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vashtijoy · 4 months

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terms of address: maruki

I was asked how the squad refer to Maruki, so here goes.

first, the normies

Many of the cast refer to Maruki exclusively as "Dr. Maruki": 丸喜先生 Maruki-sensei. These mentions are universally in kanji.

Ann has 41 of these, and often uses sensei by itself;

Haru has 26 of these, and uses sensei alone a couple of times, during Maruki's Palace;

Makoto has 27 of these. She uses sensei alone quite often;

Yoshizawa has 41 of these total, 14 as Kasumi and 27 as Sumire. She calls Maruki just sensei often.

Noticing anything? Yeah: they're all the girls. These particular characters consistently seem to have relatively colourless and unmarked speech. This may in itself, of course, be a form of marking, since expectations around gendered speech in Japan can be so strong.

the relatively boring

Ren appears to always use "Maruki", apart from one instance very early on when an option, "Ask about the counsellor", includes Maruki-sensei. He also always uses kanji; protagonists don't have to be polite.

He calls Maruki sensei alone once, during his confidant. Kawakami gets it more often, while Takemi gets it constantly.

slightly more edgy

While Futaba always uses "Dr. Maruki", she slurs it a little, making it slangier: 丸喜せんせー Maruki-sensee. She always uses kanji for "Maruki", except in the text chat after he visits Shujin, where she's only heard his name spoken!—which is a cute detail. Occasionally she uses せんせー sensee by itself, which is distinct from her 先生 sensei meaning "a teacher".

Ryuji, again, virtually always makes it "Dr. Maruki", usually Maruki-sensei in kanji; a few mentions very early on, when they're still talking about the new counsellor guy, are just straight "Maruki". Also, in his counselling session, Ryuji almost just calls him that!—ultimately deciding to make it "Dr. Maruki":

Ryuji なあ、丸喜⋯センセーってよ、よく『変わってる』って言われね? naa, maruki... sensee tte yo, yoku "kawatteru" tte iwarene? Hey, Dr. Maru— ah, I mean, Doc. Anyone ever tell you you're kinda… not normal?

The meaning is a little lost in translation here, with Ryuji cutting from the normal form of address to a nickname. Also, in Maruki's Palace, he recognises Maruki on one of the videotapes, and starts off in hiragana before finishing in kanji. It feels a bit as if he isn't initially sure what he's seeing:

Ryuji まるき… 丸喜先生？ maruki... maruki-sensei? Maruki... Dr. Maruki?

He uses sensei by itself a couple of times, far fewer than you might expect; his "Doc" is usually either glossed in, or was originally Maruki-sensei, "Dr. Maruki".

He also uses 大先生 daisensei, "great leader/teacher/artist" etc, as a term of abuse, aimed at palace bosses such as Shido and Madarame. 獅童大先生 shidou-daisensei—"that stuck-up bastard Shido!".

the slightly outlandish...

Morgana overwhelmingly uses katakana for names, and Maruki is no exception. He talks about him a lot, always in katakana, as マルキ Maruki. He never uses any honorifics for him.

He has only one use of kanji, 丸喜 Maruki, in "will you meet with this confidant?" text, around I think rank 5, which looks like it may be a slip.

the strangely polite...

Akechi, of course, fails to grace Maruki with his title of "doctor"; he's just plain "Maruki". The localisation sometimes makes it "Dr. Maruki", but that's a gloss; Akechi never once uses sensei (or any other honorific) about him.

But he uses an honorific to Maruki, once:

That "isn't that right" is ですよね desu yo ne, which might seem startlingly polite for third semester Akechi. In fact, he's rather consistent about his masu forms to Maruki—and only to Maruki—during the third semester.

He has no uses of desu or -masu/-masen, for instance, to anyone else in the third semester. It's actually rather cute, because it makes it clear a number of his lines in the 1/2 and 1/9 Palace are directed not to Ren or Yoshizawa, as it might seem, but to Maruki.

So this looks like a sardonic little aside, and I'm sure there's a lot of that in it—"Maruki-san". But this is also the only time Akechi ever addresses Maruki by name. And since he has all these desu and -masu forms going on around Maruki, then maybe he just calls him Maruki-san, full stop.

Did I mention he's a weird boy?

...and the downright weird

That leaves us with Yusuke, who (as nobody will be surprised to hear) does his own thing that raises some fascinating possibilities.

Yusuke only appears to address Maruki by name once, when they first meet in the courtyard, and as you'd expect, he calls him sensei—丸喜拓人先生 Maruki Takuto-sensei, "You are Dr. Takuto Maruki, correct?".

But every other time Yusuke uses sensei in the script? He's referring not to Maruki, of course, but to his sensei, Madarame. That initial approach to Maruki, stranger to stranger, face to face, is the only time he uses it to anyone else.

So what does Yusuke call Maruki? He calls him 丸喜氏 Maruki-shi.

what is shi

氏 shi is a very formal and exclusively third-person term, usually seen in writing, or heard from newsreaders. It's often translated "Mr X", which can be very odd to hear in media that retains honorifics like -san and -kun; "Mr. Akechi's coming on!" is an example, from 6/10. And Akechi is, in fact, usually mentioned as Akechi-shi on the evening news.

Yusuke's Maruki-shi is universally translated as "Dr. Maruki", as if he'd just said Maruki-sensei like everyone else. Which is a little bit of a shame.

Yusuke also uses shi for one other person—the art patron Kawanabe, in his confidant, before you meet up at the sushi bar. Most of the rest of the time, before and after, Yusuke just calls Kawanabe "Kawanabe" in third-person, with no title; he pulls out a Kawanabe-san at rank 10, after he's won the contest—face to face, of course, since shi is only third-person.

On the other hand, Yusuke never mentions Maruki at all without a title.

the other time yusuke uses sensei

Okay, I lied: Yusuke has one other instance of Maruki-sensei. This, like Morgana's single lapse into kanji, is in prompt text: "Are we going to Maruki's Palace today?" Again, I think this is likely an error.

revision history

Click here for the latest version.

v1.0 (2023/12/29)—first posted.

