doesn’t distrust them as much as he does in canon, with only Vanya’s harsh words to cling to with no reminder that they were all raised by a man capable of unfathomable cruelty, no reminder that authors can be oh so biased)

outside of his equations, there’s notes to himself written in the margins of Vanya’s book. Sometimes they’re just small, pointing out that Klaus had fought to include Vanya in trap week (Klaus then proceeded to team up with her and managed to catch Five in a snare - he actually still has a scar around his ankle from his upsidedown thrashing before he managed to steal one of Diego’s knives to cut himself down) or pointing out that Luther’s chilly attitude when they were ten was probably the result of Vanya outperforming him in every standardized test they took because of Luther’s ridiculous inferiority-superiority complex

at the very least he has comparison, because Reginald’s book calls Klaus an absolute failure while Vanya’s book called him “sweet, as a child at least”

As for the Handler... she’s aware that he has Vanya’s book and a red notebook, but I don’t think she actually knows what’s in the red notebook! Reginald was notoriously secretive, after all

So the Handler assumes that the red notebook is where Five keeps his time travel equations because aw, he hasn’t given up! how cute!

She makes an assumption that, logically, makes sense. Of course Five is still trying to figure out time travel, no matter how much he denies it! Of course he’s writing the equations down! What a silly boy, thinking that he could hide this from her, of course she knows about his little plans to save his siblings ;3c

And because she’s so powerful and knowledgeable and one step ahead all the time, she makes an assumption and assumes that it is fact. Because she’s so smart, of course she isn’t wrong! She’s had Five clocked from day one!

(The Handler thinks she has Five all figured out, a creature so based in sentiment. Why would he carry a book around that details the torture his siblings went through? He hates his father, why would he ever carry around his father’s notebook! The Handler has a fatal flaw, and it is that she doesn’t understand loyalty and sneers at sentiment and those are two of Five’s most powerful driving factors. Five lives for his siblings and would die for his siblings, almost his entire life has been dedicated to saving them. Not the world, just his family.)

(She understands that Five considers his family to be exceptionally valuable, but doesn’t comprehend that Five is 100% willing to die for them should it come down to it. Why on earth would anyone value something like siblings over their own life? Absurd. I genuinely believe that the Handler thinks she could get Five to betray his siblings with the right leverage, and so she fundamentally does not understand Five as a person)

To be fair to the Handler, the whole academy’s morals and just. completely and utterly fucked. Luther condemns the murder of innocent civilians even if it would save the planet but doesn’t blink an eye at killing the ‘bad guy’ Commission agents. Diego stabs criminals as a pastime while still holding himself at a moral high ground for saving people, despite the fact that too many criminals are forced into crime by unfair circumstances. Allison used her powers to bolster her career without even blinking but now refuses to use her powers at all because of the manipulation of one (1) child, not even against ‘bad guys.’

I mean. Vanya wrote an entire salt book without consulting her siblings that had lasting impacts on at least one of her sibling’s career in the public eye and potentially impacting her siblings relationships with everyone who had every read the spark notes on her book, without the opportunity for reprisal. Publishing your entire family’s dirty laundry as personal emotional catharsis is... kind of a dick mood, lets be real. Especially when you were all abused children raised in an environment of excessive violence and rigid structure.

Like yeah, of course Allison is good at manipulation and lying - she grew up with an abusive and over-controlling father. She probably lied as easily as breathing about where she’d been, who she was with, what she was doing, etc. The only privacy they got in that household was what they seized with their own hands and carved out for themselves! Is it fair to say that Allison’s superpower is dishonestly?

Is it fair to say that Klaus got crueler as he grew? He was tortured and turned to drugs as an unhealthy coping mechanism, and then he sat down at a table and looked at all the other little kiddies who did not get locked into a crypt overnight. In fact, there was one child who never got any extra training at all! Can you imagine the jealousy? The bitterness? Klaus might have been exceptionally cruel to Vanya as a teenager, she had everything he wanted and dared to complain about it. Can you imagine listening to someone wistfully wish they could join in on missions when you know that the cost for doing so has been carved out of your soul?

My point is, none of these little bitches have anything that resembles a sane moral compass. They’re unpredictable as fuck! It’s like herding cats! You never know what they’re going to do next! Oh? Are they going to investigate in any logical pattern? No, because Diego just remembered Patch exists and helping her print flyers for the annual police ball is more important than saving the world or whatever lol

Luther is over there investigating the moon! The moon! Meanwhile Allison is breaking and entering her sister’s student’s house because she got shady vibes off of him one time and she has never heard of a proportionate action in her life.

Meanwhile Vanya is going through the phone book trying to call up psychiatrists who have any familiarity with whatever fucked up meds Dad put her on because like, she would like to Not Be On Them (fuck you dad) but also understands that danger of quitting cold turkey something you have been taking for years and would like a professional opinion on how to safely decrease and eventually eliminate her usage, thanks (Klaus is hanging over her shoulder pointing out the ones who will sell you non-prescription drugs for a price and Vanya mentally crosses those ones off of her list to call)

Five is probably joining on the breaking and entering because Allison promised she would sweet talk to eye dude if he did her this solid

(Five complains at length about how investigating the apocalypse should not be a solid because she would 100% die as well if the apocalypse came to pass)

#the red book au #plus like. some thoughts and opinions lmao #look Vanya's book was healing and cathartic for her #does that mean it should have been published?#FUCK NO #it's biased as all fuck for starters and could genuinely impact her siblings jobs and relationships #anyway the hargreeves are all cats #they do their own thing regardless of what they should be doing #their orders of priorities are fucked tbh #what do you mean vanya's job isn't equally as important as saving the world?#she has to pay rent somehow five !!#klaus is down to go threaten a seedy dude but can they investigate dad's will after pretty please?#maybe there's a clue! or numbers about inheritance!#if dad disowned them then diego is forging the will tbh #not because he wants the bastard's money but it's the PRINCIPLE of the thing #Anonymous #long post #far tua long

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qqueenofhades · 4 years

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Having just sent you a message the other day about how much I love your historical asks, I realized I have a question myself that you might know the answer to. I’m a Christian and I have never been able to figure out why Christianity has historically viewed non-procreative sex for pleasure as bad. (And none of my family, including my clergy father, have figured it out either. I think my dad has a bone to pick with Augustine? And I feel like Aquinas also has something to do with this.) But given that Jesus had a body and gives a speech about “the Son of Man came eating and drinking” as though he enjoyed it, how did this whole “the body is sinful especially the sex part” thing happen? I have been thinking about this a lot recently for Old Guard reasons, which should surprise no one.

Oof. So, a short and simple question, then. (Sidenote: did they expand ask limits? Because I’ve definitely gotten a couple asks today, including this one, that are longer than usual, rather than forced to space out and hope that Tumblr doesn’t eat them.)

The entire history of sexuality in the West and its relationship with Christianity throughout the centuries is obviously a topic that far, far exceeds anything I could possibly cram into this ask, but let’s see if I can hit on some of the highlights. First off, one could remark that some aspects of Jesus’s teaching managed to disappear from the official doctrine of Christianity almost immediately, and for a variety of theological, cultural, and social reasons. As anyone who has a passing knowledge of the late Roman Empire is aware, they were known for being sexually liberate (at least if you were a nobleman, as the freedom certainly did NOT apply to women), and the notorious run of emperors who were having orgies and sleeping with boys and their sisters and hosting nonstop sex parties did a lot to sour early Christianity’s relationship with it. Because pre-Constantine/Theodosian Code Rome was Christianity’s enemy (since Christians refused to perform the traditional civic sacrifices to the Roman gods, which was all that Rome required alongside permitting its citizens to practice whatever other religion they wanted), and because the emperors were such a high-profile example of sexual excess, that became an easy point of critique. Obviously, the Roman polemicists, like every other historian, should not be trusted on EVERYTHING they say about the emperors, but the general pattern is there and well-established. So Christianity, trying to establish its religious and moral bona fides, can easily go, “Well, Caligula/Nero obviously sucks, come join us and live a purer and more moral life!”

Constantine converted in the early fourth century and the Theodosian Code was issued at the end of the fourth century, which made Rome officially Catholic and represented a huge reversal of fortune for fledgling Christianity, helping it expand like crazy now that it was officially sanctioned. However, the Roman Empire was splitting into two halves, west and east, and the development of Greek Christianity in the eastern empire was strongly influenced by ascetic and austere traditions (if you’ve heard of the Stylites, i.e. the guys who liked to sit atop poles out in the Syrian desert to prove how holy they were, those are them). The cultural context of denial of the flesh and the renouncing of bodily pleasures also played intensely into the third/fourth/fifth century debates over heresy and orthodoxy. Some of the most vicious arguments came over whether Jesus Christ could have actually had an embodied (and therefore possibly inherently sinful) human body, or it was just a complicated illusion, the “shell” of a body that his entirely divine nature then inhabited without actually being part of. This involved huge theological arguments over the redemptive nature of the Eucharist and even Christ’s sacrifice: was it real/effective/genuine if he didn’t REALLY die and suffer the pain of being crucified, and was just assured that he’d be fine ahead of time? So yeah, the question of whether Christ had a real body (because then that might be sinful) was the knock-down, drag-out theological disagreement of the early centuries C.E., and left a lot of hard feelings and entrenched positions in its wake.

Likewise, your dad is correct in having a bone to pick with Augustine, at least in terms of his impact on views of sexuality in the late antique and early medieval Christian church. Augustine is obviously famous for agonizing endlessly over his sexuality/sexual urges in Confessions, his time as a Manichaean, his relationship with a woman and the birth of his son out of wedlock (and if you want a lot of repressed homoeroticism: well, Augustine’s got that too) and how his conversion to Christianity was intensely tied with his renunciation of himself as a sexual being. Augustine also pioneered the nature of the inheritance of Original Sin: therefore, every human who was born was sinful by virtue of sharing in humanity’s legacy from Eve’s transgression in the Garden of Eden. (And yes, obviously, this led to the beginnings of the embedding of clerical and social misogyny. Oh Augustine, I kind of hate you anyway because I had to read the entire goddamn 1000-page City of God during my master’s degree, but bro, you got a lot to answer for.) This involved EVEN MORE obscure speculations about whether original sin was passed down in male semen, and therefore Jesus was free of it because he was supposedly born divinely to a woman without a male father, but yeah, the idea that sexuality itself was already a suspect thing was fairly well correlated and then cemented by Augustine’s HUGE influence over the early church. Everything post-Augustine incorporated his ideas somehow, and so the idea of bodily pleasures as separating you from divine purpose got even more established.

Then we had the Carolingians in the eighth and ninth centuries, who were the first “empire” per se in Western Europe post-Rome, and who were also intensely concerned with legislating moral purity, policing the sexual behavior especially of its queens, and correlating moments of political or military defeat with insufficiently virtuous private behavior. The Carolingians likewise passed these ideas onto their successor kingdoms, especially the medieval kingdom of France (which would eventually become the pre-eminent secular power in Western Europe). Then the eleventh century arrived with the Cluniac and Gregorian Reforms (which were interrelated). One of their big goals was for a celibate and unmarried clergy on all levels of holy orders, from humble village priests to bishops and archbishops. Prior to this, clergymen had often been married, and there wasn’t a definite sense that it was bad. But because of this, and the idea that a married clergyman wasn’t pure enough to provide the Eucharist and would be distracted from his commitment to the church by a wife and family, the Cluniac and papal reformers intensely attacked sex and sexuality as evil. Priests didn’t (or rather, were not supposed to) do it, and if you weren’t in a heterosexual church-performed marriage and didn’t want children, you shouldn’t be doing it either. (Did this stop people, and priests, from doing it? Absolutely not, but that was the rhetoric.) This was about when celibacy began to be constructed as the top of the heap in terms of holy lifestyles, for men and women alike and laypeople as well as those in holy orders. NOT having sex was the most virtuous choice for anyone, even if sex was a necessary evil for having heirs and the next generation and so on. (Which is interesting considering that our hypersexualized present attaches so much value to having sex of one sort or another, and the asexual-exclusion types, but yeah, that’s a different topic for now.)

Of course, when the Cathars (a schismatic Catholic heresy in France and Italy) in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries began attacking ALL materiality and sexuality as irredeemably evil, the Catholic church went a bit like “whoa whoa that’s a little too far, hold on now, SOME sex is good, sex can be nice, we’re not actually like those guys” (even though they had been about a hundred years before). Because Cathar spirituality taught that any kind of attention or indulgence to the body was sinful, that included any kind of sex at all, even married heterosexual intercourse. (Of course, the Cathars themselves didn’t always live up to it either; see Beatrice de Planissoles and her Cathar priest lover.) The Catholic church obviously didn’t want to go THAT far, so they began rowing back some of their earlier blanket statements about the evilness of sexuality and taught that husband and wife both had a responsibility to offer each other sexual pleasure and fulfillment. I’ve answered many asks about sexual behavior and unions in the medieval era, the arguments over the definition of marriage, and how that changed over time in response to social needs and pressures, so yes. We know what the IDEALS were, and what people were legally supposed to do, but the fact that church writers were complaining about bad behavior, sexual and otherwise, literally the whole time means that, obviously, this did not always match up with reality.

The theories of the Roman physician Galen, which prescribed that female orgasm was necessary to conceive, were also well known and prevalent in the medieval world, which meant that ordinary married couples trying to have children would have had some awareness that female pleasure was supposedly necessary to do it. (This ties into my “it wasn’t an unrestrained extravaganza of violent painful rape for women all the time YOU GODDAMN MORONS JESUS CHRIST” rant, but we will recognize that I have Many Rants. So yes.) Obviously, we can’t know what the sex life of individual married couples behind closed doors was actually like, but there were a variety of teachings and official stances on sex and how it was supposed to be done, and as noted in other posts, just because the church thought it is zero guarantee that ordinary people thought that way too. People are people. They (usually) like having sex. They had sex, both gay and straight, married and unmarried, so on and so forth, even if the church had Opinions. Circle of life, etcetera.

Anyway, then the Renaissance arrived (and we just had the “why the Renaissance sucked for women” ask the other day), which prescribed a reversal of all the comparative sexual and political and social latitude that women had gradually acquired over the medieval era. It very much wanted to see women returned to their silent, domestic, maternal, objet d’arte roles that they had occupied in antiquity, and attacked the actions of women in their public and private lives as one of the major causes of the crises of the late medieval era. (Because you know, misogyny is always a useful scapegoat rather than blaming the powerful men who have fucked everything up, as we’re seeing again right now.) Because the Renaissance is regarded, fairly or unfairly, as the start of the early modern Western world, it’s where a lot of modern gender attitudes and views of sexuality became more explicitly codified and distributed faster than at any point in history before, to a more extensive audience, thanks to the invention of the printing press. We’ve obviously had moves toward sexual liberation and agency in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and the emergence of the modern feminist and gay rights movements, but now in some ways, we’re back in oddly Puritan attitudes in the twenty-first century. And since America was founded by Puritans, their social attitudes are still embedded in the culture, fanned today by hyper-conservative Protestant evangelicalism. Even though Puritans themselves ALSO, shock surprise, didn’t always live up to the stringent standards they preached.

...whoof. I’m sure I’m forgetting something, but hopefully that gives you the broad-strokes development.

#history #medieval history #queer history #history of religion #history of sexuality #history of marriage #women in history #long post #good lord that's a lot of tags #emjee #ask

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sunnys-rewatch-blog · 2 years

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S2, E19

"The Naked Truth"

There's no way this photo was taken without Kate's knowledge or consent. First of all, who just goes around naked in the locker room when no one else is in there? This picture has to be staged. There isn't even anyone in the background. She's obviously posing, completely at ease. She didn't even try to pretend she was stunned or upset, or to cover up with anything. They didn't even check on the details, like the date or time of day? Whether or not Hanna had an alibi? If we're assuming this picture was taken during class, they need to talk to the teacher too.

Why did Hanna have, like, the entire student body on her phone? I get that she's supposed to be popular, but she doesn't seem to have all this...excessive familiarity with people.

Starting to really hate Ashley Marin.

This principal is way the fuck out of line. Emily never had his name in her mouth, and even if she had committed a crime, since when is the school legally authorized to punish her? She did her time- completed her community service program- what is she supposed to do? How long should she be punished by not being able to do things she enjoys? Second, he fucking asked her to be here, one way or another; he said he wanted them to come be truthful. He doesn't get to decide that her truth is an "attack" on him. This is the exact reason people resort to dishonesty; you say you want my truth, but you're going to punish me if my words aren't your words. You don't want to hear my thoughts. You want to hear your thoughts coming out of my mouth.

Not to mention, the girls were only charged with this crime because Rosewood PD was either too stupid or too lazy to look into the question of how a group of girls gained access to evidence that should have been in police custody. Are they not at all concerned that this happened? Either a teenager figured out how to break in to a police department and steal critical evidence for a murder case completely undetected, or a police officer is taking evidence out (probably unauthorized) and using it to frame a bunch of kids for a crime they had no way of committing in the first place. They just said "This is fine." If I were Veronica, I would have demanded to see how that evidence made it into their hands before settling on a charge.

And I want to clarify that I would understand it if Emily had been convicted of a violent crime, especially if there were good chances of her re-offending, or if she committed some crime that would affect other members of the team- like stealing peoples' wallets or cell phones. But like...she touched a shovel. Her crime was literally just touching an object. Tamborelli can go suck a fat one.

Emily, so far, is the only one who's apologized to Mona for how they treated her, and I don't even remember seeing Emily present for those bullying scenes. I wish there were more moments of accountability like this on the show.

"Remind me again why we volunteered to do this"- because they didn't want to hire any other actors for these roles.

This is probably the episode where Mona became one of my favorites.

How did Alison come to the conclusion that 220 women wanted to change Armin Miewes' extreme sexual fetish? First of all, I think he was gay- second, he was on a deep web forum exclusively for cannibals. This is what happens when you skim the headlines and don't read the articles.

Can the school legally keep all these kids overnight?

When your friend's mom is a lawyer and you still have to rely on a teenager to get you back on the team.

Mona deserved better friends than these girls. I'm sorry, but she did.

#alison dilaurentis #anti ezria #aria montgomery #emily fields #ezria #hannah marin #pll rewatch #pll spoilers #spencer hastings #anti-ezria #analysis #opinions and commentary #reviews

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josefavomjaaga · 3 years

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Letters from Naples. 1813

All these letters are still from the first half of the year, before Murat (for the last time) joined forces with Napoleon in August 1813. Most of them are only postscripts to “official letters” (which were likely to be opened and read by secret police), some even using an extra secret cipher not used on other occasions, if only to give you this special “007″-feeling.

Translated again from “Helfert, Joachim Murat”.

Mier to Metternich [French, in ciphers].

Naples 16 March 1813.

My Lord Count!

The sort of mystery put from the beginning into the sending of Prince Cariati to Vienna, and the rumours which circulate in the public on the object of his mission, can only cause offence to the French government and will necessarily increase the bad blood of the Emperor Napoleon towards the King, which is already sufficiently pronounced without it. Since his arrival in Naples the king has not received a word from the Emperor; the queen has had two letters, but she thought she had to conceal them from her husband because of their content. The Duke of Berthier told the king at the moment of his leaving the army to return to Naples, that he believed him to be too good a Frenchman not to be sure that he would willingly sacrifice his crown if the interests of France required it. This statement, which the King supposes to have been ordered by the Emperor to prepare him for what he must expect, has increased his distrust and anxiety for the preservation of his kingdom. Knowing the King's character, I fear that this will lead him to some step contrary to his position and his true interests, and will give France a pretext of necessity for the realisation of a project which perhaps for the moment should not yet be put into execution. The departure of the Queen would be in this respect a real calamity for this country, because she prevents by her wise and reasoned advice, and her pleas, many steps dictated by the first movement of the King's hot temper, and which would end up by completely dividing him from the Emperor. At first, on his return, he intended to summon the Estates or Deputies of the kingdom and have himself crowned of the Two Sicilies; it was only by dint of persuasion and entreaties that the Queen succeeded in turning him away from this project.

Accept etc

Mier

Prince Cariati was Murat’s special envoy sent to Vienna to start negotiations with Austria, apparently behind Caroline’s back.

Metternich to Mier [French, concept; original in ciphers].

Vienna, 20 April 1813. By Neopolitan courier.

Prince Cariati has acquitted himself to me of the commission he is charged with. He told me that the King desired only the preservation of the throne of Naples; that he would renounce his claims to Sicily and was not aiming at any acquisitions; convinced, however, that his existence would sooner or later be threatened by the great preponderance of France, and knowing the liberal views of our august master, H. M. wished to have a guarantee which would ensure his future existence; that this guarantee could only be given to him by Austria, and that the king was ready, on the other hand, to support our approach, if necessary, by all his military forces.