#persona 5 #p5 meta #p5 reference #japanese language #p5 terms of address #takuto maruki #yusuke kitagawa #goro akechi #ryuji sakamoto #the squad

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historicity-was-already-taken · 3 months

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That’s what makes anti-Semites so interesting, from an anthropological standpoint. They hardly ever have anything new or original to say, but when they stumble over a variant that’s new to them, they act like they just made the greatest discovery of all mankind. Like they’re the radical messiah, whatever radicalism means to them. Like university students think they’re so hardcore putting up fliers accusing Jews of cannibalizing Palestinian children and harvesting their organs, but really, that’s just old shit that’s been rattling around Western anti-Jewish speech/rhetoric since the LITERAL 12th century.

The more I study the history of anti-Semitism(s), the more desire I have to write a sardonic faux-anthropological study of anti-Semites. Like, create a taxonomy and shit.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go make mean faces at a communion wafer.

#anti semitism

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morhido · 9 months

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I've been lost in the owl house sauce for about three years and as a result i've mentally compiled a list of the characters' speech patterns and body language. Then i realised i should probably do something with that information and decided to jot it all down :>>

This is just gonna be the hexsquad for now since my lists for other characters are fairly sparse but additions/requests are welcome! Mayhaps i'll add to it in the future sjdkshskj

(The 'other' category is for general quirks, or things that just didn't fit the other categories)

LUZ:

• Happy/excited: stamps feet with high knees, squeaks/makes high pitched sounds, makes fists and brings them to her chest/face

• Sad: will initially deny if she's upset, whether she fesses up is up to circumstance. Lowers her head, can become unresponsive, becomes tired, voice will generally remain quiet and flat even if something cheers her up, empathetic crier

• Stressed/overwhelmed: repeats phrases over ("no no no, you're belos, you're just belos!"), falls to her knees or puts on hood when overwhelmed, acts overly casual to compensate for her panicking ("yikes, my dude"), protective of others when in physical danger (usually holds amity's head). More comedically, can often make unnecessary/dramatic gestures (e.g. spinning, cartwheeling, flopping to the floor) when stressed

• Angry: gets louder, sometimes unwilling to hear the other person out, becomes very physical, loses volume control (often to her own detriment), sticks her elbows out to look more intimidating. More comedically, will sometimes make animal noises/gestures (e.g. hissing and clawing)

• Other: often prematurely assumes that people will react poorly to her ("she's gonna embarrass herself, i can't watch!" / "if amity sees this, she'll think i'm such a loser!" / "what if the palisman doesn't like me?"), can accidentally be inconsiderate of other people in favour of her impulse, resorts to violence quickly and generally doesn't try to make peace with adults, very easily becomes rambly with strong emotion and can repeat words and phrases, can become loud and panicky during combat if her goal is self-preservation but becomes much more focused if fighting with/protecting other people

WILLOW:

• Happy/excited: becomes very active and touchy, very straightforward, taps toes, will be oblivious if others are intimidated by her, voice pitches up when excited

• Sad: draws herself in, becomes quiet, looks down/closes her eyes, isolates herself, can become less responsive, talks to herself

• Stressed/overwhelmed: loses control of magic, covers hair, voice pitches up when extremely nervous, very rarely acts on impulse even when scared, high-pitched squeaks/screams when startled

• Angry: vines grow from the ground beneath her, shows vocal disdain for whatever is upsetting her, can become very sardonic ("you want me to give up? You want me to admit how stressed i am?"), can go from high and stern when upset ("you just met them, give them a chance!") to low and loud when fully angry ("what advice could you POSSIBLY give me??")

• Other: denial is default coping mechanism, very often does the gag of pretending to be intimidating and then doing something sweet/cute, will be oblivious to the other person's fear when this happens, love language is physical touch, makes her feelings known unless she's specifically not trying to upset people, can speak pretty formally ("enchanting!", "how dare you?"), talks to herself in second person when hyping herself up, takes offensive role in combat

AMITY:

• Happy/excited: voice can get louder, smiles with teeth when extremely excited, becomes more impulsive with what she says and does

• Sad: raises voice when trying to make a point, voice cracks, becomes quieter with remorse, remains very quiet and calm when comforting/confiding in someone else

• Stressed/overwhelmed: s1 amity would get extremely defensive if any vulnerability was exposed ("help? All you're doing is prying into your friends' lives!"), rambles when flustered, holds hem of skirt when she's nervous/doesn't know what to do, also generally moves hands a lot when nervous, attempts to leave situations that are upsetting her, high-pitched screams when startled (does this less throughout the series as she becomes more on-guard and impulsive)

• Angry: often gets louder and more animated (e.g. her trying to break out of the dome in clouds on the horizon), face turns red, pushes away the source of her anger, doesn't usually stay angry for long, moves her body forward (e.g. pointing, gesturing, or actually stepping forwards), will often stick her arms straight at her sides

• Other: generally uncomfortable leaving her comfort zone but extremely confident in fields that she already excels in, extremely accepting of change in other people, arguably the second most impulsive of the hexsquad (especially regarding luz's safety) and uses fire to solve a lot of her problems, will take control of a situation when she knows she's in the right ("you're gonna listen to me for once"), usually very perceptive to others' emotions

GUS:

• Happy/excited: draws fists up to face, big gestures (especially with hands/arms)

• Sad: self-blames/depricates ("yeah. It's all my fault"), curls up with his arms and head on his knees, usually very vocal about being upset with something, "you've done it again, augustus" (in the context of being tricked by someone), can remain in this state for a long time, draws in on himself but doesn't push other people away

• Stressed/overwhelmed: loses control of magic (finds it difficult to discern reality from illusions), often hides behind willow when scared, laughs/smiles nervously when anxious or flustered, can get tunnel vision on the thing that's upsetting him

• Angry: stays level-headed and doesn't often raise his voice, speech becomes more emphatic, can become snarkier ("hey belos, remember me?"), remains distant from the subject of his anger, usually stays in a stance

• Other: very eager to prove himself whenever he has the opportunity (love language is acts of service), most willing to resort to violence ("nobody's dying" "not with that attitude", usually in a joking manner), most annoyed by his friends' shenanigans but always willing to tag along, makes big gestures (especially when emphasising something), sometimes repeats phrases when feeling strong emotions ("gus? Nickname? HUMAN nickname?? GUS???" / "wait × 6, is this really what you wanna be doing with your life?")