I answered Prince Cariati that the policy of the Emperor did not require to be commented on, that it was sufficiently known in Europe to be generally appreciated at its just value. That we desired only a state of peace deserving of the name; that far from any excess in our designs, and not subjecting the good to the prospects of an often illusory better, we had succeeded in winning the confidence of all the great powers to the point of seeing them, France not excepted, solicit us to change the subordinate attitude of a merely intervening power into that of mediator. That consequently His Imperial Majesty was assembling great military forces to support his words of peace and to bring them to a successful conclusion; but that the mediating Power had no longer any choice; that he could only hope to succeed in so far as he was actually prepared to support his words by war.

As Prince Cariati kept repeating to me that this was undoubtedly the King's way of judging these questions, and that His Majesty had only the most pronounced desire to prove to us that he would be able to uphold, against all odds, the commitments which he had made, I asked him if he had sufficiently precise instructions to enter into a real negotiation with us and full powers to complete it. He replied that he did not; that he felt that full powers were necessary for our own safety, but that as for the instructions I could be assured that the King's views were invariable, and that those which His Majesty had expressed to him at the time of his departure from Naples were confined to the widest possible latitude.

The present courier (an officer of the guards who accompanied Prince Cariati here) is sent by him in secret to Naples. He asks for full powers. You will not have, Count, to meddle in the substance of an affair which is very delicate in itself, and you will keep strictly to the terms of my answer to Prince Cariati above, without taking a step to engage the King to send the document requested by his envoy. You will add, however, that the Emperor nourishes particular feelings of esteem for the King; that His Majesty's policy is entirely conservative, and that he only wishes to see the King rule the people who have devoted all their attachment to him, and that His Majesty is very sensitive to the marks of confidence which this Prince gives him. You can be sure that no evidence of this feeling has ever caused regret to any power.

As Prince Cariati is making his report to the Duke of Gallo, you can speak to him about the present communication, and you will testify to him with the confidence which we personally have in him the conviction that, if we are ready to listen to the King, it is up to him to provide his Envoy with all diplomatic guarantees.

You will also satisfy yourselves that by virtue of the present instructions you have little to add to what I have lately prescribed to you.

If I’m not mistaken the “Duc de Gallo” was minister of foreign affairs in Naples. His ... ability to adapt to several consecutive goverments at odds with each other would later result in a rather awkward situation for him: He refused to go to Vienna for the Congress of 1814 because there he would have met his ex-queen, Maria Carolina of Habsburg.

Mier to Metternich [French, in special ciphers, "très sécrèt"].

Naples this 27 April 1813.

On the return of the King I will carry out your orders, I distrust the minister too much to speak to him about it. He is persuaded of the forthcoming reunion of this country with the great Empire, and always thinking more of his own interests than those of his country and his sovereign, he does everything possible to win the goodwill of the new French government in advance and thereby secure lucrative positions for himself under the new reign. He is known as such from the past and his present conduct has not earned him an appreciation. X. also advised me not to confide in him too much.

I have the honour to be ut in litteris

Mier.

Yes. “X.” would mean “Joachim”. We have literally reached the level of a Bond movie now.

Mier to Metternich [French, in particular ciphers, "très sécrèt"].

this 30 April 1813.

We have consulted with X. about what to say to his wife. I will always keep strictly to your orders, but do not let me miss your instructions. X. requests your friendly advice on what he should say, do, ask, stipulate, promising to follow your advice in everything. All that is required is the preservation of the present fortune and independence.

I have the honour etc.

The book’s author adds a footnote here with an interesting remark:

In Nicomede Bianchi "Storia docum. della Diplomazia europea in Italia I" p. 2 we find the assertion that Metternich had already made contact with Caroline Murat in Paris, and that he had succeeded in turning her away from her imperial brother; Caroline had thus become "nelle mani del principe di Metternich il migliore instrumento per sospingere il re di Napoli a passare nel campo de' nemici della sua patria e del suo benefattore".... Since the "X" of the despatches I reproduced can only refer to King Joachim, and "sa femme" is therefore Caroline Murat, who at that time cannot yet have been fully aware of the contacts with the Viennese Cabinet, this results in the opposite of Bianchi's assertion, which, incidentally, would also be in irresolvable contradiction with other facts and circumstances.

My personal footnote to the above letter: May I find it a little piquant to see Murat ask Metternich for advice on how to break the news to Caroline? “Dear Metternich, as you have slept with my wife, how do you think I should got about this?”

Mier to Metternich [French, in ciphers, postscript 1].

Naples 29 June 1813

My Lord Count!

The article of the Moniteur relating to the isle of Ponza has enraged the King, to the point of making him ill. He has sent Mr. Durand, Minister of France, a very strong note on this subject which states, among other things, that this is the second time that the French gazettes have taken it upon themselves to insult him, and that at the third such article he would respond by dismissing the Minister of France from his State.

The Emperor Napoleon intends to ask the King of Naples again for 20,000 men.

His Majesty gave a negative answer, declaring that not a company of his army would leave the kingdom unless commanded by him in person.

All these measures of the Emperor persuade the King more and more that Emperor Napoleon nurses hostile designs against him and that he would have already put them into execution if he were not too busy on another side. Not omitting any occasion to humiliate him, doing everything to finally weary his patience he has the air of provoking him and finding a pretext of his annihilation in the resistance to his will.

The King sets himself up for any event, and I am convinced that only one Senatus Consult is needed to deprive him of his kingdom.

I have the honour to be ut in litteris

Once more we have Murat getting ill when under stress or in great emotional turmoil. And this time, Mier even has an extra secret postscript to the secret postscript:

Mier to Metternich [French, in special ciphers, 'très sécrèt', postcript 2]

this 29th June 1813.

Napoleon has had the Queen informed that war with Austria was inevitable; that he needed troops; that consequently she should engage the King to place 20,000 men at the disposal of the Viceroy of Italy. Their Majesties await with impatience the answer to Cariati's proposals in order to know the course to be followed in the event of war between Austria and France. The King is still determined to support our interests

Please give me your instructions on the conduct I should follow in the event of war with France

I have the honour etc.

If this is true, if it really was already known in Naples by the end of June that Napoleon wanted war with Austria (which means that Napoleon must have been decided already at the beginning of the armistice and a long time before his meeting with Metternich in Dresden), this is diametrically opposed to the claim of Napoleon-friendly historians, who tend to accuse the allies of not having been sincere in their peace proposals in mid-1813. And it makes me feel like crying, considering how many people at this point put all their hopes in Napoleon making peace. Which he apparently never even seriously considered.

#joachim murat #helfert murat #1813 #napoleon #italy1813 #naples #letters #metternich #caroline murat

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kitkatopinions · 3 years

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I'm tired of fantasy world writers being like 'oh, this is my allegory for racism in my fantasy world where actual racism doesn't exist, also I'm going to not do any research on how to properly include said allegory, badly portray it, make my main characters affected by this white or white passing, and then use racist stereotypes later.' Long post full of RWBY criticism ahead.

RWBY is terrible with the Faunus racism they chose to make part of their story. They made the White Fang an evil terrorist group, they made Blake lecture fellow Faunus about how they're the ones actually hurting themselves by using violence against each other, they framed comfortable and peaceful protest as the only good way despite establishing that peaceful protest didn't work, and they made their child slave coded character who literally got branded turn into nothing more than an abusive stalker and then had him killed without ever addressing the aforementioned child slavery. Also, the only Faunus among our main cast now that Sun is gone is one of the most privileged of the Faunus. Blake can pass as a human if she wants to, she grew up fairly rich, she has two loving parents, and she comes from an inherently powerful position as the daughter of the Chief. Having Blake be privileged would be absolutely fine, if she acknowledged her privilege, wasn’t the mouthpiece on Faunus rights, if she wasn’t the only Faunus in our main cast, and if she didn’t repeatedly lecture other Faunus.

On top of that, two of our main cast have been racist (within the narrative of the show) towards our main Faunus character, one of them learns from it (even though that as well was badly handled) and became the only member of Team RWBY to ever call out human's being racist after season three. Oh wait, except the other member of our main cast that was racist that never had it addressed because it was treated like a joke now has yelled at a racist once, in an incredibly tense situation, so I guess her racism is gone. It’s good that it’s gone, since CRWBY is pushing her and Blake as a couple, but it’s frustrating that her racism never even got a ‘that wasn’t funny’ and we never see Yang learn any better, because it feels like CRWBY brushed it off and acted like it was fun and quirky instead of treating it like the casual racism it was. They do a similar thing with Robyn in season seven which came out in 2019, when she calls Marrow ‘Wags.’ Also none of our main cast are ever seen protesting for Faunus rights (sans a two second flashback of child Blake at a rally and a non canon RWBY chibi cartoon.) I don't think Ruby - our main protagonist - has ever even mentioned Faunus rights. In a world where Adam was branded with the SDC logo under fifteen years ago at the most, racism and fighting racism should be a big part of the story, and instead, it's brushed to the side and used for the occasional 'we don't like racism btw' moment now that Blake got rid of a Faunus run terrorist group. To me, this implies that the number one threat to the Faunus… Was the Faunus, and although some humans are still anti-Faunus, no one has to devote their time or energy into fighting for equality. In season 7, Blake doesn’t even attend the rally of the political figure running against Jacques Schnee - who as far as I’m aware, is the only business owner or person in power who has ever displayed anti-Faunus racism in the show. By the way, please feel free to correct me if I’m wrong. It’s been a hot minute since I watched through the show.

Instead of attending a rally that seems very important for the Faunus, Blake goes dancing with her crush. It’s like she stopped caring about politics and rights after the White Fang got removed. That feels so bad. Also, I'll note that most of the actual POC Faunus that can't pass as white in this show are on the bad side (Sienna, Fennec, Corsac, Lionheart, Ilia, Marrow.) And either they die, or they must learn to give up their destructive ways and become better people. I’m not saying this was intentional, I’m saying it’s a pattern, it’s alarming, and the writers should’ve known better.

I believe Miles Luna and Kerry Shawcross have admitted that they mishandled Faunus racism, but first off, it still doesn’t excuse them because they were grown people putting out a product that premiered in 2013 and they should’ve known to do research and do better. But second off, I still feel like they haven't done the research they need to and continue to mishandle the racism by ignoring it when they want to and bringing it up only to let us as an audience know Weiss and Yang aren't racist anymore. They can’t just cut the Faunus from their storyline now, but they can’t just ignore it, and need to actually make it a better allegory. Honestly though, one of the big reasons I'm convinced that they still haven't done any real research on how to properly portray POC or racism is because of how terribly they're handling the Ace Ops.

They're writing a fantasy show, they aren't tied to real world portrayals of law enforcement, but they went the route of commentating on real world police, corrupt police, and use of excessive force. That's fine. But things are already pretty dicey just starting off because of how they've mishandled and continue to mishandle Faunus racism. Outside of Jacques Schnee and his company and business partners, I don't remember seeing Faunus racism in Atlas (not Mantle, Atlas.) If I'm wrong about that, again, please correct me, I may have missed it. But without seeing actual discrimination against Faunus within the police force, right off the bat, that's a mishandling of commentating on police brutality. But also, other than Clover who is now dead, the Ace Ops are all people of color. CRWBY made their bad cops all not white. Even Ironwood - who is white passing - is voiced by a person of color who has said he believes that James is Chinese American. I'll point out that being a Hunter is pretty much just being a cop with more freedom and seemingly less rules. Qrow (a Beacon Huntsman) goes around destroying public property and comments on how some hunters work outside of the law, and yet it's only the Ace Ops who are held to real world ACAB rules and everyone else gets to be a good cop/law enforcement officer. Ruby gets to proudly proclaim herself a Huntress, Weiss gets to arrest people, Jaune gets told that he deserves his Huntsman license, we've been getting told for seven seasons that Hunters help people and do what's right, and we're given long time Hunters and mentor figures like Oobleck, Glynda, Qrow, and now Robyn is being framed that way, and they back that up. Even training Atlas soldiers like Neon and Flynt are fine and fun. But only the Ace Ops are bad, corrupt law enforcement officers. So that way, we can have the entirely white passing Team RWBY beat up the entirely POC, not white passing Ace Ops. Even though Team RWBY is a byproduct of the same kind of program and even though we’ve seen the police discriminate against Faunus in Vale. If CRWBY wants their allegories to be taken seriously, they need to recognize that RWBY and co are also certified police. Also, it’s really not funny to see people use ACAB as a reason why the Ace Ops are of course bad, but then turn around and simp for Winter, and be like ‘We want Winter to be redeemed, but Harriet? What a bitch!’ Like… I’m side-eyeing that pretty hard.

Speaking of Winter, now she’s in charge of the Ace Ops. But unlike Marrow, Winter doesn’t just look sad sometimes and blindly only follow direct orders without protest. She’s actually feeling all kinds of things, and she’s actually being framed as strong, intelligent, and reasonable. I’m sure no one forgot this, but I’ll note it anyway; Winter is white. Having Winter be the only Ace Op to actually listen to JRY and do things without James explicitly telling her to (although I don’t consider what she did a betrayal or going behind his back) is dicey. They could’ve given this moment to Harriet and nothing would change. ‘This lady typically follows orders, is short tempered, and pushes down her emotions, but she can still recognize a fairly good idea when she sees one and can actually think for herself, so although this isn’t a betrayal, she compromises and lets Team JRY go after their friend.’ Yeah, idk guys, I feel like there was literally no reason to slot Winter in with the Ace Ops to be the lone voice of reason when Harriet could’ve become the new leader and played the exact same role. Instead, Winter gets to have a power move where she puts Harriet in her place. Winter is given actual depth and gets to put down the black woman who the writers have made display nothing but anger for the whole season. The fans rally behind Winter because she was given depth and hate Harriet because she has none, but that’s the fault of the writers. Btw, ‘this black woman won’t show any emotion besides anger’ is a racist stereotype. It would probably have taken like five minutes on google for Luna and Shawcross to have realized that it was a bad idea to write a black woman in any sort of position of power to be constantly angry + hiding her emotions. Elm is in the same boat as Harriet, and I was going to say it’s less severe, but then I remembered that she literally attacked Ren for talking about their emotions.

Look, my point is that RWBY as a show has never handled allegories like racism and corrupt police well, and either they should stop trying and stick to ‘make believe land is just different than the real world’ or start putting in the work and fix this. By the way, I’m not trying to make anyone feel bad for watching or even enjoying RWBY, but I hope people can watch it while recognizing that some of the things CRWBY has chosen to put into their show are destructive and that the creators need to be called out. I’ll continue to hope that most RWBY fans do recognize that RWBY is deeply flawed, but I’ve just been stewing recently about someone who told me that I shouldn’t have expected the show to address Faunus racism in the Atlas arcs because that ended when Adam died.

I want to make it totally clear that I agree with and support ACAB in the real world and I'm not against it being used in fantasy works, I just think CRWBY is doing a poor job of portraying it and many fans are misusing it and it feels disrespectful. This is an actual real world movement with actual real world consequences. It feels very bad to see people use it to argue that the writers who have never handled allegories of racism well can make an all POC group be a destructive, violent, easily controlled, easily beat group of corrupt cops that need a white woman and fellow cop to be the voice of reason.

#RWDE #rwde content #rwby criticism #rwby critical

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tarhalindur · 3 years

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Higurashi Gou final thoughts pt. 1

(Spoilers go under a cut:)

Taking this by arc:

Onidamashi-hen: The best executed first cour arc by a significant margin. Probably not coincidentally, it stays the closest to the structure of the OG arc and thus keeps more of OG’s tension ratchet than the other Gou arcs. I have two main issues, and I’m pretty sure both of them can be firmly pinned on the anime staff rather than Ryukishi07 himself. First, it pulls its punch on the stealth sequel aspect. I’m not entirely sure that going for a stealth sequel was the correct decision (it’s a cost/benefit tradeoff), but if you do you’re going for the wham of the sequel reveal, and the anime undercut this by putting the Rika/Hanyuu scene at the start of episode 2 rather than the end of the arc. Second, it overdoes the final Rena fight, making it so over-the-top that it’s difficult to take seriously. Neither of these issues exist in the manga (which has a believable amount of stabbing and has the Hanyuu scene at the end of the arc where it should be), and in the former case we also have a Ryukishi07 interview indicating that this was a change requested by the anime staff, so this goes on them. (Interestingly, by way of contrast I think this approach might actually work well for the Mieruko-chan adaptation that Passione has coming out later this year.)

Watadamashi-hen: The core issue here (above and beyond fridge logic after Satokowaski-hen) is the finale, which landed like a wet fart. It both escalates from zero to 100 *way* too fast and has the worst case of “tell don’t show” in the neo-question arcs - we learn about every single dead body in the arc from Ooishi’s end-of-arc narration. That’s relatively defensible for three of those bodies, which we only learn about secondhand even in OG Watanagashi-hen (though IIRC in OG two of those bodies have foreshadowing from rumors earlier in the arc, and unless I’m forgetting something that’s absent here), but all five? Yes, keeping Keiichi locked away from the final showdown removes fridge logic issues, but you have prominent security cameras - you can at least have him see the aftermath of the showdown on the screens (and freak out because of it). Adding insult to injury, the Keiichi vs. door scenes are also so over-the-top as to damage willing suspension of disbelief. The 0-to-100 issue is harder to fix, because the one thing Watadamashi did right was put the Rika-loses-it scene as an end-of-episode cliffhanger, and “Keiichi et. al. are about to enter the Saiguden” probably wanted an end-of-episode cliffhanger as well for discussion purposes (it might have been able to get away with using the commercial break). The simplest fix is the same one @tsuisou-no-despair floated: cannibalize an episode off of another first cour arc.

Tataridamashi-hen: Amusingly, I think Gou has retained OG’s tradition of having the Tatari- question arc being the weakest question arc. As I see it there are two interlocking core issues here which boil down to the same issue. Tataridamashi-hen goes for a very unconventional method of building tension: it doesn’t, instead relying on the viewer’s realization that something bad has to be coming to do so for it (the old “that can’t be right, we’ve still got twenty minutes left in the episode” reaction I more commonly associate with things like police procedurals). The problem is that this runs into the Endless Eight lesson: even flawless metatext should not be used at the expense of enjoyability of the actual text. And while the arc got some leverage out of “when exactly is this going to diverge?”, there’s a point much like Endless Eight itself when you realize where it’s going to diverge (i.e, not until the end) and that until then you’re sitting through the same events you remember from OG. It works about as well as it did for Haruhi. (Unless you’re a new viewer, but in that case staying too close to Minagoroshi-hen has other issues.) Worse, unlike Minagoroshi-hen itself (which did something similar to build tension but a) non-source readers hadn’t seen it before so it wasn’t foregone the same way and b) you had several more episodes after the subarc for the main event) the arc ends almost immediately after this. (The simplest fix here might have been cutting down on the arc time by speedrunning Minagoroshi events, reducing the amount of time you’d have to wait. You could even have a couple of obstacles collapse faster than expected; this late in the first cour it would serve as foreshadowing for Satokowashi-hen, and would also deal with unfortunate implications concerning the village’s prejudice considering that the staff knew Satoko was going to be the culprit. Trimming an episode would also neatly solve the issue of where to get an additional episode for Watadamashi-hen from!) The good news is that the final confrontation is the best of the first cour arcs (it’s somewhat more realistic than the other two, actually not that far behind some of the more memetastic OG moments except for Teppei’s eyes, and not showing Ooishi’s rampage is forgivable given that they knew they would be actually showing it in Nekodamashi-hen), but that’s damning with faint praise.

Nekodamashi-hen: The best Gou arc. The episode 15 jump cut is the stuff of legends and the best scene in the show by a sizable margin (the one thing the director does well is black humor, it seems), while the rest of the arc isn’t as good, it’s far shorter on demerits than the rest of the show. The one really, really obvious demerit is that they really didn’t need to spend half an episode on the intestines-ripping scene (if Ryukishi07′s comments are to be believed, once again we’re pinning this on Passione), but effects on my stomach aside there are worse issues to have.

Satokowashi-hen: And here we have the other side of the coin; this is the worst Gou arc, and it’s the one spot where I’m pretty sure Ryukishi07 himself gets some of the blame. There’s a few issues here. First, the single most obvious dangling plot thread from Matsuribayashi-hen (Satoshi’s fate) is effectively dropped despite being directly relevant to the other dangling thread that was picked up (how Rika treats Satoko and vice versa); this includes missing an opportunity to show Satoko’s character arc through different responses to learning about Satoshi’s condition. Secondly and compounding, Shion is also dropped along with the Satoshi thread; AIUI this is kind of understandable given final Satoko/Shion interaction in the Matsuribayashi-hen VN (which IIRC never made it into the anime), but dropping her without explanation still leaves something that looks awfully like a plot hole since a single conversation with Shion is potentially enough to stop the events of this arc from ever happening. (”Character X had information that would have stopped the tragedy but never had an opportunity to tell anyone” is a classic tragedy trope, but you should really have a *reason* for that character never having the opportunity as opposed to just having them vanish without explanation.) Finally, there’s just the general issue that while the ending points for both Rika and Satoko are reasonable the path they take to get there just doesn’t quite add up. I can kind of get there via a combination of “blame the director” (the loops montage could and should have easily shown Satoko’s deteriorating mental condition as she watched - using interlaced cuts to her face with changes in facial expression is a classic method) and mind caulk (Rika was exaggerating for effect when she described her desire to go to St. Lucia’s as a long-time thing and it only really kicked in after Matsuribayashi-hen, Satoko originally only planned to suicide in Matsuribayashi-2 and only took Rika out with her as a crime of passion after feeling betrayed, hence the next few loops lacking her murdering Rika) but being mind-caulkable is not the same as actual good execution.