HUNTER:

• Happy/excited: extremely animated with his hands, voice gets louder, becomes very confident. Is very playful and arrogant when in golden guard mode and will usually try to show off or start relying on empty threats

• Sad: voice goes quiet and airy, voice cracks, can become raspier

• Stressed/overwhelmed: doesn't like to be touched when upset, is overwhelmed by affection and will often start crying, goes silent and dissociates when processing upsetting information, voice cracks, becomes extremely snappy and irritable from long-term stress, freezes under pressure, draws in on himself when panicking, goes silent when flustered

• Angry: becomes grumpy when things don't go his way, is extremely animated and expressive when actually angry, can become sardonic, raises voice, makes small movements (e.g. shaking leg or pacing small area). As golden guard, would try to physically intimidate the other person (e.g. looming over or walking towards them)

• Other: doesn't tend to self-blame and will either pass the fault onto someone else ("you got us trapped in the emperor's mind!"), or acknowledge when someone else was in the wrong ("you were tricked. That's what belos does, he tricks people"). Almost never initiates combat and plays a more defensive role, extremely theatrical/expressive and talkative (will have to actively restrain himself to not talk about something), squeaks a lot

#i had one of these posts for an old fandom i was in and it was uber helpful for writing their dialogue #so hopefully this can help someone else :>>#toh #the owl house #toh luz #luz noceda #toh willow #willow park #toh amity #amity blight #toh gus #gus porter #toh hunter #hunter noceda #hunter deamonne #gekkering

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randomness-is-my-order · 3 months

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it’s the way percy said “but where’s the glory in that?” in that sardonic, resigned way of his, having undertook an already failed quest to curb a war vs luke’s speech about glory in the beginning, knowing that luke himself failed on his own quest and how glory is really that one true currency demigods can deal the gods’ affections in. it’s percy saying he is doing it for the glory, when that is farthest thing from his motivations vs luke trying and failing to gain the glory that would make the snubs from the gods chafe lighter.

#they are NOT subtle with the percy and luke parallels and it’s driving me crazy #pjo #pjo fandom #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo series #pjo tv show #percy pjo #pjo tv adaptation #pjo tv series #walker scobell #luke castellan #charlie bushnell

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lovebugism · 1 year

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BIZARRE LOVE TRIANGLE | in the middle

summary: when steve and eddie fight, they leave you right smack dab in the middle of it pairing: steve harrington / f!reader / eddie munson warnings: the tiniest bit of angst, barely proofread word count: 1.8k a/n: one like and i turn this into a whole steddie series

Nobody ever said relationships were supposed to be easy. Actually, they were pretty fucking hard. Two different types of people, sharing one space, each with one half of their heart with the other — it’s bound to get a little exhausting at some point. But add a third person to that equation and ‘a little exhausting’ becomes completely cataclysmic.

But that’s the thing about Steve and Eddie. It was rarely ever like that between the three of you. You guys loved and cared for each other equally and that was that. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Steve didn’t feel cramped when another man entered the relationship. Eddie didn’t feel less loved because he weaseled his way into the pair of you a little later than he would’ve liked. Neither of them felt like it was a burden to share you. It was just your own little thing and it was perfect.

That didn’t mean they didn’t annoy the ever loving shit out of each other, though. There was always lighthearted teasing between all of you, but it was different with Eddie and Steve. There was always a sense of competition, an air of dominance that one always tried to overshadow the other with. All this time later, they hadn’t yet run out of stones to throw, always equipped with some sardonic jab (or more) to pelt the other with.

But sometimes they poked too hard. Sometimes the stupid joke really hurt.

It wasn’t a rarity for them to get angry with each other, that came with the package of relationships, all wrapped up with a sparkly little bow. But they hardly ever fought like this.

Most times, stupid squabbles were all too quick to simmer.

Eddie would drive around with his radio turned all the way up until he blew off steam. You’d stress clean until the house was sparkling to distract yourself from your own mucky thoughts. And Steve would usually just linger around until someone finally bit and asked him what was wrong so that he could berate everyone with the speech he’d been prepping in his head.

Even when it was hard, it was still so easy.

But Eddie was strange. Anger washed off of him like water from a duck’s back. For a guy who spent seven years in high school, he was strangely mature — he knew people said shit they didn’t mean and that you and Steve sometimes just liked to push his buttons for the hell of it. It was usually insanely easy for him to let things go. He didn’t get mad very often.

But when Eddie Munson was mad, he was fucking pissed.

When he trudges into the bedroom that night, after spending the entire day absolutely fuming at Steve, he carries a thundering storm cloud with him.

You’re tucked safely in the middle of the mattress, sitting in wait for both your boys, and watching silently as he makes a b-line for Steve’s side. He grabs his pillow and the spare blanket he always had to use because you and Eddie inevitably stole all of the covers. Like a child, he drops them to the floor at the foot of the bed on his way to his own side. And without a word, he sheds the shirt from his back and peels away the blanket to get into bed beside you.

He’s radiating warmth like a space heater and he’s all tense like you’re lying next to a rock — a big, angry rock, with wild curly hair that somehow always gets in your mouth come sunrise.

“Eddie,” you start meekly, bringing your knees to your chest. Your eyes glimmer with uncertainty, as though you were poking a sleeping bear. In some ways, it felt like you were. He’s facing away from you now and you have to fight the urge to run a hand over the expanse of his bare, freckled back. You fear in some roundabout way that in stewing in his anger, he’s found a reason to be mad at you too.

“He can sleep on the fucking couch for all I care,” he grumbles into his pillow.

“He’s been apologizing all day,” you try and defend the lone boy downstairs. “Just let him come to bed.”

“No. I’m still mad.”

“…Do you even know why you’re still mad at him?”

“Yeah I do! Because he—” he lifts his face from the mattress to turn and look at you. You watch his anger ebb into a look of confusion, face scrunching as he tries to remember what Steve had done in the first place to get him so messed up. He comes up short. You bite back a smile. He turns away, mumbling, “—Doesn’t matter. ‘M still pissed.”

Steve doesn’t come into the bedroom for a while. You have your eye on the flashing numbers of the clock on your bedside table in anticipation for his arrival. He waits twenty minutes exactly after Eddie to come up. Maybe because he was waiting for the boy to calm down. Or maybe because he was waiting for him to fall asleep. Either way, he wants to avoid another argument.

But you — you haven’t moved an inch. You’re still propped up against the headboard, resting your head on your bent knees in wait for him. You know you’re not getting any sleep if he’s not beside you, there’s not a point in trying.

“He still pissed at me?” Steve wonders into the darkness as he lingers in the doorway. The silhouette of him is lit by the dim light in the hallway.

You nod, sheepish and shy.

“And I guess he wants me to sleep on the couch?” he asks with a breathy laugh, motioning to his pillow on the floor as he walks further into the bedroom.

Again, you nod.

“That’s okay,” he mumbles softly to himself. You can hear the hurt in his tone, like he understands why but feels like sting of it anyway as he collects his bedstuff. “I would probably make him do the same—”

You rise from your sacred spot and move to the edge of the mattress. You wrench the cushion in his hands in your fist before he can walk away. He turns to you, soft looking, a little sad, and in desperate need of a kiss.

He furrows his brows down at you, like he’s worried something might be wrong. Because, of course, Steve’s got his own inner turmoil to deal with, but he’s always concerned about you most of all. “Yeah?”

“You two are being childish,” you say to him and to the (fake) sleeping boy on the other side of the bed, staring up at him, trying your best to look stern. “And I get it, but it always leaves me in the middle, and it sucks.”

Steve deflates with a sigh.

Fights were different when it was just the two of you.

Both of you were angry, both of you were sad, both of you were hurt. You could so easily fall into the cycle of selfishness in your heartache without having to worry that someone else might be affected by it. But here you were now, stuck between a rock and a hard place because your favorite boys were too stupid to make up with each other.

“Oh, baby,” he hums quietly, somehow more saddened by the crestfallen twinkle in your eye and the fact that he’s hurt not one, but two of the people he loves most in the world.

He sets the pillow and blanket on the bed, freeing his hands so he can wrap them around you. He tucks his face into your neck and finds a refuge there, feeling stupid for depriving himself from such a gentle softness while he spent all day stewing in his rage.

You feel the deep exhale leave his nose and fan against your skin when you bring your hands to his hair, entwining your fingers between the chocolate strands.

“I’m sorry,” his apology is muffled against your shoulder. “It’s not fair to you—”

“Jesus, you guys don’t need to get all weepy about it. Just get in the fucking bed,” Eddie finally concedes from beneath the covers, though still in his grumbly thunder cloud mood.

It makes you beam anyway, knowing it’s partially because he was feeling left out.

Steve watches the grin form on your lips and the way you rush back to your spot on the bed, all excited like it’s the first time you three are sharing one. He can’t help but smile too as he follows in behind you.

A sigh spills from his lips when he’s finally beneath the covers and close to the both of you, settling his tired bones for the first time all day.

“Wait,” you complain softly into the silence, displeased at they’re going to sleep without having said a word to each other. “You guys have to kiss and makeup.”

“No,” Eddie’s quick to reject.

Steve smiles sadly when you turn your head to look at him. “He said no, babe.”

“But you have to! That’s the rule!”

No one moves for several long moments. Steve idles and waits for Eddie’s reaction because the whole kiss and makeup thing requires a second party, after all. And you’re waiting for both of them to come to their senses with an atmosphere of childlike doom and gloom radiating off of you.

Eddie can feel it from where he lays next to you. He’s not even looking at you and he can see the pout on your lips and the worried frown settled between your brows. It makes him sigh because he couldn’t avoid you even if he wanted to, always so effortlessly in tune with what you’re feeling even in his annoyed stupor.

There’s no way he’s getting sleep when his best girl is upset.

With a rather dramatic huff, he rises. Steve tries to not look too smug when a grin pulls at the corners of his lips. He leans on his elbows and catches the boy’s lips halfway, sharing a brief but no less loving peck over top of you.

You look like sunshine personified, practically lighting up the darkened room with your wide smile, as you watch them lock lips just over your own face. It’s like falling in love with them all over again. “I’m never gonna get tired of that,” you beam with hopeless adoration, grateful for the ebbing tension.

“We know,” Eddie quips. His signature grin returns, the anger all gone. It crinkles the corners of his eyes.

The two boys press their lips against your cheeks next, sprinkling wet kisses to the blushing apples of them most ardently, until your face is softly scrunched between them. You giggle with mirth and feel them smile against your skin.

This is how you want to be in the middle of them. Forever and ever and ever.

have any more steve thoughts? or just thoughts about my writing/requests in general? leave them here if you want! ꒰◍ᐡᐤᐡ◍꒱

#two posts in one night??? it's more likely than u think #stranger things imagine #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #steddie x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson imagine #steve harrington imagine #eddie munson angst #steve harrington angst #published by bug #st drabbles

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cherryblossom-enthusiast · 2 years

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Thunk! (Bradley Bradshaw x Reader)

I watched Top Gun: Maverick. Need I say more for the motivation to write this short little fic? If I continued this short little fic, would be people be interested in reading it? Let me know! Otherwise, pour in some requests for me. I’ve got the rare motivation to actually write.

Summary: You’re dying from the heat of the sun, but some are worth the burning feeling. One of them is Bradley Bradshaw.

In other words: You’re hot and sweaty, but so is Bradshaw and it may just be the thing to make you go haywire. That and the football he accidentally hit your head with.

Fluff(?)

Words: 1.1k

Part 2

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The heat was sweltering and that was putting it mildly.

“Beer?”

You look up from your book as a cold bottle touches your cheek making you flinch a little. Way too eager to get any sort of salve, you take the bottle quickly almost spilling it. “Don’t mind if I freaking do.”

Penny, your aunt Penny that is, slides onto the bench chair in front of you, a similar drink in her own hands. Taking a small swig of her beer, she nods at the paperback in your hands. “How is it?”

You shrug as you take your own slow sip. “Decent.”

A small but all-knowing grin slowly etches itself on her lips. “Hm, okay.” Her tone sardonic. It makes you want to wipe the expression off her stupidly pretty face, but you hold off on saying anything else. Anything, and you mean anything is ammo for teasing when it comes to this woman and she’s been going strong for the past couple of weeks.

“Spend the next couple of months with Penny.” Your mother had almost ordered you to do. Fresh out of university in the standard 4-year period time-frame. You weren’t one to take breaks, never have been. Throwing your body into lectures, your student life flew by and before you knew it, that part of your life was over.