I mean, I’ve banged on this drum before, but... the basic concept works. Really well. Satoko’s abandonment issues and Rika’s treatment of Satoko are two of the major dangling plot threads from OG Higurashi (*eyes both Minagoroshi-hen and anime-only Yakusamashi-hen*). It makes perfectly good sense that the latter comes back to bite Rika, especially in a sequel literally titled “karma”. I already suspected Satoko was on the autism spectrum based on OG, her being ADHD in addition to or instead of that makes perfectly good sense given those conditions often overlap. Rika’s desire to escape the well morphing into a desire to escape Hinamizawa entirely? Sure, just present it as that. Satoko steadily losing her support network as her friends are torn away from her by changing life circumstances, then going to a boarding school that she hates, that strips the rest of her support structure for her and starts to take even her one remaining friend (her childhood friend, no less - and one that Satoko is at this point attracted to romantically in true osananajimi fashion) away from her, and then starting to snap with some prodding from a certain witch? That’s a compelling story idea! But as present it just doesn’t quite work, and that’s on the execution.

(Side note: I wonder if some of what went wrong with Gou was just the kind of production issues endemic to modern anime, amplified by the pandemic. I remember at least one comment/blog post somewhere in the wake of WEP’s issues noting some of the effects that production issues can have on an anime, and one of the things they noted was excessive slavishness to the source material as a time-saving measure; that sounds awfully similar to some of Ryukishi07′s comments about how he didn’t expect Passione to take his script quite so literally, and to my admittedly untrained eye it sure looked like there were a bunch more other animation studios than usual mentioned in Gou’s credits...)

Final score: depends on your exact rating system, but given the range I’m looking at I can’t see how I can give it any score other than 3.4/5 for obvious reasons. (Pending Sotsu, anyways. It’s possible that Sotsu will resolve some of these issues - in particular, Ryukishi07 always has struck me as the kind of author who would get a kick into baiting us into falling for the same twist twice; it’s not impossible that the apparent lack of unreliable narrators so far is a double bluff, and that could affect the “question arc” scores in particular. More on this in a forthcoming solution space post.)

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reversecreek · 3 years

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struts onto the dash carrying this deliriously wriggling little elf in my arms like a swaddled bebe......... they’re genuinely my oldest muse of all time i think i created them when i was like. 13 possibly. n i haven’t written them in Years but. i’m literally so excited to jst vibrating w muse. smiles at u all demurely..... they have risen. u can find their pinterest here n their playlist here.

* alana champion, nonbinary + they/them | you know nyla palmer, right? they’re twenty-two, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, eight months? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to 6669 (i don’t know if you know) by neon indian like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole a two headed doll of a prairie girl with stitched on rabbit ears and butterfly wings, befriending shadow puppets & finding god with your eyes open underwater in a public pool you broke into thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is march 2nd, so they’re a pisces, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( nai, 24, gmt she/her )

HISTORY:

was born in georgiaaaa georgiaaaa (phoebe bridgers voice holds my bang...) to a vry honest hard working man named george (omgggg he’s called GEORGE and he’s from GEORGIA? ahaaaaa fuckk ur jestinggg) nd a woman who did her best named pamela..... george worked on a construction site n pamela was a pharmacist..... their house was this small rickety white thing with a wrap around porch n a very rabid overgrown garden tht kind of looked like the earth ws trying to reclaim it bc nobody ever hd the time or motivation to mow the lawn.... there ws literally a piece of fold out furniture just entirely submerged by weeds n foliage

nyla ws always closest w their dad george..... he hd this way of looking at the world tht was seeing the best in all of it.... he took them on long walks where he talked abt how u have to respect the trees bc they’re breathing fr us n we’re breathing fr them..... he hd a strange whimsical sense of humour n a gnome alter ego called grundlebolt who always tickled them..... in a way this closeness created a distance between nyla n their mother but not so much that it ws rly a problem. just enough tht nyla sometimes waited until their mother ws out of eye n ear shot to tell their dad they loved him bc they didn’t wna make her sad >_>

(mental health, death & grief tw) pamela always struggled w her mental health but george ws great n understanding n knew how to help her thru this... nyla didn’t get it too greatly at a very young age bt they knew their mum got “the sads” sometimes (how their dad wld explain tht she needed to lay down in the quiet for a while or why she’d stood at the stove n let the dinner burn until the smoke detector went off without doing anything abt it). when nyla was 14 they got home one day to a police car in the driveway n came prancing in exuberantly as they always did. immediately hugged the legs of an officer bc this is hw they wld greet everyone they ever met. they only realised something was wrong when they let go n saw their mum sat at the table crying. essentially there ws an accident at the construction site george worked at n :/ yeah.

(jst mental health & grief tw now) this rly had an intense ripple effect on everyone tbh. pamela’s mental health deteriorated quite a lot without george there as her rock n nyla sort of had to step in as best they cld but it was....... hard. some days she ws better bt some days nyla had to sit her in the bath n stroke a wet sponge over her back bc they didn’t know how else to calm her down. nyla always had a very overactive imagination which george encouraged bt it ws like. losing him rly opened a window in nyla’s head n all rationality went floating out of it. their dreams seemed more real than being awake. fantasy wasn’t jst the way they coped bt it was the way they thought n the way they saw. everything on earth was alive. the trees n the clouds n the wall with a brick missing at the bottom of her road n especially their dad. their dad was alive in everything in nyla’s head. the sun shining extra bright in the morning was george. ponds were a veil they could dunk her head under and find george waiting on the other side. reality rly just pulled the plug n said bye tbh n they were ok w that <3

(abuse implied tw) their mum remarried too fast to a man named stephen n it was jst not a good arrangement. he was Not a nice man. i won’t go into this but home wasn’t a nice place for nyla any more n after a couple of yrs stephen wound up asking them to leave n their mum said nothing to contradict tht. there’s more to this bt long story short nyla left <3

(drugs tw) they couch surfed fr a while before settling living w their best friend. they got up to like... all sorts of trouble n grew up far too fast. nyla’s lack of sense n realism hd a habit of getting them into some sticky situations n these few yrs were a rollercoaster where they got by on the skin of their teeth. when they think of high skl they think of gravel and skinned knees and sucking sherbet dunkers to ignore the taste of pennies in ur mouth and getting lost in the woods a lot bc they’d take FAR too many drugs n be lead astray having conversations with kind trees whose branches held their hands

(drug mention) got by on odd jobs like making candles n selling them at market stalls. leaf blowing at cemeteries. face painting fr children’s parties (where they were blatantly high). random stuff. all over the place. in this time them n their best friend also hd a sugar daddy named tony who always wore very impressive colour block suits n mink stoles n jewelled fedoras n hd a swanky apartment w marble floors. rly just. surreal. lots of strange stories frm this time.

things kind of blew up in their friendship group n they fell out w their best friend raya bc she slept w this guy aj who nyla hd been madly in love w for yrs.... he was a Stinker n honestly so ws their best friend so good riddance i say bt obviously it felt like having their entire world flipped upside dwn fr nyla.... they split after this came out bc they just did Not want to b around these ppl any more n they decided to leave w this guy frm a band they barely knew tht much save fr a one night stand to tour w them..... this ws another whirlwind. jst chock full of them. it ws similar to being on a teacup ride at a carnival n spinning round n round n only knowing u were surrounded by lots of lights. tht’s how they’d best describe their time on tour.

SO in terms of them coming to irving 8 months ago they came w the band.... they honestly did pretty well on tour n wound up renting a big beach house on dorado as a kind of “retreat” sort of place fr them to shack up in while they worked on writing and recording their first big studio album (they gt signed w a label so it’s all vry exciting stuff). nyla among like 3 others were allowed to stay w them too bc they hd a lot of fun on tour. literally jst. taken on as professional groupies essentially. nyla loved it bc they’d never seen the ocean n when they first got there they jst threw off all their clothes n ran straight into the water. it was 3pm on a tuesday afternoon. they got arrested fr public indecency n didn’t get why bc they were like but i just wanted to hug the ocean u silly little oinker? i picture the beach house as like. the loudest one on dorado.... comes alive like a jungle at night..... they r probably bad neighbours. anyway. onto personality puts hand on hip.

PERSONALITY:

sets out patio furniture on someone else’s lawn n jst takes a seat n leans back like ahhhhh vat a nice day to be alive ya! (swedish accent suddenly bc they think it’s fun). they come out n start yelling n they’re jst so confused they’re like hey wat’s the big idea hey wat’s go on here why u angies why this happen?

likes drawing imaginary veins over their arms in all different colour blue pens in a sudden fit of hyperfixation n then forgets all abt it n goes out like tht n scares several townsfolk bt they’re oblivious they’re jst in her own world loving life already onto the next fixation. has many many different fads like this. one day will jst start snipping up a bunch of magazines bc they’re like EYES ARE COOL N THEY SEE EVERYTHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :P n they’ll stick a bunch of them over their wall n then forget they was doing that n leap onto the next. quite a pattern. bt they love the vein thing a lot it makes them feel like a walking planetarium like they have their own constellations

sometimes jst doesn’t make sense. they’re honestly kind of strange. pops up in places like they suddenly materialised there n it’s like how did u get there where have u been when were u last seen are u ok. has the energy of an ancient deity frm deep in a mountain cave n an ambiguous forest sprite all at once..... talks shit honestly. abt anything n everything. sometimes outrageous. sometimes plain incoherent. like what are u talking about? i dnt kno. even i dnt kno sometimes.

luvs stick n pokes will let anyone tattoo whatever they want on them for the price of a gummy bear kindly placed onto their tongue n swallowed whole

has this obsession w being underwater w their eyes open luvs it. calls it their tadpole time. runs baths just to lie there blinking looking around n drifting her arms. best friends w the bottom of any local swimming pool n hs probably given it a quick kiss so it knows they’re bff’s n then got sick bc there’s sm germs in a public pool. says the kgb probably poisoned their oatmeal n r finally here to deliver on their promise n THAT’S why they got sick unrelated to the pool incident. what promise? noone knows.

unclear if they believe what they say or if they jst has a very expanded sense of humour where they nvr let on if they’re joking.... lines r blurred a lot.....

loves excitedly shouting things. sometimes just screams at the sky bc they say it’s good to let the creatures in ur belly fly out every once in a while otherwise their wings get sore.

(drugs tw) still does an excessive amt of hallucinogens n it kind of shows. very bad fr their brain bt we’re going to ignore it.

dresses fun n strange n eccentric n careless. loves to experiment. does nt care abt what’s considered to be societally appropriate. living in their own world.

sleeps around a lot... jst doesn’t rly see sex as a big deal.... very free w themselves in that way..... sometimes greets their friends w a kiss on the lips they’re like awww :) kisses <3 when they run into them in the middle of the cereal aisle n then pulls away n suddenly breaks into a box tht has a free toy in it bc it’s a banana with googly eyes n that’s the best thing they’ve ever heard in their LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! n isn’t he so HANDSOME????? enchante indeed my good sir ;)... gives the toy a kiss too.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

other groupies of the band: self explanatory a little.... i dnt have a name for the band yet bt all can b worked out..... i picture them as kind of. not that nice but like. there for a good time........ rock genre.... bit chaotic...... to say the least........ they dnt have to have come there w the band like nyla n the others they cld have been adopted in their time there.... whoever wld b wild n down fr a good time <3

chaotic trash goblin friends: idk what this title rly means it just came to me in a vision....... jst ppl tht r rly kind of off the rails n don’t care abt anything...... they r who nyla tends to mesh very well w......... they rly r living in their own world n by their own rules n they like ppl who do this too <3 inevitably they get up to no good n party far too much...... cld be angst to this if they enable each other’s bad habits...... world’s our oyster. opens my office door. let’s talk abt it.

nyla set up camp on their front lawn: maybe jst w a fold out chair. maybe w a literal pop up tent w someone else too. genuinely so bizarre of them bt that’s what we’re dealing with. they poke their head into the tent n nyla’s lying down crunching on a cracker crumbs over their tits n they just hold it out to them nt even fully consumed n are like hey polly want a cracker? :)

they responded to her craigslist ad: they posted one saying they cld cleanse their house of demonic energy bc they’re an all seeing eye in touch w the spirits. this is a lie. they came n waved sage around n did a little dance as they did it w bird sounds playing on a special cd they brought fr the occasion (had weird indistinct doodles over the case it ws brought in) n then ws like OOH! scary.... n jumped at something in the hall. they go in thinking maybe they’ve seen a ghost bt they just were startled by their own reflection in a mirror n is like. scary mirror placement...... might wna reconsider that........ they charge them merely 10 dollars fr their time n is like this was so fun we shd do it again some time :) also i think u have mould on ur bathroom tile! vanishes. they dnt recall them ever going to the bathroom.

came knocking asking for items for a garage sale: yes. u heard that right. they’re asking for ur muses things to set up their own garage sale. selling items that do not belong to them. they think this is a genius business strategy n don’t understand why ppl think this is so strange or why they cant just ask ppl to donate them things to sell bc hey they’re an entrepreneur? they even had a pencil behind their ear when they knocked on the door so why aren’t ppl taking their business seriously? probably got distracted several times trying to explain their pitch n chattered abt random other things instead.

honestly anything... fwbs... flings... good influence... someone who cnt stand the fact they’re barely coherent.... someone they stopped on the street one day n asked for their opinion on water beds.... we cn do literally anything. fling ur chara my way n we can talk.

#irvingintro #mental health tw #death tw #grief tw #drugs tw #abuse tw

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rpbetter · 3 years

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You make some really good posts!! Can I ask something about DNIs? I know it's not directly RP-related, but I have trouble as an RPer with how many DNIs, with urls, there are now. I try not to interact with muns who have them, I block them, because it feels manipulative? But I'm also tempted to block people who follow those muns, because they probably think their DNIs are okay to have, so they're still "bad", just not as bad? Do you think that's overkill, am I shooting myself in the foot?

Oh, thank you! I'm very happy you've enjoyed them!

And, of course, ask anything at all!

I think, ultimately, the answer to whether that's overkill is entirely dependent on what your experience is and if you're happy with it. I don't think it is overkill at all, but if you feel like it is costing you too many mutuals, it might be overkill for you.

I'm a pretty insular RPer, I like a handful of close writing partners that I write a lot of threads with, so, having something like, under ten writing partners is great for me while it's miserable for other muns. I can go wild on blocking and not have it negatively impact my enjoyment, but I know that's not the case for everyone!

And I do, actually, I do go pretty wild with the blocking when it comes to things like DNIs. If it comes off as policing to me, not just something like a difference of opinion or a strong opinion on something, I'm going to block. Otherwise, it's just recognizing that this isn't a mun I'm going to work out with, but no hard feelings. With policing though...I don't want that anywhere near me or my mutuals, so, it's going to be a block.

Because they do tend to be in these odd, like, nested situations lol I totally will spend the effort if their DNI is bad enough to look at the muns they interact with and make sure I don't have future contact with them either. The RPC is such a big place, making it easier to forget URLs than to remember them, but it's also a place where we establish circles of contact, making it easier to run into the same group repeatedly. I feel like it's better for my peace of mind to be a little more certain than not at all that this isn't going to happen as easily.

If that DNI etc. has been so awful, I definitely don't require their mutuals professing the same beliefs as loudly as they are. If you interact with someone, maybe you don't know their pet fish's name or the obscure lore in a headcanon they posted five years ago or the rule they updated without telling anyone, but you do know what is on their pinned post or blog description or rules. At some point, we all visit each other's blogs in dash-view if nothing else when we're getting replies or checking for memes they might have posted, going through their tags, whatever. I do not believe that you're mutuals who reblog from each other often, reply frequently to each other, ship each other's muses and so forth, and all this time, you've somehow failed to notice your bestie mun is telling proshippers to die in their DNI lmao

No, you've seen it. And I find it extremely hard to believe, too, that it's never come up in conversation OOC either.

So, this hypothetical mutual is so oblivious to others, completely agrees with the other one's views while not feeling confident enough to share them publicly, or is scared enough of the other one that they won't disagree...and no matter which/which combination that might be, they're not a mutual I want.

Especially when it comes to a DNI with someone's URL in it. Hard pass on anyone who is okay with that!

If I visited a writing partner's blog, let's say this person is also my closest friend, I value them and the threads I have with them so much, and I saw that in their DNI they had dropped someone's URL? We would have to talk. I'd have to bring it up because it's the right thing to do (and would also be highly out of character for any of my friends, thus very concerning). There would have to be a question posed about what happened here, why did you feel like this was a good choice, and do you think it's increasing or lessening the problem to have that there?

Honestly, sometimes people do get so upset about something that has happened that their worst impulses are let loose freely. When you ask someone you have an established relationship with about that, unless you're being really hateful about it right off, it can help them settle down, take a step back, and see that this is maybe not the right action to take. To me, silence says you're okay with it.

When muns started putting more elaborate DNI's in, that alone rubbed me the wrong way because I genuinely do not think that the majority of that information is at all necessary. It's something I can see and fully understand minors doing, not because they're terrible or anything but because the impulses and rationale are just different. You're very much geared to be as loud as possible about things that are important to you, making them a part of you in a huge way, as a teenager. Shit just is unreasonably intense! But as an adult, I expect that behavior to be different. You don't actually need to say on your RP blog's DNI that "transphobes WILL be blocked!!!"

Well, yes, I should hope so lol we're a community filled with muns who are trans, I'd certainly hope you were not cool with that kind of thing. It's one of those assumptive states, it goes without saying because, in a group of legitimate adults, it literally doesn't have to be said that a trans mun in a group of trans muns in a RPC filled with trans muns would be intolerant of transphobic assholes.

And, no one likes a damn transphobe, it's not like this stunning, fresh information, here. Not making such a statement does not, in fact, act as a welcome.

Saying that, and I do not mean literally just that, it's just an example of the type of things found in a common DNI, is a little immature for me. Some of those things are, in addition to being purely self-validating: playing into the fear created by policing, virtue signaling, policing, or baiting. And all of them are pointless. Telling someone who would already be bigoted toward you and others to not interact if they somehow miraculously ID as whatever label that takes for them to not interact with your posts is waving a metaphoric red flag in front of a bull. Kind of like tagging a post as either "antis don't interact" or "proshippers don't interact." Actual quickest and most assured way to get that interaction!

I totally understand the age thing, it's self-protecting. Most people do respect it, but when they don't, you've clearly stated that this is not for whatever age group. Things pertaining to your writing and/or muse I also understand and think are great for a quick glance before someone even gets to the rules. Having in a DNI something like "muns who are easily triggered by gore" when you write a horror muse, for instance. You're advising them that this isn't a great idea for them, and it shouldn't be expected that you change your muse and topics because they decided to follow anyway.

But it became excessive very quickly, and there is the expectation that blogs have a DNI. The further expectation is that there be a specific list of things found in that DNI, if yours does not include it, you obviously don't have a problem with those things. I really cannot be okay with that, you know?

However, when it wasn't being used as a callout or a way to police, that was something that could just be ignored. Once URLs of other RPers started to appear, it was a whole other problem.

It used to be the pervading rule of the RPC that it is not alright to force other muns to chose between you and another mun that you had an issue with, but now we have DNIs with other muns' URLs in them. Now, it's the opposite take - if you have an issue with a URL being dropped in a DNI, or if you continue to interact with the mun, you're likely to get a callout or be on the receiving end of other bullying.

So, I very much think the self-insulating thing to do is to avoid those mutuals as well as the RPer with the URL-laden DNI. They could just block you, but is someone who was so juvenile as to put another mun's URL in their damn DNI going to be mature enough to do that? Will their friends once they complain about you? For me, it's too high of a risk of being around muns I wish would take a very long break from RP and only come back once they've grown up some.

I would never advise anyone to do something that is erring on the side of getting them into harassment water unnecessarily (as in, not something that pertains to digging in your heels and writing what you want or not tolerating bullying where you see it happening), and I feel like not doing what you are is that. However, I also am a firm believer in agency, even to make mistakes.