No parties, no hangouts, just you, your copy of Pride and Prejudice, and your cat Judy.

In a brief, terrible miscalculation of saying your thoughts out loud in front of your mother, she then pushed you into taking a couple months off from looking for a “forever job” and booked you a plane ticket straight to this beach instead.

And that leaves you here. 2 weeks later from flying in an airplane by yourself for the first time.

Almost hurling the contents of your stomach in the process.

You were definitely not looking forward to going home.

You both fall into comfortable silence for a small while until you pick up your beer bottle and put it to your sweaty, otherwise blotchy cheek once more. Not missing a beat, Penny comments on it immediately. “You know, the bar has a multitude of problems, but the AC is not one of them.” She places her elbows on the table and rests her chin on one of her palms. “ I know you get hot easily kiddo, why don’t you read inside?”

Tapping the bottle, you instantly avoid the mischievous glint in her eyes. “Uh- just,-“ shit. You thought. This woman was good, too damn good at getting under your skin. “Just wanted some fresh air?”

Why’d you fucking question yourself?

“This the same girl who hates hiking, biking, running, and otherwise any other activity that ends with “ing” that happens outdoors?”

“I don’t hate them, I’m just not very good at them.” You defended, eyes still averting all over the place.

Another swig of beer as she raises her eyebrows. “Riiiight,” she elongates her speech, making it sound as sarcastic as possible. She doesn’t get to finish her sentence before another, much huskier voice screams at the both of you.

“Heads up!”

Oh boy you thought. Here we go again.

The football slams against your head, hard enough that an audible thunk! rang in your ears. Your shoulders tense and letting out an “ow” you palm against your skull to rub at the site of impact.

Penny puts the teasing on hold and immediately scans you over for any injuries. “Oh shit, are you okay?” She asks, voice dipped in worry.

You manage to say “All good.” With a small grimace, eyes still squinted.

“Hey, are you okay? I’m really sorry about that.”

It was like alarm bells rang in your head. That voice you thought. God, it was pathetic it affected you that much.

Completely forgetting about the aching for a brief while, you turn your head to the new figure beside you and sweet mother Mary, you almost regret it on the spot.

You come face to bare-chest with Bradley fucking Bradshaw.

You quickly avert your eyes once more. You’d been doing that a lot today and it was kind of getting tiring if you were being honest with yourself. Just getting attacked on all fronts you supposed.

It’s like he covered himself in baby oil or something.

There’s a hitch in your breathing that you really hope Penny doesn’t notice. “I’m uh- I’m fine-“you stutter “I’m just- I’m good.”

Nice. Great job.

“You sure?” He asks, moving his head to try and catch your gaze. “Is there any way I can say sorry or make it up to you?”

Honestly, just stand there and look pretty.

“No, I’m good, it’s no problem.”

The man was not taking that as an answer. “Look, I think we’re about done anyways, and getting a couple of drinks after getting changed- That is to say Penny’s open tonight.” He directs his question to your aunt with a hopeful smile and she just nods her head with that sly glint. “Can I repay you with some drinks?”

You weren’t a drinker and it was for good reason. Just as you were about to tell him not to worry about it once more, your aunt beat you to a reply. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it Bradshaw.” She answered for you. “As long as you don’t cheap out on her drinks.”

He just let out a scoff and rolled his eyes in amusement. “Pen, I know I can be an asshole, but I don’t think I’m that much of an asshole.”

You finally meet his gaze and he lifts the corners of his lips into another apologetic smile. “I guess I’ll be seeing you at 9 tonight.” This man is putting his full sincerity into his apology and you’re only hearing words buzz. Half of the reason being your head was still kind of aching and the other half because his sweat-slicked abs were still on full display in front of you. “Sorry again, about that.”

Not being able to come up with any other intelligible reply, you simply purse your lips and nod.

Bradshaw finally leaves your vicinity and it feels like you can breathe again. You let out a sigh and blow a piece of your hair away from your face. You notice Penny’s signature smirk and your mouth turns into a flat shape. “You knew didn’t you?”

“Anybody would know in 2 seconds.” She shrugs . “Also, your paperback’s been upside down the whole time you’ve been out here.”

You groan, slamming your already injured head onto the table in hopes that it would just knock you out cold. “He’s just stupidly hot.”

“And I just got that stupidly hot guy to buy you drinks so I deserve a thank you.” She states proudly as she finishes her beer. “Now go home, get changed, consume alcohol, and live a little.”

You hear her rise up from the bench in front of you, probably getting ready to handle her rowdy bar for the night. Before she leaves, you can’t help but make a small jab of your own. “Yeah, well take your own advice and screw Mitchell already.”

“I already have, and I’m not planning to again” She pauses for dramatic effect. “Yet.”

“Ewww.”

“Hey, you serve snarky, you get snarky.”

#top gun maverick #top gun #miles teller #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #Tom cruise #x reader #top gun fanfiction #rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fluff #fanfic

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astralaffairs · 8 months

Note

Don't mean to pressure you or anything but I really miss fotp and that last chap had me wanting to tear my heart open (TT)

If you're up for it, can I request for a short fluff abt mc and president t's marriage life? Or if you're still feeling villain-y, an angst will do! 😚

Hope you're having a fine dayyy, love all your works btw! 🫶🏻

astralaffairs villain era canceled. let me also refer u to late nights & speech writes for some president thom husband material

‐----------------

“And where the hell have you been?” Strong hands grabbed Y/N by the waist the minute she locked the door behind her, and she squealed, stumbling over the hem of her long dress as she was pulled into a strong body. Rough wool scratched her bare shoulders. “‘S late. A woman like you shouldn’t be out all on your own like this. Who knows what coulda happened.”

Her laugh was breathless as Thomas kissed her neck, his stubble harsh against her skin, and her hands came to cover his as his arms wrapped around her waist. “Oh, please. I don’t think I’ve left the White House in the last 72 hours; I’m not exactly looking for trouble.”

“So why’ve you been out all night, hm?” He nipped at her earlobe, but she rolled her eyes. “Who’ve you been with all this time, sugar?”

“That Russian ambassador who did not want to hear that I have an early morning tomorrow,” she said dryly. “This is the worst part about state dinners. All the old men in the room still talk to me like I’m their young prospect rather than a peer in government who’s here as my job.”

“They’re all goddamn relics; don’t let ‘em get to you,” Thomas said. “They’re dinosaurs, and they’re gonna be dead in a few months, anyway.”

“At this rate, they’ll also be running entire countries when they’re on life support,” Y/N grumbled, and his laugh was sardonic.

“‘N they’re still gonna be tryin’ to hit on you when they’re hauling oxygen tanks around here behind ‘em.” He turned her around in his arms, and her drained expression made him frown. Her eyes looked empty. “‘M sorry you don’t get the respect you deserve at these events, though, sweetheart. Wish there was something more I could do."

"I don't expect you to be able to end all sexism in government, believe me," she said, reaching up to loosen his tie. "Doesn't help that they all see you as the ultimate guy's guy, though. Thomas Jefferson, the good all-American trust-fund baby who loves steak and baseball."

"Maybe I'll eat some tofu 'n take up figure skating," he suggested mildly as she slid her hands under the collar of his blazer, pushing it down his shoulders. He withdrew his arms from her waist for just long enough to shake the jacket off, discarding it on the chair by his desk in the corner. "I've always thought there was a whole lotta power in embracing the traditionally feminine."

"Sure you have," she scoffed. He grinned, taking a step back toward their bed with her in his arms as she started undoing the knot in his tie. "You regularly smoke cigars with foreign heads of state to celebrate national alliances. You're the epitome of the boys club."

"Hey, I smoke the cigars with women holdin' office too," he defended. She slid his tie out from the collar of his shirt.

"You're truly a feminist icon." The words were ironic as she pulled his button down out from where he'd tucked it into the waist of his pants, walking him back toward their bed all the while, and he raised an eyebrow.

"You're talkin' a whole lotta mess for somebody who's trying to undress me."

"You're not putting up much of a fight." She raised an expectant eyebrow, looking him in the eye as she undid his belt buckle, and when he pulled her close, she slid her hands up his chest. She fiddled with the top button on his dress shirt as he guided both of them through the final few steps between him and the foot of their bed.

"'N you're awful lucky I'm not." As he sat on the edge of the mattress, she stood between his parted thighs as he pulled her dress up her legs. "You just came home from a long night of work, 'n all you wanna do is objectify me? 'M a whole lot more than just a hot body, Ms. L/N."

Despite his words, when the hem of her dress was high enough for him to slide his hands under it, he pulled her onto the bed with him, straddling his lap as his hands ran up her bare thighs. She cocked her head to one side.

"You mean 'Mrs. Jefferson'?" she asked, and he grinned.

"Yeah, but I like it a whole lot better when you say it." He pushed her dress up her body until her hands covered his to pull it over her head, and although she didn't seem particularly concerned with where it landed, she suddenly felt very exposed in just her lingerie on his lap. His eyes didn't stray from her face, however. He pulled her closer by her bare waist, and her arms hung loosely over his shoulders. The open ends of his belt poked at her inner thighs. "Reminds all those Russian diplomats you're off the market."

"I have a feeling Nebenzya isn't trying to steal me away," she said, but Thomas shrugged. "With the way he talks about you, he might be hoping we're looking for a third."

"Unfortunately for Vasily, he wouldn't be at the top of my list," Thomas said, and Y/N's eyebrows shot up.

"Oh, you have a list, now?" she asked. He gave a lazy grin.

"Sugar, I've always had a list," he informed her, and she frowned. He kissed her downturned lips. "If we're working from the number one spot, though, we might have some trouble."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, I've got a feeling John Adams wouldn't be too amenable to the idea," he said frankly, and Y/N's surprised laugh was closer to a scoff. "'N I don't feel like we know John Jay well enough as a couple, so that's not gonna fly, but inviting Lafayette just feels like it'd make things weird between all of us."

"Is your whole list made up of men?”

“‘Course.” His answer was immediate, but her skeptical gaze didn’t waver. He ran his hands down her thighs. “You already know you’re the only woman I got eyes for.”

“You’re so corny,” she said softly, running her hands down his shoulders to his upper chest. She picked at the buttons on his dress shirt. "Better tone it down before I get the wrong idea and fall in love with you."

"Now, we certainly can't have that."

"Especially not now. I'm too busy to take a lover, I'm afraid," she said, working down the buttons on his shirt to reveal his bare chest. "I'm just married to my work these days."

"'N you mean that literally, don't you, Madam First Lady?" He undid his cufflinks when she finished with his buttons, and he slid them into his pocket. However, he didn't take the shirt off despite her pushing its fabric down his shoulders. Rather, he took her hands in his, lacing his fingers into hers. "You're just a regular Mrs. America."

"You're really gonna stop me from taking your shirt off after you got me down to my underwear?"

"If I let you finish undressing me, it's gonna be a while before we get to sleep," he said, and she shrugged innocently. "We've gotta be up again in five hours. We both oughta get some rest."

"Being the first couple isn't nearly as sexy as I hoped it'd be." She sat back on her heels, resting her hands on his legs, and he gave her a tired smile. "Take the rest of your clothes off and come to bed, at least. I feel like I've hardly seen you all week."

"Right now, I'm all yours," he assured her. "Lemme get up 'n get some pajamas, though. Put on something other than a full suit for once."

"Just sleep without them," she countered, and he raised an eyebrow. "I like the feeling of your skin against mine. Just makes me feel more connected to you, I guess."

"You're adorable." He kissed her on the forehead, his smile endeared, and she could feel the heat rising to the tips of her ears as he leaned back to take his shirt off. After he did, though, he pulled her in closer, picking her up by her thighs as he stood, and she yelped, grabbing onto his shoulders. When he deposited her on his side of the bed, he undid his dress pants, taking them off before joining her on the mattress.

He crawled atop her where she lay on her back watching him, and as he dipped down to kiss her, one hand slid under her back, and she arched up against him. However, as he kissed down her neck, he unhooked her bra and leaned back to slide it down her arms. When he discarded it onto the floor, she was watching him with wide eyes, but he only kissed her forehead before rolling off of her and pulling the covers over them both. He reached over to turn off the lamp at his bedside.

"For what it's worth," he murmured as he wrapped an arm around her waist, and she rolled onto her side, letting him pull her into his body, "we've got plenty of time to sleep in on Saturday morning."

"Oh, yeah?" She rested her arm atop his, lacing her fingers into his.