So, if you genuinely feel like blocking mutuals of someone with a URL-dropped/callout/other highly offensive and bullying thing in their DNI is costing you so many chances to RP that you're no longer enjoying yourself here? You might want to consider adjusting how widely you are blocking.

If that's the case, try going for mutuals who are what I call Casual Mutuals and leaving them open. Those are mutuals that the mun doesn't write with often or at all, they're technically mutuals because they both follow each other, but that's it. There might be some liking of posts or even comments or non-committal, OOC style memes sent in by Casual Mutuals, but that interaction is sparse and, yep, casual. These mutuals might legitimately be unaware of the mun's hateful, bullying bullshit in the DNI, or they are actually afraid to unfollow/block them at this point, so their option feels like staying around as quietly as possible.

With that last deal...you could even be doing someone a favor, Anon. When I've encountered that situation before, it's come about because the other person's Casual Mutual is painfully anxious, shy, and a previous victim of bullying. They feel isolated, they don't have many or any writing partners, and they really, truly, are terrified to distance themselves in a way that might be noticed. It's a type of toxic interaction that rarely gets mentioned in PSAs, presumably because it is so low on the actual interaction scale.

Giving them someone else in their corner, especially if that other mun is more open about their intolerant stance on bullying, can go a long way toward giving someone else confidence. I've had other people's Casual Mutuals become my Casual Mutuals and wouldn't you know it? After a while, they get braver. They see my friends and mutuals doing our thing without any of the bullying going on, they see us supporting anti-policing and not tolerating bullying, and they get brave enough to unfollow the hateful mun. It feels nice to even inadvertently help someone, and over the years, some of those Casual Mutuals have become great writing partners, too. People I would have missed if I had made the choice to block them by the association of a hateful mun they were trapped in the orbit of.

Just try to exercise caution! You seem like a reasonable person who doesn't mind truly thinking on things or doing the work required to be cautious. Assume the close mutuals are a problem, too, and block away. Build a wall with some razor wire on it with those blocks! Don't assume the low-interaction, very casual mutuals are, though. Check out their blogs for signs of agreement with Hateful Mun, and if they don't have any, give them a shot as far as just leaving them unblocked goes.

I also have to say, here at the end, that it's extremely nice to see that people out there are doing this. Honestly would have thought I'd be the last person to encourage a ton of blocking, but that's the environment of the RPC now, and it's really the only way we can deal with this issue. You can't reason with these people, you can't stop them, you can only stay away from them for your own good and send a message that this isn't benefiting them. Not everyone agrees with them, they're not going to keep having people left open for their attacks or their RP entertainment. And if enough people are just walling them off, that is a message they'll have to receive because RP runs on interaction with others.

They might think they want every "nasty ass" xyz Problematic RPer to block them, not interact, or vanish from their view of the RPC, but I don't think they realize what that really looks like. What it looks like is a huge percentage of the RPC missing, including people they didn't realize were "problematic." We tend to be quieter, wanting to stay in our own lanes and actually enjoy the hobby and each other. That's why they have to resort to shit like making everyone pre-guilty, or setting up traps to catch people out on being "gross."

So, I genuinely do not think they're prepared for the rude awakening of silence that would happen if we all actually vanished, but I am dying to see it lol and do sometimes have to wonder if the complaints about the RPC being dead/dying/empty, not in a fandom but overall, are coming from the purity police some of the time. It's quite active over on the Leave Folks Alone Over Fiction side of life :D

#answered #anonymous #policing #dni lists #blocking #rp advice #rp problems

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greenninjagal-blog · 4 years

Text

Deja vu pt2

Wow, I did not expect this to get the following that it did. I’m so glad you guys are enjoying this! Here’s part 2 But if you missed part 1 you can find it [here]!

Summary: Four years after Remus runs away, he makes a friend and gets to see even more death.

Words: 5293

Read on Ao3 || My general writing Masterlist

Remus spends his twenty first birthday at his favorite location: The Basilisk Casino. Its a nice place, the type of place that drains life forces with people along with their wallets. The golden walls shimmer like scales if you look too long at them, which is all the more reason to focus back on the dice, the slots, the chips and coins and cards. The coins all have snarling snakes on them and Remus just loves rolling his thumb over the crevices of the design while he watches his opponents sweat. He can’t count the number of times he’s been cursed out at the table, the number of times he’s been checked for bugs by the debugging crew, the number of times that he’s had several dealers and security watch him as he played at the tables, the number of times where he cashed in his coins and called himself “Lucky”.

Luck, of course, has nothing to do with it.

But he usually walks out of the casino several thousand dollars richer and it’s nice. To have money, to have a room in the upstairs hotel that he paid for himself, to have clothes that he picked out, to wave his excess cash in the faces of every person who’s tried to figure out how he’s cheating.

(Because they all know he’s cheating. One doesn’t go a full night at the tables without losing once. It's actually impossible.)

((Unless, of course, you can see the future.))

Remus is twenty one and he’s never lost a game of cards.

The staff has mixed feelings about him and Remus knows this, because they hate cheaters when it reflects badly back on them-- and boy did a lot of them get yelled at those first three weeks before Remus had asked his poor dealer to invite her boss to the table to play-- but the number of cheaters that Remus outed purely for the fun of seeing their eyes go wide has landed him in the good graces of a few.

Which is weird, being in the good graces of people. And so is knowing that if he finds that one cute dealer with the scar on his knuckles, they’d go up to Remus’s room and they’d spend the night with two bottles of Baileys and no clothes.

“Hit” Remus sings as he knocks on the table behind his cards. His dealer, a girl who’s been working for a while and knows his tendency to give her instructions before she’s finished dealing to everyone at the table, nods to show she’s seen him. The players to his left and his right both glare at him.

Remus smiles, because he already knows what cards they’ve got and what they were going to bet now that he’s announced himself: the old guy with the silver watch was going to stand, the loser with the mullet was going to hit as well, and the woman who’s tag was sticking out was going to hit then split.

Only that old guy was going to walk away with any money earned, four rounds later, after the lady loses everything she made in a risky gamble and the slots catch Mullet head attention.

Remus stays because he likes Blackjack, likes the easy memorization, likes the repetition and the exchange of chips, and he flips one of his Barneys in the air as he waits for the table to refill.

“That’s certainly impressive,” A voice says sounding like silk even over the chattering of the slot machines to their backs.

“This? Its nothing!” Remus flips the coin again, letting the stranger catch it in the air. “I’m more impressive in the bedroom.”

The man hums, twisting his wrist to look at the coin he caught. “Do you often let people steal 500 American dollars from you?” The man asks so very teasingly as he rolls the coin between his own gloved hands.

“You’re going to give it back,” Remus says with a grin, “One way or another!”

The man has a nice smile-- a smile far nicer than the one the dealer with the scar on his knuckles has-- and its prettier in the present time than looking at it in the future. His teeth are all aligned and straight and his molars grind together just enough to look like a threat. He was dressed better than most of the people out tonight: no fancy tourist with rented suits that barely fit, and he had an actual handkerchief.

Remus wonders if he pulled it out would it be tied to another and another and another like every other clown he’s met?

--No. The man just laughs at him and and twirls the Barney between his hands.He does not ask for it back.--

“You’re awfully confident about getting your money back when this is a game between the house and I,” the man says. He’s got green eyes, and black hair that’s gelled right back out of his face. The way he leans against the table makes him so easy to push--

--The man hits the ground spilling his rack of chips and the nearby tables pounce on them like panthers. Its honestly funny to watch and Remus laughs the entire time as the police are called.--

“I’m confident about a lot of things,” Remus wiggles an eyebrow at him. “How confident are you?”

Instead of answering the man places the purple coin in the betting square on the table. Remus tosses a pumpkin just to top him.

“I heard a rumor that there’s a man here who’s never lost a game before,” The man with the green eyes says and even though there are four other people at the table (betting far lower than them of course; the table minimum is twenty five), Remus feels almost as if its just the two of them in the world. “Can I assume that man is you?”

“You know what they say about assuming,” Remus laughs as the dealer begins her deal, “It makes an ass out of me and you!”

There’s a four of spades in front of him, and an ace of clubs in front of the stranger. The dealer has a five of diamonds.

--He hits and receives a King of diamonds that puts him at fourteen. The stranger also hits, and receives a matching King of diamonds. He stands and the dealer reveals her second card: a jack of clubs. Fifteen to Fourteen to the house.--

--He hits and receives a King of diamonds that puts him at fourteen. The stranger also hits, and receives a matching King of diamonds. He hits a second time and receives a three of clubs. The dealer reveals here second card: a jack of clubs. Seventeen to fourteen to Remus--

The stranger is watching him, Remus notes with a feral grin as he taps the table behind his cards for their lovely dealer. The stranger who was betting using Remus’s money, scans the table and then taps as well.

The dealer gives Remus and Dee their matching Kings of diamonds.

“What are the chances,” The stranger muses. “Perhaps I should bet with your money more often.”

Remus taps the edge of the table behind his cards again.

“Don’t worry about that!” Remus waves him off, “You’re going to lose it in Poker in an hour.”

“Are you challenging me to a game?” the man says, half turning from the table to wave down a drink waitress. “Why would I ever want to play a game of cards with a man who doesn’t lose?”

“Beats me!” Remus admits, “but we end up over there anyway!”

The stranger laughs. It sounds like a melody to Remus’s ears, something soft and warm and Remus thinks he should hate it. Whats the point of soft and warm things when there are chips and cash and not-completely-terrible-whiskeys? Soft and warm things are illusions anyway: no mother’s love is unconditional, and no late night blanket forts in his brothers room last forever.

Isn’t it great? That whole “growing up” thing?

He’s thought about making a call with the payphone but Roman’s old number is someone else's now and Mom answers the landline with a different last name.

Remus is twenty one. Roman should be too. If he managed to stay alive this long without Remus being his godforsaken guardian angel.

The waitress returns with the drink and its a screwdriver that smells like oranges even from where Remus is standing. The stranger gathers up his chips won in the game, and slots them back into his rack.

“Well?” He says, “I would like to see this cheating trick of yours.”

Remus laughs at him taking his own tray. “No one knows my trick.”

“Oh?” The man sips his drink, “No one knows? Do I get a prize if I figure it out?”

Remus’s shoulder brushes with the man as they walk towards the poker tables. Its quieter here, away from the slot machines, and the tables are thick with intense glares at cards. The craps tables are going strong and someone must have just won big because everyone is clapping and someone is screaming. The roulettes are hardly any better, although Remus nearly cleared out a whole dealer last week with his multitude of correct guesses that got him physically dragged from the table because its literally a 1 in 36 chance every single game and theres no way anyone should be able to win three times in a row, much less fifteen.

“I’ll tell you what,” Remus says as they join a table for poker that was just clearing up. “If you can figure out my trick, I’ll do one thing for you.”

“For me?” The man echoes, “Interesting. Anything I want?”

“I will fuck you on this table if you tell me to,” Remus says, making the woman next to them choke on her pina colada.

“Charming,” The man hums, “But I believe I have a much better thought in mind.”

He’s taking it surprisingly seriously and Remus knows he should probably be concerned, but the truth of the matter was, he wasn’t. After all, he spent nine years physically telling the people closest to him that he could see the future, and they didn’t believe him. A strange man who was going to lose the first three hands is never going to believe in a magic like that.

The irony of it all. Remus wonders what he did that pissed off the big G up there so badly that they cursed Remus to never be believed. Maybe he should have just changed his name to Cassandra and started wearing tunics around the casino (because hell yeah those things would have been much more breathable than these slacks and button up he was currently wearing). Plus a tunic would totally show off his calf muscles.

--He gets to play three more games of roulette before he’s forced out by security who ask him very nicely to put on pants before coming back and Remus just thinks its funny how he got in to play in the first place. Turning the poor door boy bright red and stammering--

There’s something fascinating about the way the strangers lips look around the straw, the way his eyes settle on the cards of the table the way his gloves fingers weave over his chips with the certainty of someone who knows what they are doing. Remus thinks that he might have played a game with this man before, once or twice, (because he comes here often enough, doesn’t he?) but his memory hasn’t been great since he was seventeen and thought about crushing his brother’s windpipe.

Remus is twenty one and this stranger looks like danger no matter which way Remus squints at him. But is that such a bad thing?

“Are you going to look at your cards?” The man asks without looking at him.

“No,” Remus says, because he already has in the future and he’s got a seven and an eight both of diamonds. (The strangers fingers hover over his own cards-- a five of clubs and a jack of spades-- and his green eyes darting to glance at Remus in suspicion.) The other players at the table shift nervously and Remus thinks that even the old lady at the end is going to pitch a fit about Poker etiquette but she holds her tongue.

He sees ahead to the rest of the hand, something he glanced at earlier. By the time the dealer draws the turn card, Remus not looking at his cards makes the the business man to their left over confident about his chances about his straight. The couple on his right have both individually decided to back out, and the old lady is holding nothing but a two pair. She folds when she realizes that neither Remus nor the very attractive stranger to his left are going to fall for it.

The stranger folds, the businessman checks, and Remus wins the round with a straight flush without having picked up his cards before revealing them.

“You’re cheating!” The business man yells and Remus grins at him as he takes the two blacks and the quarter that the man bet with.

“Not in any way that you can prove, big boy.”

He’s twenty one and he wins the next three hands before the table clears out of all but him and the stranger who followed him there. Security is called twice to deal with another debugging ritual at the old lady’s insistence and the the dealer is screeched at by several parties. Remus thinks the old guy handles it with grace and elegance: threatening to have security called over if the players don’t sit down right then and there.

“How much do you make in a night?” The stranger asks, as the dealer changes from the older gentleman to a young girl.

“Are you planning something?” Remus asks, inhaling the scent of oranges that waft off this stranger, “Gonna get me drunk and in bed and then steal my money? Slit my throat for good fun?”

“I don’t think I’d have to get you drunk for that,” His eyes slide past Remus for a moment to something across the room.

“Oh, so true,” Remus agrees, “Everyone loves a good bit of knife play!” The dealer begins to shuffle the cards to nicely.

“Besides,” Those green eyes come right back to Remus, startlingly close and perceptive in a way that makes shivers run down Remus’s back. “Shouldn’t you already know the answer to that?”

Remus is twenty one, spending his birthday in a Casino as far away from where he grew up as he can be. And despite not having talked to his family in four years, he can still hear Roman’s voice in his head, chanting a mantra of “I don’t need you”, “I don’t need you”, “I don’t want you”.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, pretty boy,” Remus says picking up his cards to look at them, to feel them, to remind himself he’s here in this casino and not back in the room with his hands on Roman’s fluttering little pulse.

The stranger rolls a Barney from his tray, Remus’s Barney, and places it on the betting pool. “Interesting.”

Remus wonders what that means, but there’s no answering vision. Any time he pushes the stranger laughs it off until the dealer motions for them to play or leave the game.

Remus is twenty one and the way that this stranger said “interesting” is the way a scientist says it before they start dissecting a frog. Clinical, cold, like a knife straight to Remus’s throat. His green eyes are dangerous pins holding Remus in place at this table, but he can’t find it in him to wish he was anywhere else.

The stranger picks up his new cards and pretends to look at them. Remus isn’t sure what that means, isn’t sure why this stranger suddenly seems so much different, isn’t sure what could possibly be more interesting than the card game they're playing.

Until he is.

Of course because--

-- He places another three blacks in the betting pool in front of him and he turns just in time to see the stranger lunging towards the crowd that was passing behind them; towards the armed security guard that was wheeling the fucking cash box of the casino towards the elevator to the vault across the floor fuck. Several guns go off and and there’s a couple hundred screams that break Remus’s eardrums in the moment, but all he’s aware of is the body at his feet, the body of the stranger with pretty green eyes, with welts of red bursting out the back of that nice tailored suit that was suddenly shredded and that face smashed into the floor, but there’s no mistaking the way his skin on the left half of his face wasn’t--

There’s something in the back of his throat that tears him up inside, like he’s regurgitating a bunch of swords he forgot he had swallowed. Every hair on his body stands on end, curling with an electric current that didn’t actually exist but one that Remus couldn’t get out of his veins even is he started carving with a knife--

He forgot-- how did he forget? He hated the color red so damn much; how could he have forgotten that?

He grabs the stranger beside him with an iron grip and pressed him to the table as that cash box rolled by, as that future twists away, as that sight fades from his vision from something plausible to a nothingness in the back of his mind.

“Sir?! Sir!”

The stranger gasps for air, looking caught between surprised and not, with those fake green eyes and that stolen black hair, and that completely unmarred face and makes Remus’s skin crawl. Remus wonders if this stranger--this stupid idiot of a stranger-- knows his body reverts to normal once he’s dead and gone and passed.

The rest of the table is in chaos, and Remus isn’t sure if its because both his and this stranger’s chips just got tossed across the table with the viciousness of a life or death (or death or death or death) situation, or because the Dealer dropped her deck, or because Remus just grabbed a man and that wasn’t poker etiquette or something else entirely.

He doesn’t care.

He lets go of the stranger (the living, breathing alive stranger), and he shoves through the buzzed, singing pair behind him, knocking them both to the ground. His hands-- oh fuck his hands sting and shake with some emotion that Remus can’t remember the name of.

“Sir! Your chips!”

Remus rips at the collar of his shirt, tearing off an entire button as he struggles to get enough oxygen in his lungs. The golden walls shimmer and shine and distract, but Remus throws himself through the crowd to the exit.

Remus is twenty one the first time he meets someone else like him.

Well not entirely like him, because this stranger who stumbled upon him by chance doesn’t see the blood, or the deaths, or the future. He doesn’t know all the consequences, doesn’t know the feeling of seeing living, breathing people just stop, doesn’t know what it smells like to mix blood and a half finished screwdriver on the floor of a casino for a box of cash that he had no chance of leaving the building with in the first place.

The night air hits him like an eighteen wheeler (which Remus knows what that feels like, he does, because he thought about it once out of curiosity four years ago when he couldn’t quite believe that he had wasted seventeen years of his life on someone who would never been willing to do the same). Its bitter cold and harsh and it tears his skin almost right off his bones.

He stumbles and nearly falls, does fall, is caught.

Caught by the back of his shirt and hoisted back up, with a second hand stabilizing him by his chest. Remus starts to laugh because he didn’t see this coming. Of course he didn’t see this coming.

Its almost like that day when he didn’t see that argument with Roman coming, except back then he was looking ahead and that wasn’t an option, and now he just hadn't been looking long enough, hard enough, close enough.

Remus feels something against his back, solid, cold, oh its a wall. The stranger who followed him from Blackjack to poker, who bet with Remus's money, who just caused Remus to lose his first game of cards ever-- that stranger with green eyes that aren't real is right in front of him pressing him to the wall and holding him steady.

Remus laughs harder like he can dislodge the cancerous lump in his throat by the force of his will alone.

"Did I die?" The stranger asks as Remus wheezes for air.

And isn't that just hilarious?

"Everyone...dies!" Remus convulses under the man's touch, "Everyone dies... someday, Scales!"

The stranger isn’t like him, because instead of seeing things and wondering if they’re all in his head, he fucking changes his appearance.

Remus hiccups painfully-- a gasping air that shreds his diaphragm as he laughs with tears on his face. He forgot again: how he hates the sight of red, how he needs to breath if he wants to keep living, how he's too old to be crying over every single, little, itty, bitty death he sees.

"You can see the future," the man says like a statement while Remus drags his nails over his own face and through his hair to get rid of his worthless tears.

"Its funny!" Remus grins with all his teeth. "It's always funny! Did you know you revert back to your natural half snake self when you die?"

The stranger flinches, just like everyone does when Remus opens his mouth and talks about death, just like someone who’s afraid of dying, just like Roman.

“You,” Remus says gaining enough sense of his own to shove the stranger off of him and back, “You are…batshit fucking insane!” He laughs, because what else is there to do? Scream? Cry?

(He’s screamed and cried before. It doesn’t work, because they never believed him and then they go and get hurt and tell Remus to shut up, shut up, I don’t need you--!)

“How far in the future can you see?” The stranger asks.

“Take me to dinner first,” Remus twists a hand through his hair, then drags it down his face, smushing his nose and flattening his mustache and then dropping it into the empty air.

The stranger catches his hand, and the silk touch of the gloves freezes Remus’s where he stands, against the wall of a casino in a dark alley where the shimmering light doesn’t touch and the sound is strangely diluted.

“Answer me,” the stranger demands.

Remus laughs, “Or what? You’ll turn your hands into claws and rip my throat out? Maybe roll your body into a giant python and choke the life out of me without leaving a fingerprint? Can you secrete poisons too? Spit them right into my eyes--”

His other gloved hand goes right over Remus’s mouth, squeezing the hallows of his cheeks until its just borderline painful. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Remus already knows the answer before this stranger asks, already knows that despite the burning closeness between them, despite the cool indifference he’s been portraying, despite the millions of ways that he could kill Remus, he’s not going to, not in any way that matters.

He’s a good guy like that.

Kinda.

“You must think I’m insane,” Remus gurgles, shoulders shaking from laughing, with the future in his eyes and no air in his lungs.

“Are you?”

“Not that insane. Not yet!” He pushes off the wall and leans forward into his companions personal space until their faces aren’t more than a few inches apart. “Can’t you tell? I’m the pinnacle of stability, Slitherous Snape!”

“Stability is a lie made up by society to sell more products.” The man waves him off, easily without putting so much as an inch between them. “You are a seer. And I’m in desperate want of someone who can see the future.”

“Because you want to rob the casino we just left,” Remus says.

It sounds different coming from his own lips rather than the man before him. It sounds different hanging in the space between them. It sounds different being a real thing.

“Because I want to screw over the owner of that casino for some unsavory acts he performed against someone who was dear to me,” The man corrects.

“An altruist!” Remus does a shimmy with his upper body. “All that money is just a bonus then, right?”

“Oh yes absolutely! And How…” The man hesitates and clears his throat innocently, “How much money…did you say?”

Remus laughs at him, again. The hysteria is fading leaving another pesky emotion that Remus doesn’t know if he likes or not. Its dangerous, he knows that. Dangerous because even while he stands here, talking to this shapeshifter who is every bit a lie as a person can be, he feels his heels beginning to dig into this idea.

This stupid awful terrible idea. This What if---

---oh…. Oh no.---

“How many times do we die?” The man asks, breathlessly excited. “How many times do we get away?”

Remus is twenty one and he knows that stealing is morally wrong.

But.

But there’s a man in front of him who likes money far too much and a casino behind him that’s filled to the brim with cash waiting and six hundred fifty million futures where they both die painful, violent, expected deaths.

And for once Remus can’t even focus on that part of this frankly awful idea. He’s too busy focusing on the way that in every single future-- all of them-- there’s not even a little--

Remus watches them again and again, as many times as he can until he almost forgets that they haven’t even happened.

And oh.

The stranger is looking at him and there’s something in those green eyes that he can’t hide even if he wanted to.

“There’s a dealer,” Remus says, because he needs to see it happen for real. “Two inches taller, blue eyes, scar on his knuckles. Turn into him.”

The stranger blinks and his eyes are blue, his skin ripples like a puddle when a child jumps in it, and suddenly Remus is staring at someone completely different and yet entirely the same. The man before him is the dealer from the casino, but when he smiles so softly all Remus can see is that stranger who didn’t hesitate at all.

And oh.

Remus knows he’s in trouble, because he can feel electricity in his veins, that burns all of his nerves and hijacks his brain. Because this is what its like for someone to trust his power, for someone to have complete and utter faith in him.

This is what someone believing him when he said he could see the future is like.

“You’re bleeding,” The man says tentatively.

“Happens,” Remus says cupping his hand under his nose to catch the red splatters before they hit the ground. In the shadows he can’t see just how scarlet they are and he thinks that’s a relief. “You really….you really didn’t hesitate.”

“Should I have?” The man cocks his head to the side, half a grin on his face, as if he doesn’t quite get the joke Remus is telling. (There’s no joke, and that fact alone makes Remus’s stomach flip.)

The question is a loaded gun anyway and Remus doesn’t feel like pulling the trigger on himself today at least.

Remus is twenty one and he helps rob his first casino.

Which seems insane, because Remus is a lot of things, but he wasn’t really a lawbreaker until that moment he talked the man who could shapeshift into anyone straight through the four levels of security and the cameras and figured out the codes that he needed to get in to the vault and the path he needed to take out, which led him all the way up the stairs to Remus’s hotel room.

There’s enough money on the floor to fix the world hunger. The man, his partner in crime, the shapeshifter sits in the middle of it like a dragon watching his hoard, scribbling mathematics on the hotel provided pad of paper so that he can count it all. His shapeshift is off, allowing Remus a look at his green scales and yellow eye without all the blood.

He’s grinning like the cat that caught that little canary. Remus thinks its a good look on him.

Remus holds one of his poker chips in his hand, a Barney that wandered off from the casino floor and found its way to Remus’s hotel room.

“So,” He says, because silence has never been his type of thing, “What now? We split ways?”

The man makes another mark on his pad of paper shuffling through the green papers. “I’m afraid not. You still owe me.”

“What?” Remus turns to face him, and if there’s a spark in his chest, a nudge of excitement, well who can blame him? Its not like hes spent his whole life waiting for people to leave him.

Another dash on the paper. “We made a deal, unless you’ve forgotten. You said that if I could figure out how you were cheating, you’d do one thing that I want you to do.”

Remus snorted and waved to the money around them, “What do you call this?”

“This?” The man gave him a shark-like smile, “You did this of your own violation!” He held up a wad of cash, a smug superior smile on his face, that makes his fangs glisten.

“I seem to recall you asking,” Remus challenges.

“Not in this timeline, Love Muffin,” The man throws the cash at him. “You still have blood on your face by the way.”

Remus lets the cash fall to the floor because money is nice, but there’s something much nicer about the way that this man is looking at him, the way he’s still looking at him, like Remus is something more than a nuisance, more than a distraction, more than an unwanted, frustrating intrusion.

“What do you want?” Remus says, because he hasn’t looked ahead this far yet and the uncharacteristic fear in his chest is slowly turning all his organs to butterflies.

He knows what he wants this man to say, knows what he wants to hear come out of this man's mouth and he thinks that if he looks in the future and its not what happens, Remus will surely explode right there in his (their) room.

“Hm?” The man says tapping his hotel offered pencil to his chin. “Well, you did say anything I wanted right? Anything at all?”

Remus nods, rolling his finger over the snake design on his stolen poker chip.

“Well then, the one thing I want…” He hesitates, “...is for us to stick together. I think we make quite the team, don’t you? My name is Dee.”

“Remus,” He chokes, because suddenly there doesn’t seem to be enough air in the world, and he’s afraid if he inhales too deeply trying to get more, the whole reality will shatter.

Dee makes another mark on the paper. “Well Remus,” He says, “Any other places you’d like to rob with me?”

Remus is twenty one and he thinks that this is the best birthday he’s ever had.

(Part Three)

#sanders sides #Remus Sanders #deceit sanders #roman sanders #deja vu au #remus has precognition #casinos #Blood #violence #robbery #Sometimes you just gotta Oceans Eleven this Shit #the author probably should have slept instead of written but #oh well #Demus? Demus #The power of friendship compels you to rob a casino

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oureuphoria · 4 years

Text

Worst of You - JJK 06

You meet him under horrible circumstances but everything feels perfect when you’re with him. Too bad you have a bitch of a best friend, anxiety and an inability to learn from your mistakes which cripples your chances to be with the man of your literal dreams. He, however, is a police officer with years worth of built-up turmoil and an inability to make attachments. Or “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong.” “Cool, I’ll let everyone know you’re moving in then.”

Genre: fluff, angst, comedy

Pairing: officer!jungkook X collegestudent!reader

Word count: 2,295

Note: Shit’s starting to get WiLd.

| 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 |

Unfortunately for you, the second you walked into your dorm room you were graced by the presence of a wild Jimin in his natural habitat, your couch. “Ooo, you’re back late? Were you on a date?” You ignored him and proceeding to take off your shoes, fighting the tempting urge to throw one at him. “Yes actually, I was.” You saw Alex slowly emerge from her room wearing nothing but his shirt and held back the desire to roll your eyes, it wasn’t long ago that she had been complaining about how much she hated Jimin and yet there she was. “Oh shit with who?” Jimin eagerly asked, he clearly didn’t believe someone like you could land a date and while he was right, you couldn’t let him know that.

“Your mom.” You usually were the bigger person, although with Jimin you couldn’t resist and frankly you didn’t care to try. Ever since high school your personalities had constantly clashed. He was one of the loud, rambunctious kids and you hated those kids with a passion, the type that would insult teachers for entertainment and pick on kids who couldn’t fight back. You considered it water under the bridge but your hatred for each other never really subsided. You speed-walked to your room before he could formulate a reply and you could hear Alex scoffing at your childishness but you didn’t care. And it felt liberating to not give a shit about what Alex thought.

Meanwhile, Jungkook was at a bar trying to pry his newly discovered feelings for you away with a symbolic crowbar others referred to as alcohol. He had work the next day so while getting piss drunk was tempting, he needed to resist. He just wished that he would be able to resist you half as well as he could resist whiskey but you were all the more intoxicating and infinitely more addictive. You were kind, pure and entirely undamaged by the harsh realities of life. Jungkook hadn’t felt so carefree in a while and he didn’t want to get attached to the feeling either. “I’m sure you didn’t screw up that bad.” “She confessed to me, I kissed her and then I basically kicked her out of my car.” “What the fuck, Jeon? That’s bad, even for you.” He elbowed Mel gently at the statement but he understood where she was coming from, when it came to love Jungkook was no smarter than a brick. “Well, she kissed me on the cheek before she left so I don’t think she was upset about it.” Mel gave Jungkook’s evidently empty head a sharp flick which had Jungkook rushing to soothe it. “What the fuck was that for?” “You basically just gave her a confirmation that you liked her back.” Jungkook simply shook his head and walked away. Denial was his safest option but his self control was deteriorating at a rate faster than he could manage. He just wished you’d give him the distance to truly get over you.

You woke up far too early for a Wednesday, your classes didn’t start until 11 and there was really no reason for you to be up anytime before 9 but Alex’s sobbing wasn’t subtle and if you weren’t sure she didn’t care, you would’ve thought she was trying to wake you up.

You knocked lightly before poking your head in and true to your prior speculations, Alex was crying. “Hey, what’s wrong?” You sat next to her on the edge of her bed and allowed her to cry into your shoulder. You may have lost all your trust, respect and love for her but you still cared enough to stay. Either that or you were too scared to break things off. “Jimin and I broke up.” You tried not to chuckle. Her pain was in no way amusing to you (okay, maybe a little) but her unhealthy, on-again off-again relationship was mildly amusing to you. “I know you don’t want to hear this but I think this is better for you. I just hope you’re done for good this time.” She nodded in agreement but you knew she wasn’t going to listen.

Jungkook wasn’t very good at asking girls out, primarily because he never really had to. He hasn’t been on an actual date since he was with his last serious girlfriend 5 years ago and he only ever hooked up with girls while half-drunk since then. Therefore, Jungkook had no idea what he was doing standing outside of your dorm building at 6pm. He didn’t even ask if you were free. He pressed the buzzer for your dorm number and wasn’t really surprised when your roommate responded instead. “Hello, Y/N did you forget your key card again?” “Hi, I’m Jungkook. Y/N’s friend.” Alex frowned in confusion as she raked her memories for the familiar name. She tried to think of any rational reason as to why a man would be here for you. He must be that Jungkook. She let him in and waited for him to knock on the door. “Y/N isn’t here right now but she will be soon, she went out to grab some groceries. You’re welcome to wait for her inside?” Jungkook took her offer and sat tentatively on the couch, after all he didn’t want to impose.

Alex was still an emotional train wreck from her break-up (which you weren’t allowed to know the details about) and opted to quietly sniffle on the other end of the couch. Jungkook tried to ignore it but he thought that if he were to establish a relationship with you, he should get along with your roommate. “Uhh, are you okay?” She nodded unconvincingly and every ounce of Jungkook’s being begged him to give up, but human decency suggested that the socially accepted protocol would be to ask again. “Are you sure?” And suddenly, like a dam that unexpectedly bursted, her sniffling turned to sobbing and she was crying on Jungkook’s shoulder. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Whatever it is I’m sure it’ll work out.” Textbook advice that was in no way helpful, but it was all he could think of without knowing what she was even crying about.

Alex looked up to face him through her heavy eyelashes. It might’ve been the heartbreak talking but he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen and all she could think about was kissing his gorgeous lips. She should’ve thought about you, she should’ve thought about him, she should’ve thought in general but she didn’t and just as she lunged forward, Jungkook had pushed her away and you had made your presence noticeable.

“Seriously Alex?” She was startled when she saw you standing at the door and she could feel the guilt settle in when she saw the tears in your eyes. “Y/N, I’m so s-.” “Save it.” You rolled your eyes before blinking the tears away and aggressively dropping the grocery bags onto your kitchen island. You tried to wipe away whatever was left of your tears before you turned around, you didn’t want her to think you were weak. “I didn’t-” Jungkook started, but you were quick to interrupt him. “Shut up Jungkook, it’s not you I’m mad at.” While your tone was venomous, Jungkook was just grateful you weren’t mad at him although in that moment, he would’ve rather been anywhere else but in the middle of your catfight.

“I get your upset but come on, look at him, you can’t seriously think you’re his type?” That was the exact moment you would’ve burst into tears if it wasn’t for Jungkook watching on the sidelines. You were going to keep your resolve together even if it were to kill you. “It doesn’t matter, good friends don’t kiss boys their friends like, Alex! It’s common sense.” “And what do you know about being a good friend?”

Pin-drop silence followed that question and the tension in the room had skyrocketed. You didn’t know what to say and neither did she. You could tell she felt guilty but Alex was never good at admitting her mistakes. “You’re right, what do I know?” You walked to your room and closed the door but the little sprint before you entered warned Jungkook that you were crying. He contemplated following you but he was worried you wanted space. Ultimately, the awkward silence Jungkook had to endure was more than enough motivation to power through his worries and knock on your door.

“Give me a second.” Jungkook could hear the pain in your voice, the hiccup in your breath and the subtle sounds of excessive amounts of tissues being pulled. When you eventually opened the door, your face was tear-free and you wore an artificial smile on your face. You made room for him to come in and while he entered you muttered an apology. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” You didn’t want him to think you were pathetic or emotional so you kept the facade, you had been pushing aside your feelings for years, you could handle a few more minutes. “Just for the record, I didn’t want to kiss her.” You giggled at his attempt to lighten the mood, maybe it was too soon to laugh but something about it felt bitter.

“I know, honestly we fight like this all the time - it’s not a big deal.” That was a lie and Jungkook could tell which was why he pulled you in for a comforting hug where he whispered, “it’s okay to cry, Y/N, I can tell you want to.” You cried and with every passing second you cried harder. You knew that things would never be the same, they were never going to after that godforsaken party that you never should’ve gone to but it still felt nice. It felt nice to have a shoulder to cry on, someone to turn to that at least seemed like they cared.

Time passed before you stopped crying and you honestly didn’t know how much although the slight ache after pulling away from the hug was an indicator that it had been a while. “Oh no! I’m sorry I got your shirt wet.” You grabbed another excessive set of tissues to try and dry it, genuine guilt on your face. “It’s fine, Y/N. I never liked this shirt anyway.” You smiled and Jungkook’s heart softened at the way your eyes smiled with you. You needed a distraction and like a 13-year-old, all he could think of was to ask you out to a movie.

“Can we watch the new Bad Boys movie? I heard Vanessa Hudgens is in it and I can’t wait to make high school musical jokes.” Jungkook chuckled at your joke until he realised you weren’t kidding. “Bad Boys, Y/N seriously? You’re making me watch a cop movie?” “It’s either that or Frozen 2. Your choice.” He sighed and shook his head jokingly before approaching the kiosk to buy the tickets. You wanted to repay him for paying for dinner so you had sneakily paid while Jungkook was reaching for his wallet. Despite the fact that the tickets cost a fraction of the price he paid at the restaurant, Jungkook was still upset and gave you an extensive lecture on why you should never do that again.

“Hey, isn’t funny how you and Will Smith are both cops that drive expensive Porsches?” “You know, the movie was actually based on my life.” You gave him a skeptical look to which he shrugged. Jungkook would never tell you but he hated every second of it and found himself enjoying your reactions more than the actual film. He knew he was in trouble, knee-deep in it actually, but looking at you so happy made him realise he didn’t mind.

The walk to the car was short and by the time you got there, you had already exhausted all of the jokes you could possibly think of about the movie. “Jungkook?” He hummed to let you know that he was listening while he started the engine, this time he knew what was coming and he had already prepared an answer. “I never really got an answer to my question form last week and I just…” You completely lost your train of thought and Jungkook smiled at how nervous you were. He thought he had already made it very clear but Jungkook was infamously bad at expressing his emotions so he didn’t mind voicing it. “Yes, Y/N, I like you too.” You tried to hide your relief and bit back the smile that was growing on your lips. You simply cleared your throat and mustered out a quiet, “cool.”

The second you arrived at your dorm, you unbuckled your seatbelt and tried to rush out of the car before things would escalate but Jungkook pulled the door shut. “Not even a thanks?” You pouted and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m sorry, thank you.” You tried to leave again but his hand didn’t budge. You turned to face him and his face had inched a lot closer, your lips almost touching. He was leaning closer and you were subconsciously leaning in too but the second you had realised, you pulled back abruptly before your lips could touch and hit your head on the car roof. “Ouch…” You rubbed your head and Jungkook chuckled as he returned to his original position.

“Y/N, if you don’t want to kiss me you can just say so, I don’t mind.” You could feel the panic settling in. You wanted to kiss him, really, really, badly but you were afraid that your lack of experience would ruin everything. “I do want to kiss you! It’s just…I’m not very good at it.” You very quietly mumbled that last part but Jungkook still heard and squeezed your face in one of his hands. “Baby, it’s not a big deal, you’ll get better with practice I promise.” You couldn’t reply with your cheeks squished together. “Can we try that again?” “No injuries this time?” You groaned and covered your face with your hands from embarrassment but Jungkook was quick to apologise and pull your hands away.

Once his lips were on yours, you’d forgotten about everything else. He did most of the work but you’d like to think that you contributed a little. Eventually, it just felt natural and you didn’t really want to stop. Unfortunately, you needed oxygen and when you pulled away breathless, Jungkook chuckled. “We need to work on your stamina. Wanna try again?” You giggled at his lame attempt at tricking you but you kissed him again nonetheless, this time more prepared. You could feel Jungkook lean back and his hand on your cheek subtly dragged you with him. When your hand fell onto his upper thigh for balance, Jungkook knew he’d need to stop, worried he might scare you with his oncoming boner.

“You should go up now, it’s getting late.” You pouted, upset at the fact that you couldn’t kiss him for longer. “Are you sure? I think I need more practice.” You kissed him again but he kept it short, giving you a few more pecks before pinching your cheek. “I’ll see you again soon and then I promise you infinite kisses, okay?” You nodded and waved him whispering a small goodnight as you left the care. There was no way to deny that Jungkook had feelings for you, but in that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The second you got into your room, you fell face-first onto the bed, grabbed the nearest pillow and squealed like a teenage girl. When you had eventually stopped, you got ready for bed in an attempt to push Jungkook to the back of your mind. If you were going to get any semblance of sleep, you’d need to do it now before the feeling of his lips consumed you entirely.

#jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #bts #bts fic #bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts imagines

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tosikoarts · 4 years

Text

SFW Alphabet | Mihael Keehl

You can check tosikowrites tag for more! Warning: there’s a lot under the cut.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

The most straightforward among main three of Wammy’s boys. His interpretation of own feelings is excellent and he makes sure everybody around knows about them. If he hates you, you’ll feel a burning hole in your back whether it is because of intense staring or literal bullet. If he loves you, you’ll be surrounded by abundance of affection.

When it comes to person he loves, Mello is very vocal. Words do matter, they oblige you and put responsibility on your shoulders. That’s why he loves to brag about his dearest to the closest friends, and even acquaintances know about this one special person. Another important thing is nickname, which Mello chooses based on the brightest features of character/appearance. Baby, honey, dearest are common too but he feels that they deserve exceptional treatment and exceptional nickname.

He absolutely loves physical affection. Skin to skin contact gives him weird sensation right in the head as if he can physically feel neurons releasing dopamine. It also helps with keeping his anxiety under control.

By the way, sometimes inferiority complex gets the best of him, and in these moments he is extremely capricious. For the same reason Mello may act like his loved one deserves everything, while he can go with bare minimum.

He is great at reassurances. The second he realizes his loved one is insecure, upset, lost, the gears in his head start zealously turning. The words he uttered are always spoken in the right tone and able to touch the necessary strings of the soul. At the same time Mello always has doubts in the efforts made.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Friendship with Mello carries spirit of 80s-90s. It’s a wild ride he once invited you to and then you couldn’t get off. Stuff gets messy, stuff gets hot, but it doesn’t matter until you both have fun.

He will roast you so much and will never get offended if you roast him in response. Mello aims for a good laugh only. His favorite entertainment is to go shopping together just to critic each other’s outfits.

You better move that body when he drags you on the dance-floor. Blasting music and colorful lights make him feel like a fish in the water so Mello will try to teach you dance. Yes, from the easiest ones to Michael Jackson’s moonwalk.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Cuddles are essential for relationship with Mello. He enjoys snuggle up to his loved one on calm evenings, when there’s nothing to disturb the peace. Warmness of loved one’s head on his chest and smell of their skin calm him down better than chamomile-mint tea. He loves to listen to the sound of another person’s heartbeat as well.