"Mhm." He kissed the back of her shoulder. "So Friday night, you better not come home too tired."

"I'm gonna need all my energy for when I find you and Adams in our bed, huh?" When his hold on her tightened, his cold feet brushed against her shins, and she shivered.

"Not this time, sweetheart," he promised. "Once I get you alone, you better bet I'm not sharing you."

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alwaysmicado · 8 months

Text

It's always been you

3.3k words | NSFW 18+ | Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Warnings: angst, age gap (unspecified), swearing, brief mention of p in v sex, brief mention of disordered eating and suicide, mention of black eye, toxic relationship, drug use, reader's coping mechanisms are unhealthy Summary: After a year of dating Dieter Bravo, you are forced to face reality. All good things must come to an end, right? A/N: Nothing is more painful than realizing the person you love is not good for you.

Enjoy the hurt and let me know what you think! I'd love to hear from you! 🖤

“Baby, please just listen to me,” Dieter implores. You huff and shake your head, avoiding his pleading eyes. “It didn’t mean anything. It really didn’t, okay? I- I don’t want her,” you can hear the desperation in his voice. He’s a good actor, you gotta give him that.

“Baby?” He takes a step towards you but knows better than to touch you right know. Even if that’s all he wants to do. Wrapping his strong arms around you, feeling your heartbeat against his chest, inhaling your scent. He says your name softly, his voice laden with anguish. You turn your head a little and your eyes find his. Dieter’s beautiful brown eyes. The eyes you've been losing yourself in for the past year.

“Please just tell me what I can do to fix this and I’ll do it. Anything. Please,” he takes another step towards you and whispers, “I can’t lose you.” Arrogant asshole. The illusion is gone.

You furrow your brow and tilt your head, studying the man in front of you. Dressed in his favorite pair of gray sweatpants, a loose white shirt that accentuates his tan skin, perfectly disheveled hair just screaming to be played with, sad puppy eyes. He looks like always - irritatingly handsome.

Something's off though. His body language, usually relaxed and confident, is teeming with insecurity. You smirk at that thought. Dieter Bravo, enigmatic celebrity and notorious playboy, insecure because of you. What a joke.

“You really think I'm fucking stupid, don't you?” Your voice is steady, every word filled with venom. “Just some silly girl you can use to get your dick wet and feed your ego.” He winces at that. Good. “I know you're used to people bending over backwards for you, blowing smoke up your ass and never saying no to you. But guess what, they don't give a shit about you.” Your face is heating up and you can feel your restraint slipping.

“I'm sure she made you feel really good, Dieter. Like a real star.” You snort sardonically and smirk, “Did you give her the same speech you gave me when we met? How you're this misunderstood guy just trying to get by and find real love?” You look around, shrugging your shoulders mockingly. “Either you're losing your charm or she's just a lot smarter than I am. Would've made everything so much easier if I'd left that first night, too, huh?”

Dieter huffs, averting his gaze and rubbing the nape of his neck. Your eyes follow the motion of his ringed hand, now clearly seeing the fresh hickey adorning his neck. Mother. Fucker. What the actual fuck is wrong with this man? And what the hell is wrong with you for putting up with his shit for so long? Seriously.

You’re actually very well aware of what's wrong with you, but that doesn’t really help you. Never has, if you’re being honest with yourself.

The hurt inside you becomes unbearable. Your lips start to tremble and you bite back a sob. You’re surprised at the feeling of wet tears running down your hot cheeks. What’s happening with you? You never cry in front of other people - especially not Dieter.

He hates it. Seeing you cry hurts him more than anything you could ever say to him. Unable to see you like this, he starts pacing around the living room, feverishly running his hands through his hair.

“Don’t you dare look away,” you spit out, making him turn around with an exasperated sigh, lifting his gaze to meet yours slowly. He cringes at what he sees in your wet eyes. The harm he's done. The spark in your eyes he loves so much, gone.

“You ripped my fucking heart out, Dieter,” you sob, tears streaming down your neck. You press both of your hands over your racing heart and claw at your shirt, nails digging into your flesh so hard it hurts.

Dieter reaches out to you, eyes wide, “Baby, I know I fucked up. I'm so-” “Fuck. You,” you shout at him, startling the both of you alike. You've never raised your voice at Dieter, no matter what bullshit he put you through. But you can’t take it anymore. Fuck always being the bigger person. Not like it ever got you anything.

And did he really just try and say he's fucking sorry?

“You ripped my beating heart out with your bare hands, felt my bleeding flesh in your palms and now you seriously have the fucking audacity to tell me it didn’t mean anything? That you're sorry?” You laugh mirthlessly and wipe your wet cheeks. Dieter swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He has no response.

Your head hurts and you feel weak despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Crying is exhausting. Having your heart stomped on is exhausting. Realizing the man you love will never be good for you is killing you.

You sit down on the sofa, close your eyes and inhale deeply. Dieter approaches you slowly and sits down on the far end, turning his body towards you, but giving you space.

Eyes closed, head resting on the backrest, you press the heels of your palms onto your eyes. You can hear Dieter's breathing, can smell his cologne. A birthday present from you he's used every day since unwrapping it. You remember that day well.

After the extravagant party with all of Dieter's fake Hollywood friends was finally over, you two went skinny-dipping in his pool. You started splashing water at each other, laughing without a care in the world. At some point, Dieter caught you in his arms, pulling you towards him, hooking your feet behind his back. He looked so happy, his beautiful features illuminated by moonlight. He kissed you slowly, passionately, savoring the taste of your lips. “I love you, you know,” he murmured, nudging your nose with his. “You're the best thing that's happened to me in a long time. Gonna do it right with you.” And you believed him. How foolish of you.

“It's easier for you like this, isn't it” you note quietly, turning your head to look at Dieter. “What do you mean?” His voice is raspy, brow furrowed in confusion. “Being the bad guy,” you scoff like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “You've convinced yourself that you're a bad person who can never be good and that's why you act the way you do. Makes it easier. You can just point to your shitty behavior and tell yourself that's why people leave you.”

You furrow your brow and shake your head. “Don't you see? It’s you, Dieter. It’s always been you. It’s not the drugs, or the people you fuck, or the shit that happened in your childhood. You're the problem. It’s you.”

You huff and make for the door, in desperate need of fresh air and space.