Mello has one pet peeve tho: frequent head pats and hair stroking lead to greasy hair and this is exactly what he hates. If they put hand on his beautiful blond locks, he will take them by the finger and place their palm on his lips. This is a small but very loud gesture.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

The thought of settling down never popped up in his head. Mello is way too young, he wants to live his life to the maximum without thinking about another dirty plate in the sink or how long it takes to make boiled eggs. Based on this you can say he doesn’t like to do any housework. His cooking skills are decent but he prefers creative mess to boring order. Mello likes to help someone in kitchen when he is in the good mood.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Nervous type he is, Mello doesn’t want to end this relationship. But he has to. But he can’t. He is indecisive and hesitates on the way to them. Hell, if they are in good mood or overly excited, Mello won't say a word about break up. In his mind it has to be like pulling a tooth – painful but necessary, - but real life doesn’t work that way. When the moment finally comes he cannot keep his voice steady. Mello tries to end it as fast as possible and hold back a scream because yelling at his loved one is something he promised he’ll never do. Actually, I can see him doing something impulsive to blow off steam. Breaking random stuff, for example, or shooting bottles.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

No. Getting married is too much. He can’t see wedding bells ring no matter how hard he tries. Every day he becomes more confident in thought that strong sincere relationship do not need bureaucracy in the form of marriage. The only time you need a marriage certificate is during the divorce process. Mello isn’t 100% sure but pretty close to this percentage. If his loved one insists on marriage he will immerse in conflicting feelings. Then his next actions will depend on many factors but Mello definitely will try to explain his position and convince them in its validity.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Mello is on the rougher side when it comes to both physical and emotional affection. Childhood in the orphanage, involvement with the mafia, psychological issues, and responsibility placed on his shoulders taught it is necessity to be tough to survive in this world. When he lets his guard down nasty inner voice keeps reminding Mello about situations in which it could be a critical mistake. This leads us to the next point.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Here he comes, another touched-starved male with trust issues. Mello needs time to get used to soft touch of other’s person hands. Sometimes he puts too much strength in his hugs and it may come across a little rough. Likes them anyway, takes initiative 90% of the time.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

It completely and entirely depends on his gut feeling. Something elusive tells him whether to trust a person or not, it’s not a rational decision. As soon as this strange sensation appears, he will immediately calmly utter three treasured words, and it’s not even so important for him to hear them in return. Mello just wants another person to know that they have become an integral part of his life.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

In addition to being easily jealous, Mello is scary as hell when someone is hitting on his loved one. If he witness such insolence, he will be extremely vocal and, well, unexpectedly rude. He is not afraid to get physical too.

If it’s his loved one who is acting flirtatious, Mello will be pissed off as well. His feelings are explosive mix of disappointment, anger, malcontent. It’s better to get off his way and let him cool a little before trying to explain anything or make excuses. In a fit of jealous rage he may say some terrible things which he’ll regret later.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

The most passionate kisser imaginable. He loves to kiss and he knows how to do it properly so why would you complain. He tends to forget about personal boundaries in process so make out sessions can get really… touchy. Anyway, loves to shower his loved one with kisses all over them, but lip smooches are his favorite. At the same time Mello doesn’t care where they kiss him because of solid fact he is being kissed.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He is so awkward. Calm/gentle/kind children are ok, but if he has to deal with angry little shit who throws tantrum whenever possible, he will flip out. Being around his own children is more or less bearable but don’t expect much when it’s someone else's kids annoying poor man. Mello definitely will teach his favorite one all of the swear words as a joke.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

On a free day no matter who wakes up first you will spend another hour in the bed cuddling. Then life will pour cold water on you when Mello gets frustrated with making breakfast. This may grow into small quarrel but most of the time he pulls himself together and you two find a satisfying compromise. During breakfast on work week you rarely hear any plans for the day from him but he stays curious about your schedule just to see if he can catch you for a lunch or a short call. Nothing special, really.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Night is his favorite time of the day. Neon signs, coolness, slight buzz of a big city work as a charm on Mello, he feels free from people’s staring, empty chatter, and daily duties. If he could show the world as he sees it to his loved one, at least approximate image, dim reflections of pale moon in the high-rises’ glass, he would. So to do it he takes them on late night walks and rides, new places every time.

Cafes and restaurants are another of his weaknesses, not only pastry shops, but also small diners with food that would seem boring to many. Take-outs are frequent too because chilling under the lilac sky and stargazing with Mello are 10 out of 10.

Don't let yourself be fooled, he likes to stay inside as much. Thanks to Matt, you’ll spend most of the time playing video-games and drinking pop until one of you starts yawning.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Mello is straightforward within adequate limits. You wouldn’t expect person to blur out “I hunt a Kira with my genius rival that works with FBI and Japanese Police” at any point of your movie night anyway, right? He does not pretend and does not resort to excessive secrecy but prefers to reveal facts about himself one by one.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Quickly gets angry, quickly cools down. Sadly, he his emotions are too strong and he does not know how to handle them and it often ends in heated argument. Even during a quarrel he feels his actions are hurting you but it’s not something he can stop at the click of a finger. After everything has settled down he is extremely remorseful and tried to make amends but Mello never ever promises to change. Why you make ask? In that case actions speak louder than words.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Remembers the stupidest things. He can’t remember any important dates like the day you started dating but will remind you about the most embarrassing thing you did in high school. Hell, he forgets your number sometimes but can describe the exact clothes you wore on that rainy day when car splashed you.

Unknown forces help Mello in choosing a birthday present. He has no clue what you wanted and if you wanted anything at all. Surprisingly, it always hits the mark.

Tried to write down “important” stuff about you once. Failed miserably. Decided to never do it again.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

The first time when they confessed their love to him since Mello rewound this moment in his head like a hundred times. He remembers what color sky was and what song was playing on the background and those little details made this moment more beautiful than the masterpieces of the Louvre. Joy overwhelmed him and he couldn’t get this picture off his head for a few days too.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Not that paranoid protective and obviously doesn’t need to be protected However, he will be fluttered if person showed that they care. He will freak put if they don’t answer his calls or messages for hours and in the case of real danger he will take that gun and shoot someone as a warning.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He puts more effort in the beginning of relationship and its amount slowly declines with time. The closer he gets, the less he needs to try to cover up his sharp edges and imperfections or try to distract person with some kind of mask, mannerism, maneuver. Playing nice in early stages of dating gives him chance to throw the bait, to show he is able to be that datable material. A completely different question is whether a person wants to stay with him in spite of his inner demons.

Mello likes to surprise them with something special on anniversaries. Expect romantic late night motorcycle ride, car dates with take-out, and, of course, gifts. He likes to make/buy a presents person will like, something they wanted for a long time but couldn’t afford.

Acts extra-extra after anger tantrums. He knows he fucked up, okay, he just can’t control himself. Yes, it’s a lot easier to cover up consequences with huge bouquet and box of chocolates than to correct behavior learned over the years.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

If you ever had to deal with person stubborn as a donkey, you’ve seen demo-version of Mello’s behavior. Making compromises is not his strategy, so get ready for “this is the only right option”, “I said what I said”, “Yeah, go ahead, I’ll do it my way”. He immediately begins to sulk and spill his sassiness all over the place if things don’t go his way.

Doubtful impulsive decisions are most likely the cause of constant arguing and problem mentioned above. At first he does something (to say the least) stupid with impressive confidence. Then, after hours or days, his brains finally comes up with reasonable arguments but now it’s too late to back out.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

It’s obvious Mello likes to take care of himself. His sense of style is indisputable, he sticks to it and never fails to embellish the picture with shiny jewelry or other accessories. There may be dirt on his leather boots and soot on fur hood but they only complete his conceived image.

Probably has one company from which he buys all the hair care products. Feeling of easy combing through smooth silky hair before bed is another of his a little happiness.

How does he have such perfect face despite eating chocolate everyday? Mello is fond of beauty creams, masks, serums, and he doesn’t allow a single pimple ruin his day. Also, he uses different healing creams to soften the scars.

He would love to mess around with loved one trying new beauty products. There’s nothing better than taking care of each other.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Yes, yes, yes. It doesn’t matter why they are not in his life anymore, he feels devastated. All attempts to distract himself fail as he goes back to thinking about them every five-ten minutes, and not only thinking but overthinking. Sometimes his thoughts throw him back to the past, first meeting, first kiss, and it gnaws Mello even more.

If they left for some reason, he will try to get them back. A chance meeting in the evening is completely planned, he also rehearsed his lines in the head more than a thousand times just to stay calm and avoid going off on tangent.

If they died, he will attend their grave for a few months. It doesn’t help much. He becomes incredulous and gloomy, scaring everyone around with frequent mood swings and defiant behavior. I can see him growing more actively aggressive and acting like he doesn’t have anything to lose too.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Because of his chocolate addiction, Mello has to visit dentist’s office quite frequently. The problem is he hates dentists and everything about them. The sound of a dental drill makes his skin crawl.

Mello can pull off any style, rock any outfit. He can dress up in trash bag and be fabulous as always. You can splash that man with the dirtiest water and he will still shine bright like a diamond. Unholy beauty.

He was that kid that got the highest score on Facebook picky sheet. He hates broccoli, never eats mushrooms, avoids pickles. Name any controversial food – he doesn’t eat it.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Mello can deal with pushy people but manipulators drive him nuts. As soon as he notice the smallest attempt to manipulate him, he will lash out. So you have to be the master manipulator to twist him around your finger or the batshit crazy person to pull an obvious manipulation on him.

Absence of communication. He won’t play mind games and try to guess your thoughts, so you better speak out your mind.

Oh, Mello doesn’t want a person who nods to everything he says. Sharing personal opinions plays a big role in relationships and he won’t agree to lose such way to connect.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Mello sticks to adequate sleeping schedule. His lifestyle forces him to break it from time to time but he quickly makes up for sleepless nights. He doesn’t even get moody or irritated. On the contrary, his reactions slow down, and the only thing he is interested in is comfortable bed.

Speaking of comfort, Mello likes to wrap himself in fluffy blankets. The more pillows there are around him, the better his mood will be in the morning.

Dark chocolate rich in magnesium can help you sleep better so Mello prefers switch from milk chocolate to dark in the evening. It is not uncommon to find a wrapper foil on the nightstand in his bedroom.

#death note #mello #mihael keehl #death note headcanon #death note imagines #mello headcanon #tosikowrites

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akechicrimes · 4 years

Note

7 or 71 for either shuake or yukamitsu [big eye emojis]

7. “I told you that I’d never leave you; I’m not going anywhere.”

On Goro’s thirty-fourth birthday at ten-thirty in the morning, Akira calls him at work and says, “Happy birthday, dear. I just got hit by a car, and I need to know what color bike you want.”

On Goro’s thirty-fourth birthday at ten-thirty in the morning, Akira calls him at work (which Goro dubiously eyeballs for a whole four seconds before picking up) and says, “Happy birthday, dear. I just got hit by a car, and I need to know what color bike you want.”

Well, neither Goro nor Akira own a car for Akira to drive, so that means Akira got hit on foot. Goro is very calm, and has no immediate panic response to that, because he’s a rational and responsible adult. “Are you dead?” Goro asks.

“Probably not.”

“And is there a reason you’re calling me instead of the ambulance?”

“Oh, I’m fine. I think I have a bruise on one of my legs, if that counts. But I was riding your bike when it happened, so the bike got totaled, so, you know. They’ve got the same model you had, but there’s tons of new colors, if you want pictures.”

Goro takes a very long, very deep breath. Goro is very, extremely calm. “Anything is fine,” he says. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, hundred percent. I even landed on my feet; you should’ve seen it.”

“You should go to the ER anyway,” says Goro, in a voice that is truly the epitome of calm.

“I mean, I guess I could, but that seems like a waste of time. And I don’t want to just leave your bike in the middle of the road.”

“Throw it away if it’s wrecked, then.”

“But it deserves a proper send-off.”

“You’re doing this to me on my birthday, Kurusu.”

“I’ll go to the ER if you go with me,” says Akira hopefully, who is a perennially bad influence who is of the opinion that Goro should have just said he’d be ‘working from home’ and spent the day with him.

Goro takes a look at his calendar, tallies up how many meeting he’d have to reschedule, and waits a whole five seconds before he lets himself say, “Fine,” because Akira just said that he’s fine and Goro isn’t upset and everything is so calm that Goro can wait five seconds before agreeing to leave work. “I’ll see you at Leblanc.”

“Wait, wait, which color for the bike? They’ve got green, blue, a red, a kind of fun rose-gold thing, which is a bit excessive considering it’s a bike, and teal, and a kind of blue and orange Naruto-y thing…”

“Anything is fine.” Goro stops. “Except the last one.”

“Red it is! See you in a bit.”

“Don’t ride that bike back to Leblanc,” says Goro, as if lightning might strike twice on the same day on the same man riding the same model bike of the same color, but Akira’s already hung up. Goro speed-drafts a rescheduling email, copy-pastes it to four different people, and then sprints out the office door without even a goodbye to his coworkers.

Friday, 11:16 AM

FUTABA: hey

FUTABA: hey goro

FUTABA: hey gorororororororororo

FUTABA: HEY MR AKECHI KURUSU

GORO: If it’s about the traffic accident, I heard about it.

GORO: I’m going back to Leblanc now.

FUTABA: no it’s smthg else

FUTABA: well it is about the accident but i got smthg else for u

FUTABA sent MOV19.mp4

FUTABA: ripped this from the traffic cam

GORO: Is this footage of the accident?

FUTABA: yeehaw

GORO: …Thank you for the offer, but I don’t know if I want to see this.

FUTABA: ok i hear u but i promise it’s hilarious

FUTABA: and also u might feel better if u see it

FUTABA: like idk what he told u on the phone but like

FUTABA: look the car even slowed down at the intersection

FUTABA: the dude was obeying traffic laws and everything he was doing something like ten under the speed limit

FUTABA: the car ENTIRELY missed akira

FUTABA: got the bike full on

FUTABA: and then he just rolls up across the hood and up the windshield like a looney toon

FUTABA: rip ur bike tho it just goes cronch

FUTABA: instant pretzel

FUTABA: ty bichael for ur sacrifice

FUTABA: also idk i figured you

FUTABA: might wanna see for urself that he’s okay

FUTABA: like u can see him stand up at the end and he’s not even confused or anything he’s super duper ok

FUTABA: he’s not bullshitting u over the phone and pretending he’s ok when he’s not ok

FUTABA: u know how he does lmao

GORO: …Huh.

GORO: He really did land on his feet for a whole second there, didn’t he?

FUTABA: yeah like a cat

FUTABA: it’s nuts tbh

FUTABA: and then he remembers he’s a human and falls on his ass LMAO

FUTABA: show it to morgana i want his professional kitty cat opinion on the matter

FUTABA: rate akira’s near death experience

FUTABA: also the driver was v nice and v apologetic and he gave akira his insurance

FUTABA: but i have his home address and work address and phone number and the name of his dog if you want it

GORO: Just the insurance will be fine.

FUTABA: kk

GORO: …And thanks for sending the video.

GORO: Even though I already knew he was fine.

FUTABA: you know those like

FUTABA: itty bitty teeny weeny micro dogs

FUTABA: that are like four and a half pounds

FUTABA: but they think they can take any mfer on the block out of sheer will alone

FUTABA: and theyve always got their eyeballs bulging out and they pick fights with 70 pound dogs

FUTABA: and they have only two emotions which are rage and anxiety and they shake constantly because theyre only four pounds and they have So Much Emotion and nowhere to put it so they vibrate at the speed of sound

GORO: Is this a metaphor about me.

FUTABA: it’s a metaphor about you

FUTABA: because i can hear your shaky angry anxious four pound vibrating all the way from the other side of tokyo

GORO: You are the smallest, angriest, most anxious person I know, who regularly picks fights with international hacking organizations and billion-dollar companies.

GORO: And I, somehow, am the angry shaky dog.

FUTABA: your husband got hit by a car on ur birthday

GORO: I know that.

GORO: I do not need to be reminded.

FUTABA: ah yeah

FUTABA: sorry

GORO: He’s fine.

GORO: He said he’s fine.

GORO: And from this footage, he’s more than fine.

FUTABA: he is super double extra fine with a side of fine

GORO: Unless this footage was in any way edited.

GORO: And unless he was faking his call, somehow.

GORO: In which case, I’m going to walk into Leblanc and find out that he was just pretending to be okay so he could hear my voice one last time and Leblanc will be swarming with police officers to break the news the newly bereaved.

GORO: But that’s not going to happen.

GORO: Because Akira is fine, and I’m perfectly fine.

FUTABA: im rly glad to hear my man

GORO: This footage isn’t edited, is it.

FUTABA: no

GORO: Are you very sure?

GORO: Videos are easily modified.

GORO: Would you even know if it was edited?

FUTABA: yes im a literal wizard of course i would know

FUTABA: where are u even getting this idea from

GORO: The entire series of events is unrealistic, isn’t it?

GORO: You said yourself that it was almost like something out of a cartoon.

GORO: The likelihood that someone gets hit by a car and comes out of it entirely no worse for wear is practically ridiculous.

FUTABA: i ripped that film straight from the cam it is entirely unedited

GORO: But how can you be sure? Did you see him in live camera?

FUTABA: i mean no but he texted me

GORO: What if that was his dying text.

FUTABA: i rly dont know if his dying text would have been the “i lived bitch” meme with the cat filter

FUTABA: he’s fine dude

FUTABA: that’s why i sent you the video

GORO: I KNOW he’s fine.

GORO: I’m asking if there’s any solid evidence.

FUTABA: THE VIDEO

GORO: I’m going to call him. Brb

FUTABA: so what he can tell you he’s fine AGAIN and you’ll be like

FUTABA: “oh but what if it was secretly a pod person who stole his body after he died tragically after calling me one last time to hear my voice”

FUTABA: he is FINE

FUTABA: like go ahead and call him if u want but

FUTABA: the only person who was gonna edit that footage was me

FUTABA: and if he were dead i would not be functioning enough to be doing any kinda photoshop like that

FUTABA: let alone LIE to you jesus christ!!!!!

FUTABA: god

FUTABA: i pronounce you King Shaky Dog

FUTABA: the tiniest and angriest and shakiest and most anxious four pound goblin

FUTABA: i will reclaim my title tomorrow

FUTABA: for now it’s my birthday gift to you

FUTABA: the title of Shaky Dog allows you to go absolutely apeshit and nobody will judge you

GORO: You know I hate birthday presents.

FUTABA: did you call akira

GORO: I hate birthday presents so much that I will be refusing my title as King Shaky Dog and will henceforth not be going ape shit.

FUTABA: ok so

FUTABA: i didnt mean to

FUTABA: get snippy with you or anything

GORO: It’s fine.

GORO: I wasn’t… exactly polite, myself.

GORO: So.

FUTABA: um

FUTABA: you really can call him if you want

FUTABA: there’s nothing wrong with that

FUTABA: between u and me……………………. i definitely did that more than once for a lot lesser reasons than someone getting hit by a car

GORO: My stop is in less than thirty seconds.

GORO: I will probably live.

FUTABA: lmao ok well

FUTABA: if u change ur mind about losing ur shit then please know i gave u that footage in the first place because i think if something like that happened to MY partner i would mcfreakin lose it

FUTABA: speaking of her

FUTABA: sumi says happy birth btw

FUTABA: but cuter because u know how she is

FUTABA: “happy birthday crow-senpai~~~~~~~~” in her shy voice that makes u wanna die

FUTABA: ofoogofhghhfoghfhhghfh g gh SUMI ur so cute ilysm

GORO: Tell her I said thanks.

GORO: And stop telling me how much you love her and use the ring you made me go ring shopping with you for.

FUTABA: HHHHH

FUTABA: im being cyberbullied for being a cowardly lesbian

GORO: I’m at my stop, by the way, so I’m going offline.

FUTABA: which tbh i probably deserve

FUTABA: oh kk see u

FUTABA: watch the video again mr shaky dog

FUTABA: akira is fine

FUTABA: everyone is alive

FUTABA: you are one year older

FUTABA: happy birthday goro

The bike is totaled.

Akira isn’t the sort of person to dump a piece of trash right in front of Leblanc, but it’s hard to miss sticking out of the nearby public trash bin. The back wheel has exploded into serrated wheel-spokes and limb rubber bits that Akira’s shoved into the trash as best as he could. The body of the bike is crushed in on itself, exposing its sharp hollow innards; the handlebars resemble a badly-tied knot. The front wheel is left to stick up and out, creaking gently, spinning overhead from half a hinge like a head not quite fully severed.

The cafe is empty except for its usual barista who, of course, is a very normal and mild-mannered barista, who has nothing to do with the several hundred millions worth of dollars of repatriated art hiding in the attic en route back to South Korea. That would be illegal, of course, and Akira Kurusu-Akechi has never once in his life done anything illegal in the name of what’s morally right. “Welcome back, dear,” says Akira, and hangs up a coffee mug to dry, and it’s so normal that Goro is convinced that either he’s experiencing yesterday, or maybe he’s re-experiencing the year 2016 all over again, or maybe Akira really is dead and this is just his ghost.

Goro sits in his usual spot at the bar. Same chair, sixteen years later. Unbelievable. Maybe Goro’s giving him a little bit of a dumbfounded look, because Akira tilts his head, leans across the bar, and pecks Goro on the cheek.

“Where’s Sakura?” Goro asks.

“Having his midday old man nap. So,” says Akira, looking pleased with himself, “either we can close Leblanc for an hour and raid the kitchen and make lunch, or we can close Leblanc and go out and have a fancy lunch. Your choice because I already made dinner reservations and we’re doing those no matter what.”

Goro really means to give him an answer, because Akira really does love Goro’s birthday every year and never fails to pick someplace nice for the day, but instead what comes out of his mouth is: “Did you ride the new bike back home?”

“Yeah, I did. Figured I might as well take it for a test drive. It’s a good bike.”

“Why didn’t you take the subway?” Goro says sharply.

“Didn’t have my card.”

“You just rode the bike all the way across Tokyo?”

“It wasn’t all the way across Tokyo, just a bit away and back… Goro?”

Ah, Goro’s going to become one of those people who has a meltdown any time their loved one gets on a plane or a train or ksomething else associated with heebie-jeebie nonsense magical thinking. Great. Fantastic. God dammit.

“Do you really want me to go to the ER?” Akira asks eventually.

Goro really wants Akira to have never gotten hit in the first place, but people don’t get what they want and sometimes the universe decides to send one bad fucking driver through a red light and take away Akira’s entire life in a split second—one mistake, a coincidence at the wrong place and time, and the boy who fought God and won is a smear of bones on the pavement.

This would be different if it were sixteen years ago, and Goro had the power to bend people’s minds in half until they broke, or dive into the deepest, bloodiest parts of the collective psyche and pummel the worst of them to a pulp—but what’s he going to do here? Lambast a guy who was going ten miles under the speed limit and just wasn’t looking the right way? Is he going to summon a new Persona from his soul and undo time itself?

Can he do anything if the universe decides, one day, that Akira’s time on this earth is up? He spent all those years desperate for power, and then abusing that power, and then desperately guilty for having abused that power, and then desperately trying to get up that power, and now here he is with the power to do jack shit when his husband almost gets run over and if the Metaverse were still around he swears he would have carved Loki from his own soul out of sheer fury alone—

“No,” says Goro sharply, and stands up. “It’s nothing. I’m not hungry, and I’m going for a walk. Please don’t text me unless it’s an emergency.”

“What—hey! Goro, wait, wait—”

“I’m getting some fresh air!”

Akira’s scrambling to get out from behind the bar. “Didn’t you just get here—?”

Goro spins around and points a finger at Akira like it’s his fault: “You were the one,” he snarls, “who promised, when we got married, that we’d always be together. And now you get hit on a bike, and then stand up like it’s nothing and—and get on another bike and go cycling around the exact same streets where you got hit—? Aren’t you scared? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Akira falls silent. “I didn’t go back to the same intersection,” he says at last.

Goro can’t take this. “I’m taking a walk.”

“Wait wait wait, Goro, just—” Akira grabs Goro’s hand and Goro has the sudden urge to yank his arm away, but Akira’s hand is also incredibly real, just like it felt this morning and yesterday and the day before that and all the days Goro ever took Akira’s living, breathing body for granted. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. He was going, I dunno, twenty miles per hour at most. It was an intersection. He’d slowed down beforehand and everything, and I didn’t even get hurt on the fall.”

Right, because Goro’s the one who’s just freaking out for no reason. Right. Okay. Because that’s how he is, isn’t he, always being dramatic over little things. Right. Of course. This is fine.

When Goro doesn’t turn around, Akira moves around to the front to look him in the eye. “Sorry if I made you worry,” says Akira. “But it was really nothing at all.”

“Maybe it was nothing this time,” says Goro forcefully. “But what about the next time—the next car—the next time you borrow my bike? What about tomorrow? Or the day after that? Literally any one of the hundreds and hundreds of days coming up where you could easily die just as easily as you died today.”

“Then I’ll escape death hundreds and hundreds of times,” says Akira.

Goro scoffs.

“I mean it. I was a Phantom Thief, wasn’t I? I escaped death more than once. Did it again today. I’ll do it as many times as it takes until we’re both old and grey.” Akira takes Goro’s hand, but it’s Goro who laces their fingers together.

“Sometimes it doesn’t work that way,” says Goro, like a bad echo of his ten-year-old self, trying to figure out what kind of world would let his mother die.

“I’m just keeping my promise,” says Akira. “I told you that I’d never leave you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sometimes that’s not your decision to make.”

“It is and I’ve decided I’m immortal until you die.”

Goro scoffs. “Don’t be arrogant.”

“Is it being arrogant? I didn’t let death steal you away from me. I’m not letting it steal me away from you, either.”

“Sometimes…” Goro begins.

“'Sometimes’ what?”

'Sometimes’ what?

Sometimes things get worse. People die early, and unfulfilled; they streak through the sky in a blaze and then wink out, without even a burst of fire to show for it. Sometimes nobody gets a say in what happens, and plans don’t pan out, and wishes aren’t granted, and everything happens for no good reason and no good end.

Today, Goro Akechi-Kurusu is thirty-four years old, about sixteen years older than he ever figured he was going to be. He has a career in a non-profit for maladjusted youth getting reacclimated to school systems and preparing for college, instead of the career in law he figured he’d have if he actually lived that long. He doesn’t just have one friend, but multiple friends. He has, unbelievably, a husband, which honestly still floors him to this day, considering that he was and maybe still is convinced that marriage is a scam devised by asshole men like his father to manipulate young women into a false sense of security. The other day, Akira mentioned that he wanted to get a cat to keep Morgana company, maybe in a few years when they moved into a pet-friendly apartment, and in Goro’s head, it made sense that they would both be alive and together entire years in the future for them to get a cat.

Today is already an impossible day, isn’t it?

“Sometimes,” says Goro flatly, “you say ridiculous things, and I think that you could actually pull it off.”

Akira grins. Akira leans in for their regular greeting kiss when one of them comes home, but this time, Goro closes his eyes, leans into it, really tries to memorize the feel of Akira’s lips on his. Every line and scar on his hands, the odd ends of his fingernails, that familiar way he waits for four beats, then takes a breath through his nose and kisses Goro again, and never can quite seem to avoid kissing him more on the bottom lip than the top. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep,” he says plainly not three inches from Goro’s face. “It’s bad form to leave a calling card and never show up.”

Goro smiles. “Then I won’t let you break your word.”

When Akira pulls away, he kisses the back of Goro’s hand, like a proper gentleman thief of old. “Happy birthday, dear,” he says, and surprisingly, despite the way this awful day started off, Goro thinks that Akira might be able to pull that promise off, too.

#clouis-loumentine #mine #I TRIED RLY HARD TO WRITE YUKAMITSU but it wasnt happening im sry #please take this apology akeshu instead #also yall have no idea how much self control it took for me to write this oneshot instead of #'goro akechi goes bald at age 24 and akira reassures him he still loves him even tho he has shido's hair genes'#honestly i shouldve done that

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zankivich · 4 years

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The Arrangement: CEO’s Son/Dom!Shawn x Black Sub Reader Chapter 12

a/n: went to post this chapter and then realized it was 10k long, so I broke it into two parts. This is the first. I promise we’re building to something here. I just figured out how this story is going to end and I’m lowkey excited about it. but I do want to be realistic in that the response to this story has halved since I first started it. I get the way that we all feel about Shawn is different and difficult in times like this but...Just know that the reblogs and the engagement with the content are instrumental. When those go (and they are going) so will I. That’s not a threat at all and I love writing, but to take time out of my day to create for people who don’t read is pointless. Just wanted to say that here. Hope you like. K bye.

Warnings: mentions of police brutality, smut, sex without a condom (wrap it up)

*Shawn’s point of view*

She was supposed to take him on an adventure to Brooklyn. It was hair day, and she had her favorite store that she refused to betray by going anywhere else. He was excited to watch her more in her element. She was excited to share this part of her culture with him. It had all the telltale signs of a great day. It was just one of those days where he couldn’t wait to see her, so he could tell her about this thing that happened to him. And it didn’t even really matter what the thing was, it just mattered that she was the one he got to tell it to. He couldn’t wait to be with her. And then it happened.

He must’ve been in the shower for too long. It’s only the way he wouldn’t hear or see her texts or phone calls. He’d only just managed to pull his underwear on when he notices all of the notifications. And that’s when his heart stops.

y/n: so this guy at the door isn’t letting me in. He thinks I followed someone inside.

y/n: I showed him the code and he’s not budging. Could you come down maybe?

y/n: Shawn?

He leaves his door open in the heat of the moment, but there’s nothing on his mind except for getting to her. Living on the top floor was suddenly the worst thing to ever happen to him. Every second that it took, every moment he wasn’t with her, his heart was on the cusp of bursting. He just needed to get to her.

And there’s this moment that truly felt like the worst moment in his whole life. It’s where the elevator doors open and he’s running and he sees this big ass guy with his girlfriend’s hand pulled behind her back like a fucking lunatic. And he sees the fear in her eyes. This look of utter devastation and torment. It’s like he failed her. In every way imaginable, he had failed her.

“Excuse me!? What the entire fuck are you doing?!” He raged immediately getting in between them.

His hand touched her wrists where the guy still had her and she was fucking shaking.

“Mr. Mendes sir, this person has no--”

“It’s my fucking girlfriend you asshole! Let her go!”

He saw the fear of God, or perhaps his father, enter the man’s eyes as his hands released her and she fell into his arms. She was silent, her face in his chest and she didn’t move a muscle. It was the most unlike her he’d ever seen her behave. She was small and scared and so, so quiet. He couldn’t hold her tight enough to erase it, and that’s the part that hurts the most.

“I want you to call your boss right fucking now and explain to him where harassing women is in the safety policy for this goddamn building!” He yelled holding her as far away from him as possible. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“Sir, there was no excessive force used. I--”

“There should have been no force at all you racist piece of shit! She’s here almost every week. This is an apartment complex, not at a prison ward!”

He pressed his hand against her cheek and felt the way that she flinched from his touch. It was again the worst feeling he’d ever felt.

“Mr. Mendes I assure you I was just doing my job. I--It was proper protocol.”

“I can assure you that this is the last day you’ll ever do that job. I will personally make sure of it. So perhaps the next time you decide to racially profile and attack women, you’ll think a-fuckin-gain.” He spat before leading y/n towards the elevator. “Let’s get you upstairs where you belong.”

The elevator is dead silent except for the rise and fall of his heart. His apartment door was still open when he lead her through it. He gets her out of her jacket and wraps his arms around her again, barely having time to collapse on the couch before he felt the first tear hit his neck.

“It’s okay. You’re safe. I--I’m right here.” He assured her. “I’m so sorry. Baby, I’m so sorry. I was in the shower and I didn’t hear you calling.”

Her fingers threaded around his neck and she only gripped him harder. She wouldn’t let him see her face, wouldn’t budge out of the hold that she had on him. It was terrifying. But he absolutely couldn’t let that show. Wouldn’t dream of letting that show, when she so clearly needed him in that moment. He wanted to be everything she could ever think of needing. Even if the truth of the matter was that he had not a single clue of what the right thing to do in that moment was.

“You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you. I would never let anything happen to you, okay?” He whispered.

Her face wormed itself deeper into his neck, and he could feel the tears escaping from her eyes. His arms only tightened around her in response.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I--I got you. I’m not letting you go.”

His heart was absolutely pounding in his chest and he could feel the way that her’s pounded too. It felt like he couldn't hold her tight enough. Like there wasn’t enough love he could offer in the world to take away her pain.

“Do you...do you wanna talk about it?”

She shook her head slowly as if she really didn’t know what she needed in that moment.

“Okay...What about a shower? Would that help? I’ve got those aromatherapy things for the shower you like.”

She paused and then nodded her head slightly.

“Perfect. Okay.”

He helped her off the couch and led her in the direction of the bathroom. His hand came off her back and she literally froze where she was standing.

“Come with me.” She sniffled.

He reached for her hands squeezing them and bringing them to his lips to kiss.

“I’ll be there in just a second. I’m just gonna lock the door okay? I’m not going anywhere, I swear to you.”

She nodded hesitantly and headed for his bedroom. He pulled the door closed behind him and moved towards the kitchen to make a phone call. Living in the penthouse had its perks, and one of them was having the owner in your contacts. Never in his five years living there had he ever needed the number. He would never make a call without purpose, but he could think of no better time in the world to make that call. He left a voicemail stating that he expected the security responsible to be fired immediately, or he would have no trouble presses charges for racial profiling and assault. It wasn’t something y/n needed to be bothered with in the moment, but it was important to him. He had a recent newfound understanding of his power and his privilege in a moment like this, and beyond his love and adoration for her, he knew he had the ability to make things rights. And he would use that ability above all else.

In the shower she’s more still than she’s ever been. The water rushes over her shoulders which are hunched and protective. He’s afraid to touch her just in case he might spook her, but the second he lays a hand on her back she’s already rushing into his arms. She cries for a while. It’s heartbreaking, but it seems to be what she needs. So he just holds her for a little while longer. Her face pressed against his chest soothes him as much as he hopes it soothes her to be held. He doesn’t even care that he showered less than thirty minutes ago, or that his fingers and toes quickly wrinkle beneath the water. They could stand there all night if that’s what she needed. He’d do anything for her. Anything.

***

*y/n’s point of view*

His bed feels safe. Feels just as safe as your bedroom, or your couch, or even your kitchen. It is the wildest thing in the world to you. That you should want to be there as opposed to your place. But he was there. And you knew that you wanted, no needed, to be wherever he was. And his arms wrapped around you tell a similar story. It eases your mind and your pain and your heart. He’s warm. His sheets and blankets are like a thick cocoon protecting you from the world. Even if it wasn’t true, it felt so nice to pretend in the light of what happened.

“I could move.” He offered softly.

You’d been drawing patterns in his chest hair and listening to the melody of his breathing. You felt calm for the first time since the incident.

“Hmm?”

His arms pulled you a little closer against his chest.

“I could find a new place to stay. This apartment was my dad’s idea ya know? It’s expensive as all hell. I could...I would happily move.”

You drew your eyes up from his chest to that face. Soft eyes, sharp jaw, big head. He was still so confusing to you sometimes. Mostly you just couldn’t quite wrap your head around the vastness of his love for you. It seemed to grow by the day. And he was never even remotely afraid to showcase it.

“Move. You’d move out of your home, out of your own space? For me?”

He ran his thumb beneath your eye taking away one of the final tears from your face. His eyes though soft, were also a little sad.

“I would do anything for you, y/n. This apartment is just walls and stuff. It’s not home. I can find home somewhere else. As long as I’m with you.” He whispered.

Your heart wasn’t even in a state to be able to work through all the layers of his statement. But it felt good to hear nonetheless. Made you feel protected and warm.

“I don’t want you to move for me. But, I do appreciate it. And I love you. A lot.”

“I love you too. And if you ever change your mind, I can have this place listed in a second.”

There was something about that day that shifted things for you, not that they hadn’t already shifted drastically in the last few weeks. You were so scared. The guard had made you feel small, had made you feel erasable. Your body, your life, it didn’t matter. He had told you as such when he decided that you didn’t belong, and that there was no way someone who looked like you could exist in a space like that. At first it felt like a confirmation of your greatest fear, that there really was a divide amongst the world that wasn’t conducive to you and Shawn existing together. But when he came barreling down the hallway with no shoes or shirt on, it had felt like breathing for the first time. He got between you and this seven foot, massive guy without even blinking. And he knew, he knew immediately what it was about. He wanted to help, wanted to protect you even. No one had ever offered you that before. Somehow, someway, you wanted to let him.

***

You sat in front of your computer at work, back relaxing against the softness of your chair for the first time that day. The tiny green light on the monitor blinked to let you know that your video camera was working. The feed starts off a little crackly before your mom comes perfectly into view. You smiled so hard your cheeks hurt.

“Hi mommy!”

“My baby! Would you look at you all done up in your little business office!” Your mom giggled.

You smiled. “I’m trying, mama. These people get on my nerves by the hour. But someone’s gotta do it.”

“Yea, and that someone is you. Don’t you let them crazy white people raise your blood pressure, girl. Heart attacks come easy enough in our family.”

It already feels like home. You missed her endlessly.

“I’ll do my very best. You know...speaking of crazy white people…”

“Oh lord, I can tell by your face. Let me sit down.”

You rolled your eyes as your mother dramatically grabbed herself a seat and settled into it. And they wondered where your crazy ass got it from? Genetics.

“Alright now. Let’s hear it.”

“I’ve been...I’ve been seeing someone. Not so seriously at first, but for the last six months or so? Pretty seriously.”

Your mom’s eyes widened. “Y/n why didn’t you some say somethin’?”

“I don’t know. I just haven’t found anyone in so long, and he’s very different from me. Shit, is he different than me.”

“You’re not afraid I’m gonna disown you for bringing some white boy home like it’s the sixties, are you?”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little bit. Your mom always had the ability to deescalate a situation. People used to say if there was ever a bomb threat, just let your mom speak to them, and everything would be okay. It made it a lot easier to talk to her when you needed it.

“It’s not that. Although he sure is pasty, momma. He’s uh he’s the son of a very rich, very powerful guy in the industry. He’s Canandian but he spent a lot of his childhood in California actually. And I just sometimes feel like it’s hard to find where we fit in this world. But...no one has ever treated me so well in my whole life. He’s in it with me for the long haul. I love him so much, and I guess I was just wondering if you would be okay with meeting him.”

You keep your eyes on your hands for as long as you can hoping that she wouldn’t make you look up. But your mother was always very good at getting her way, and this time was no different. She’s quiet for so long that you don’t have a choice but to look up and catch the way that she stares at you. It’s the look of a mother who knows all, but knows her child even more.

“You ain’t brought someone home in years, y/n.” She breathed.

You nodded. “I know. I know, momma.”

“Hmm...Okay. You can bring him home for Christmas. I’ll tell your uncles and aunties to behave. Now he’s Canadian white. That’s a special type of whiteness. Are we gonna be able to feed him here, or do I need to find some type of casserole dish?”

“Now wait a minute momma didn’t nobody say nothing about Christmas!”

Your palms were sweaty just thinking about it.

“Girl, I said it. That’s all that matters. Now is he gone eat the food or not, that’s all I asked you for ma’am.”

You sighed the sigh of defeat of a Black child with a Black mother who could never be questioned. You had walked head first into a shit show, and there would be no way to rectify the situation. Shawn was going into the lion’s den. And apparently so were you.

“Yes ma’am. He’ll eat the food.” You sighed. “He could use some fattening up too, his father is satan and workouts are his stress relief.”

“Good. Now go on and tell me what you and Tiana have been up to over there before I get off this phone.”

Mothers.

***

*Shawn’s point of view*

“Oi Shawnie boy, can you even hear me over there?”

Shawn poked his head out from behind his computer, to see Niall staring at him like a crazy person. He set his laptop aside and smiled sheepishly at his friend.

“Sorry man, I was just looking at some listings.” He sighed wiping his hands tiredly over his face. “What’s up?”

“What kind of listings? Like for houses? You’re not abandoning me are ya?”

“‘Course not. Just...something happened with y/n and I know she’d never ask me to move, but I can tell my place just doesn’t feel the same for her anymore.”

“Shit, man. You’re willing to move for her already?”

“I don’t know if it’s ‘already’. I mean maybe we’ve only been dating for six months, but we fooled around forever before that. I feel like I know her better than anyone could. Even when she thinks I don’t know? I know.” He shrugged. “I’m okay with moving if it means she’s happier.”

Niall moved to plop down on the seat next to Shawn and knocked his shoulder playfully against Shawn’s. It was comforting at least to have him there. He didn't really have any clue of what he was doing. He just did what felt right. And when it came to y/n, anything that was for her felt like the rightest thing in the world.

“You love her, aye?” He asked softly.

He peered over at his friend and nodded softly.

“Yea. A lot.” He mumbled looking back to his computer. “What says merry christmas like ‘here’s my heart on my sleeve, I moved out of my place for you’, right? It sounds pathetic even to me.”

“It’s not pathetic. I mean...it might be if some broke bloke did it, but you’re loaded. You moving apartments is like a change of scenery isn’t it?”

Shawn snorted. “I guess so. I’ve honestly never paid for where I live before. My dad has always taken care of it for me. I think maybe she might like to see me take care of myself for a change. Prove I’m actually worth something in the long run, and not just a manchild for her to take care of.”

“Huh...And is that what your aiming for Shawnie? The long run?”

He paused, just a tiny bit frozen in fear. He hadn’t had that conversation with anyone. Had barely let it formulate in his own mind. His eyes ran hesitantly over the bookmarks on his desktop. Most for music and the company. One for Tiffanys. But there Niall was looking at him with those dumbass baby blue pools of truth and death. There was no getting around it.

“Well… I don’t know man? Fuck. Y/n’s a one of a kind. You don’t just find a woman like that every day. And I’ve made far enough horrible choices in my life to not even deserve the time that she’s given me so far. Why would I ever let her go, if I could help it?”

“You seem to have the right idea, my friend. And who better to have by your side in a moment of desperate pining and overwhelming love than your best friend, Niall. I’m here for you lad.” He assured him.

Shawn laughed and bumped Niall playfully with his shoulder.

“That’s good to know man, thanks.”

***

He lets himself into her apartment with the key she gave him. It was more than a moment for them, it was like an evolution. Her space was so sacred, so intimate, that he knew how much it meant for her to allow him inside. At first he had been afraid that she had done it out of necessity. Y/n had been unable to voice her reluctance to visit his apartment, but every plan they made since the incident always ended things back at her place. He thought maybe the key was just a moment of deflection. But then she told him how good it made her feel to have him there, how safe and happy she felt when they were together. There was really nothing for him to do except make love to her in thanks, and then spank her ass a little bit after the fact. It’s what she deserved.

“Babe you’re not gonna believe this, but the senior level heads of the department apparently stop working immediately. I’m free until january!” He exclaimed toeing his shoes off at the door.

Y/n wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room, so he headed straight for the bedroom instead. That’s where he found her fresh out of the shower, wrapped in a towel still with a facemask on, which kind of made him pout.

“Hey! I thought we said we’d do facemasks together, you traitor.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Boy, my oily skin was not finna wait for your meeting to get finished. We can do the moisturizing one together after this one.”

“Fine.” He mumbled immediately tackling her down to the bed in favor of nuzzling himself into her arms. “Did you hear my good news?”

She ran her fingers through his hair and scratched at his scalp perfectly.

“Not quite love. Can I get a do over?”

“I guess so. You’re lucky you’re cute. Basically none of the senior level managers are working from here through Christmas, so I’m yours as long as you’ll have me.” He hummed. “If you’ll have me.”

“Of course I’ll have you. Who else is gonna do my Christmas Madea movie marathon with me?” She snorted. “I’ve never had someone to just kick it with through the holidays. Tiana always goes on these elaborate family destination vacations, so we don’t see each other. I could use the company.”

“Hmmm, guess it’s a good thing I’m here then aye?”

“Yea. It really is.” She breathed. “Speaking of the holidays I… have something I wanna talk to you about.”

She had her serious voice on so he made sure to remove himself from on top of her and give her his undivided attention. Surely, that was the least he could offer.

“Of course. What’s up?”

She picked at a loose thread in her towel so that she didn't have to look at him. He thought she was the cutest thing in the world. It was insane.

“I talked to my momma about you.” She admitted.

His eyes widened and his stomach flipped. He bit his lip and dipped his head to catch her gaze. When their eyes met, she smiled.

“Yea? What uh, what did she say?”

“She said that you sound pretty special. And that I could bring you home for Christmas if you wanted. Only if you wanted though.”

Her leg bounces and she crosses her arms and waits for a response from him like she couldn’t be more indifferent. Of course he knows better. He can see the energy in her eyes and in the light that seemed to surround her at all times. This was important. She wanted him to be there. Screw the fact that he could think of nothing he wanted more in the world. He hadn’t needed to broach the topic. Instead it was her, and that meant a great deal to him.

“Huh. You want to bring me home for the holidays? Like to your whole entire family?” He asked.

She nodded hesitantly. “I do.”

“This isn’t about what I said when we were in Canada is it? I really meant it when I said I didn’t wanna pressure you, y/n. We can move as slowly as you want.”

“No I...this is what I want. I want them to know about the things that matter. And nowadays that’s you.” She smiled softly. “But that’s entirely up to you. I don’t want you to feel pressured. I can tell my mom you have other plans.”

“Honey, are you kidding? Of course I wanna come. I can think of nothing else I’d rather do.”

He reached for her face with his hands just wanting to hold her and hold her close. She was so special and so important to him that the thought of not holding her didn’t even make sense. He loved her more than anything.

“I love you.” She mumbled kissing his cheek softly. “I really just want you to be a part of things, of all the things.”

“You really mean that?” He asked, forehead pressed lovingly against hers.

“Yes. I mean it.”

He smiled up at her, stomach full and happy at her words.

“I need you to wash this mask off so I can kiss you please. I missed you all day.”

“That can be arranged. Let me go get dressed.”

She slid off the bed and headed for the bathroom leaving him to watch the way her hips moved beneath that towel.

“That won’t be necessary! The less you’re in the better when I go to take it off.” He called after her.

“Okay sir! Give me thirty seconds!”

“I’m counting. One! Two!..”

***

*Y/n’s point of view*

You were a bit of a sucker for winter. And also a complete and utter little bitch when it came to the cold. But the snow in New York was beautiful when it wasn’t piling up by the feet. The lights in the city were always breathtaking. And you loved to walk through Dyker Heights in Brooklyn because it’s where the biggest houses had the biggest lights and everything was so beautiful and bright. It was your own little tradition. Except for now you get to pull him in with you, and it couldn’t have felt better.

You walked with your arm wrapped around his bicep sharing sips of hot chocolate and apple cider because you couldn’t pick, so Shawn had got one while you got the other. It’s cold enough that you can see your breath, but that just means you have to hold each other close while you walk. The lights are bright against the backdrop of the sky. The snow is clean and soft looking with a crystal glittery top that makes your inner child want to drop into it. There are children and families and other couples walking all around you for a glimpse at the lights. But it still feels intimate, still feels like just the two of you. You like it that way.

“So...Christmas. Is that like a big thing for you?” You prodded gently.

Shawn chuckled. “In what way do you mean?”

“I mean like...are you the kind of person who goes all out and wants everything to be perfect? Or do you barely notice Christmas happens?”

“Hmm, I think I’m somewhere in the middle. I love buying gifts for people if that helps answer what you’re really trying to ask me.”

You punched weakly at his shoulder, annoyed that he constantly seemed to know you better than you gave him credit for. Rude.

“You’re so annoying.” You whined.

He laughed. “Baby, why don’t you just ask me what you really want to ask me. I would never lie to you.”

You huffed but snuggled closer to him as the two of you walked, a gust of wind further chilling your already cold body.

“I just think we should have a discussion about some boundaries on what we’re going to gift each other. My manager salary is quite beautiful if I do say so myself, but it’s never going to match up to a billionaire trust fund.”

His arms gripped you tighter against his body.

“I don’t need you to try to buy me, y/n. You’ve already got me.”

Ugh. Do you see? Absolutely ridiculous.

“Yea, yea, yea, and I’m the most beautiful woman on the whole entire planet, and no other woman could ever compare. Now you have to tell me what you want, and you have to not buy me an island or some shit.”

His eyes only got brighter as if this was some huge joke instead of a serious discussion.

“Ahh. So when you said discussion, you really meant telling me how things are gonna go, and me doing them?”

You frowned up at your gentle giant, lips forming your most famous of pouts.

“Why are you mocking me? I’m serious, Shawn.”

He pulled your bodies to a stop and rested his glove covered palms on your shoulders.

“I know you are, darling. I’m sorry okay? I just don’t want you to worry about these things. Christmas for me is an opportunity to show the people that matter that I love them. Hence why I haven't gotten my dad a present since ‘02. I won’t buy you an island, but I’m gonna do everything in my power to get you something that I think you would love. Because you deserve it. And quite frankly, I don’t need a holiday to do that. I love you, alright? Let me spoil you for once.”

“But...But, what if you get me something better than I get you.”

He smiled and kissed your forehead.

“I really admire your competitive streak, but it’s not gonna matter. I’m gonna be happy because it came from you. I promise.”

You grumbled a little more but ultimately had difficulty complaining as he kissed you on the sidewalk with a world of lights in the background. He was incredibly annoying. But, you loved him.

***

Time off is magical. You get through Madea Goes to Jail and Medea’s Family reunion all in one afternoon. You barely leave the couch, and when you do it’s only because there’s not enough room for him to eat you out there. You bake cookies and make cider and hot chocolate. You have sex. A lot. And he makes you cum so much you have to take naps to rebuild strength. It is literally the perfect life. You could ask for nothing better. Enter your boyfriend.

“So, hear me out.” He says stepping up beside you by the stove.

You roll your eyes and continue you moving your spoon through the bolognese so that it doesn’t stick to the pain.

“You’re on vacation. I’m on vacation. And yet we’re sitting in New York just like it’s a regular Tuesday!”

“Shawn it is a regular Tuesday.”

“Yea, but it doesn’t have to be.” He sighed wrapping his arms around your waist from behind.

“Why don’t you tell me your plan already.” You snorted.

He kissed at your shoulder already working on wearing you down.

“My plan is that we take a little trip before we visit your family. There’s a lakehouse in Windsor my family owns. My dad hates it because it’s so cold, but my mum would skin him alive if he ever sold it. We could lay by the fireplace, watch movies, make love. Doesn’t that sound amazing?”

“That sounds like what we’re doing right now!”

“No trust me this will be different. We’ll be out in the middle of nowhere. We can just unplug and--and be with each other ya know?”

You paused your stirring to turn in his arms. He kept his hands around your waist and pressed his forehead playfully into yours. If only he wasn’t so incredibly soft, you might actually be able to say no to him. In fact you vividly remembered the days when you could say no to anyone, ever. And then came Shawn.

“You wanna whisk me off to a winter wonderland huh?”

He nodded with a hum, his nose skimming against yours.

“Yea. Can I?”

Fuck it.

“Why the fuck not.”

***

*Shawn’s point of view*

His dick had never been so hard in his life. Including that time he accidently popped a viagra because someone told him it was molly and he was dumb enough to believe them. He’d gone to the kitchen to get the champagne just the way she asked him too, only to come back to his girlfriend face down, ass up in christmas themed lingerie that honest to god made him wanna cry. If there was such a thing as a Christmas miracle it could only be personified with one of those little white furry balls on the top of her ass. God he loved Christmas.

There’s something about Daniel Caesar playing by a roasting fire in the middle of a cabin that is just the epitome of romance. And she was the epitome of beauty. And maybe lust. And definitely love. They had enough of that to sustain an entire city.

“Want you to ride me.” He’d whispered in her ear after she straddled him against the headboard. “Want you to ride me like only my good little girl can.”

Her hips jerked against his hard on, slipping him between the folds he’d licked just minutes prior like an ice cream cone. She was soaked, and it felt too fucking good to describe.

“If I ride it real good will you cum in me?” She mumbled teeth grazing his earlobe. “I love when you shoot it deep inside.”

Merry. Fucking. Christmas.

“Jesus Christ, yes.”

He watches the way the fire light makes the sweat on her skin glisten. Watches the way her thighs ripple with every bounce against his lap. The way her hips flutter every time it feels too good. And it always feels too good. He’s gone. She’s the sexiest thing he’s ever laid eyes on and his heart and his dick simply can’t take it. The craziest part is that it’s not the way that she moans, or the way she clenches around him that does him in. In fact it’s this moment when she smiles for him. She’d taken to slowly grinding in his lap, one hand in his hair and another perched on his thigh as she moved. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back as she moaned again, and her lips turned up at the corners. It was as if his balls had formed an evolutionary response to tighten.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He grunted.

“Huh?”

He fell forward until her back hit the sheets and he was poised over her body completely frozen.

“Shawn!” She giggled. “Get off of me.”

“Oh baby I can’t. Damn you feel so good.” He whimpered.

“You are so dramatic. Just give it to me already.”

She wrapped her legs around his back and ran her nose up his neck. He squeezed his eyes shut and whined pitifully.

“Sweetie…”

“What?” She whispered, teeth scraping his ear. “I just wanna feel it baby. Please? I’ve been so good for you haven’t I?”

“Yes. you’re the fucking best, but I wanna last honey.” He sighed into her neck. “I wanna make you feel good too.”

“I’ve cum twice already boy.”

Her hands trailed over his back, fingers sliding through the sweat to cup his ass in her hands. She wasn’t taking it easy on him in the slightest. In fact, it was as if she had no interest in helping him at all, only in making him lose his mind. This was further proven by the way she clenched herself around him and sank her teeth into his shoulder, which somehow caused one of the best orgasms of his whole entire life.

“Oh my god.” He panted on the come down. “Oh my god.”

“Mmmm...Merry Christmas honey.”

She’d be the death of him. With a doubt.

***

Tag List

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Arrangement Taglist:

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@claredolphinbear24 @peterbrokenparker@blackharry@shawnwyr @speakingofmari @moniehp@softmendesss@ydolansss @MixerMani @kitykatnumber@chonmnds @cottoncandyshawn

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yourlocalenglishmajor · 3 years

Text

Commonplace Book

Hello everyone! This is my first post on this blog, and it is going to be a project for my college English course! Feel free to read through it if you’re interested; if not, that’s okay, this is really just for my professor ^^

Piece 1: “Big Guns, Small Dicks”

Unfortunately, this piece does not have a specific author or creator; I found it on State Street in Madison last summer. It is an anonymous piece of graffiti that speaks to the movement it was created during. For those who may be less familiar with Madison, Wisconsin, it is considered a very liberal and even leftist city, especially with how frequent and powerful the Black Lives Matter protests were. This was created during those protests, as well as hundreds of other works all along historic State Street. As ACAB - All Cops Are Bastards - protests went hand in hand (usually) with BLM protests, the phrase “Big guns, small dicks” is a jibe at the police and its racist foundations and use of excessive force.

It best relates to class through the conversations about race and equity we’ve had. Our readings have been centered around a diverse cast of authors instead of the one viewpoint of the cisgender, heterosexual white man, which is something the BLM movement also aimed to achieve. In addition, although it has not been a focal topic yet, we have talked about police brutality and how it impacts POC most; another key point of the BLM movement. Lastly, we talked about what mythic America, or the American Dream, really is, and why it is never realized for so many people. The Black Lives Matter movement is all about how the American Dream is something almost no one can truly achieve, and how it leads to othering and a sense of disillusionment with the effectiveness of our society.

Piece 2: Vonnegut’s Slapstick

For my second piece, I chose to utilize a work of a famous satire writer to draw comparisons to our coursework. As for the image, I took a picture of the copy I own and edited it. Kurt Vonnegut’s Slapstick centers around two twins who are geniuses together, but entirely stupid on their own; they are neglected by their parents, who are a family of renown and ashamed of having deformed children. Their parents look at them as if they are to be pitied for the very nature of their existence. They use this to sneak around and live lives of luxury, continuing this ruse of being entirely stupid so that they may live as freely as possible in their circumstances.

In this work, the children are quite literally tossed in a house and locked away to prevent others from seeing them; this is something I personally connect to the concept of silencing, which happened frequently during the BLM movement. Protesters, peaceful or not, were arrested; protests were escalated by cops far more often than by protesters, but that was generally ignored and used as a way to disregard the protests as nothing more than “riots”; large platforms such as Twitter and Instagram incorrectly labelled some posts as “misinformation”. Voices were silenced all over the internet. In addition, some white allies were not using their platforms to actually help/spread information, but were using them to spew white guilt and accomplish very little. As L. Ayu Saraswati says in her textbook Introduction to Women’s, Gender & Sexuality Studies, Interdisciplinary and Intersectional Approaches, “Guilt as a response to...racism...does very little to contribute to efforts toward social change as it recenters whiteness” (page 15), basically saying yes, these folks are speaking their mind and are at least partially aware of their privilege, but their feelings of guilt without taking action are not actually doing anything to help what they feel guilty for.

Piece 3: The Hymn to Demeter

My last selection will be an ancient work known as the Hymn to Demeter, and the version I am using is translated by Gregory Nagy. I am using this statue of Demeter and Persephone as the visual accompaniment to this analysis. This piece was originally written to be performed orally by a poet/performer as praise to Demeter. It details the kidnapping of Persephone, Demeter’s daughter, and the subsequent founding of the Cult of Demeter in the city Eleusis.

When Persephone is first kidnapped, it is said that “she cried with a piercing voice, / Calling upon her father, the son of Kronos, the highest and the best. / But not one of the immortal ones, or of human mortals, / heard her voice” (lines 20-23). To me, this draws clear parallels with the silencing of victims of police brutality and their families. Public outrage did nothing to bring accountability to Breonna Taylor’s killers or the flawed justice system that let them get away with it. The victim’s family was silenced and the movement to convict her killers has died down since it happened almost a year ago.

Additionally, it is later revealed to Demeter through Rhea that this kidnapping was not only endorsed by but planned by Zeus himself. As Greek households were patriarchal, it was not uncommon for a father to arrange a relationship/marriage without informing the daughter or allowing the daughter to meet her betrothed first. This endorsed act of violence can also be paralleled to the actions of the police; their brutality is actively supported by a flawed, racist justice system, just as the actions of Hades were actively supported by the all-powerful Zeus. What’s more, nobody stood up to Zeus or questioned his actions because of all the power he has, which is another perfect example of how this parallel functions.

Lastly, Demeter’s pure rage and grief is reminiscent of the rage and grief of the black mothers who lost their children to police brutality. Last semester, I attended a Theater of War performance known as “Antigone in Ferguson”, and after the performance was over, there was a discussion led by a panel of educators and victims of police brutality. Several of them were mothers who told painful stories of how their children, usually sons, were murdered and how they are still trying to find a way to keep living. Their powerful grief is parallel to Demeter’s; the only difference is that Demeter gets her child back.

A Meta-Commentary

My process in finding these works and deciding which would draw the best parallels was to find a bunch of subjects I thought would work well and then cut down on them. I knew the “big guns, small dicks” would be included for sure, as it was an image I took myself and had good parallels to draw right off the bat. It’s a good way to catch someone’s attention! And the message is powerful. Seeing all the graffiti on State Street last summer was impactful, but this simple phrase stood out to me and was (I believe) the only picture I took out of all the graffiti down there. The Kurt Vonnegut work I included because I like the comparison between how the twins are treated in the book and how folks who were active and open about their opinions were silenced; also, I’d be lying if I failed to mention that part of the reason is because I adore Kurt Vonnegut and wanted to find a way to bring a work of his into this. My third choice, the Hymn to Demeter, was chosen because it’s a cool way to connect one of my other classes to this one. In addition, it’s a good piece to reinterpret as an allegory for how the justice system enables the wrong people and fails the right ones.

Also, although I did not choose many direct quotes, I think the parallels I drew between the content of these works is substantial! I put a lot of thought into how I worded things and what content actually related best to the works of this class, specifically the themes we’ve discovered so far in Claudia Rankine’s Citizen. The heaviness of the book relates well to the power behind each of these pieces, especially the first one, as the message is plain and simple but impactful. The prose and structure of Rankine’s work is incredibly unique and not directly paralleled in any of the pieces I chose; however, the Hymn to Demeter is written in a very specific structure that is almost poetry? It’s a very confusing structure, because it does not seem to have any meter or consistency, but is still patterned in a specific way. This may be a result of translation, it may have been intentionally created this way by the original writer (who is not known; the transcript of this hymn was found in a stable in Moscow in 1777), or it could be a byproduct of the format itself as a hymn. The repetition Rankine takes advantage of in Citizen is actually something Vonnegut is known for as well. Several of his works have anaphoric phrases; Slaughterhouse V has both “po-tee-weet” and “and so it goes”, and Slapstick has the comedic “hi-ho”, used as a way to break the tension of the work, as it is supposed to be satire. This repetition and the more casual grammar these authors both share give their works a heavy feeling (cut far more frequently in Vonnegut’s than in Rankine’s) that also works as a conversational element, making both of the works feel like the audience is also in the narrative itself.

Commonplacing is a valuable step in making powerful literature more accessible to people! Providing unique and interesting analysis of a work makes it much easier for people to casually consume! Additionally, using platforms like Tumblr for this analysis makes things even more accessible, as anyone can see it and Tumblr allows posts to be any length! Opening thoughtful literature and analysis to the public like this also allows for good, guided conversation on a variety of subjects, and creates interest for the works in their entirety. This can easily inspire people to pick up a copy of their own of any of these works if someone is interested enough in how these can be interpreted! (If any of you are interested in the Hymn to Demeter, I used the one found at this website , it’s free ^-^)

A big thank you to any of you who read this all the way through (including you, professor)! I’ll be doing more fun and less serious literary analysis on this account as well, so if that’s something you’re interested in, stay tuned!

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