“You think it's so fucking easy being me. Got it all figured out, huh?” Dieter's agitated voice yanks you back. “You have no fucking idea how it is. Everyone wants a piece of me and as soon as they got what they wanted - drugs, sex, fame - they fucking leave me.” He gets up and closes the distance between you two in a few strides. You don't back away.

You’ve never needed to be close to him more than right now and it positively kills you that you can’t. You can’t wrap your hands around his waist, press your face into his chest, hold him tight until your heartbeats synchronize. You can’t. Not anymore.

“You're the only good thing I got and I know I fucked up. I know I'm an asshole and I don't deserve you, but please,” he takes your hands in his, squeezing them gently, “please stay. I was high off my ass and I couldn't tell you her name or what she looked like if you asked me. Please let me fix this.”

Dieter leans in, leaving barely any room between your bodies. You can feel his breath on your face, feel the heat radiating off his body. His big sad eyes are piercing your soul, pleading with you, desperately seeking to convince you. Nice try. You know this will happen again. Dieter Bravo won't change. Not for you, not for anyone.

You take a deep breath, maintaining eye contact. “I’m not leaving you because you fucked someone else in our bed last night, Dieter. I’m leaving you because you're so convinced you're bad that you won't even try to be better. Not even for me.”

Hot tears are starting to make their way down your cheeks again. Dieter gives you a sad smile, gently cupping your face with his hands, wiping away the evidence of your sadness with his thumbs. “Please don't cry, baby,” he murmurs. His voice is strained, the corners of his mouth twitching.

You put your trembling hands around his wrists and slowly lower them from your face. “I'm done being just another person who got caught up in the whirlwind that is you and got lost on the way. I can't do it anymore.”

Before Dieter can say something, you interrupt him by softly pressing your right hand to his chest. His heart is racing. “It felt like you killed me last night,” you deadpan and Dieter’s breath hitches, his eyes going even wider. “I'm so so-” “But you know what?” you look into his eyes intently and shrug, “I’m still here, so I guess I’m not dead.”

“I’ll go on without you,” you nod, a wistful smile playing on your lips. “I’m done, Dee. Finally done.”

----------

You lean against the front door of Dieter’s mansion, chest heaving, trying to steady your breathing. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Slowly. Over and over. The dull pain in your head gets worse and you suddenly have the overwhelming urge to throw up. You turn around to face the concrete wall and empty your stomach contents onto the ground, trying as much as you can to not get it on your clothes.

Your throat burns, tears are streaming down your face and the throbbing pain in your head is all-consuming. Your vision starts to get blurry and you can hear your blood rushing in your ears - louder and louder - until everything is quiet. Peaceful.

----------

I’m sorry. I want you to be happy.

Dieter’s note on the nightstand does nothing to you. Your heart feels numb.

You see the glass of water and the Advil next to the note. You’re wearing a clean shirt, not the one you were crying and throwing up on a few hours ago. Dieter must have changed you into one of his. Your pants are neatly folded on a lounge chair standing in the corner. Light is flooding the bedroom you've woken up in every morning for the past year. Weird to think it's the last time today.

You sit up too fast and your head pounds violently, so you try and move as slowly and carefully as possible. The pill doesn’t go down easily. Your throat burns and even the tiny gulp of water you need to swallow it feels like someone’s dragging hot knives from your tongue all the way down to your bleeding heart.

Why do you keep doing this to yourself? You know Dieter, you know what to expect from him and you also know yourself. Still, you let yourself believe. Believe that you could be loved. Believe that someone could know you - really know you - and still love you. But it’s always the same. To know you is to love you less.

It’s your fault. Dieter showed you who he was from the beginning and you still let yourself fall for him. You knew better than to open up your bruised heart to him and yet, you did. That was your decision, not his. And the most fucked up thing? You’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. Loving Dieter hurt. Badly. But for a brief moment in your life, he showed you that you were capable of loving someone and being loved.

You know he was telling the truth about that. He did love you. Maybe still does. It doesn’t matter anymore. You’ve had your taste of pure happiness and that’s more than most people will ever experience in their life. It’s okay. It was always going to end this way.

----------

Three months later

It’s hot outside. Too hot. So you usually just stay inside your new apartment after you come home from work. Shutters closed, AC blasting until the sun goes down and you can finally open the windows to let the cool night air inside.

You’re on your balcony, finishing up your nightly bottle of white wine. You can smell the summer night, hear the hum of cars driving by, people eating and laughing, crickets chirping peacefully. When you close your eyes, you feel a comfortable buzz. This is okay. You’re still here, haven’t jumped off your balcony or slit your wrists. Too final, you think.

You don’t actually want to die, you just want to be as numb as possible. Numb the pain that is simply too unbearable to face fully present. So you drink and you pop Xanax bars and you either don’t eat or stuff yourself so full you throw it all back up.

And you fuck Ben from work.

Turns out he'd had his eyes on you for some time before you went into his office with the goal to get bent over his desk.

Swaying your hips, batting your eyelashes, tracing his arms and shoulders with your fingertips, purring into his ear how you need him to take care of you did the trick. Two minutes after entering the office, Ben was already balls deep inside you. He made you cum on his cock, spilled his seed on your ass and drove you home after. You fucked him again in the parking lot of your apartment complex, riding him until you both were a sticky mess. He didn't ask if he could come upstairs and you didn't offer. “What did I do to deserve you, hm?” he asked when you were both laying in his bed a few days later. You lifted your head from his chest to look at him. He was beaming at you with undisguised admiration. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips and buried your face in his neck. Ben was kind and attentive and handsome - he was everything you could wish for. What a sane person would wish for, anyway. But that wasn't you. And he wasn't Dieter.

You're alone tonight, sitting on your sofa, a glass of wine in your hand. You stare at your phone, index finger hovering over the Instagram icon. You shouldn't be doing this. Really shouldn't. 'Cause every time you do it, you end up crying yourself to sleep despite the alcohol and pills.

Fuck it. You open the app and are greeted with Dieter's face laughing into the camera. He's not alone, as usual. A pretty girl is hugging him and pressing her plump lips to his left cheek. You want to vomit.

He stopped texting and calling you a few weeks ago. Probably got tired of you never replying, you assume. And it's not like there aren't thousands of women out there just waiting to take your place by his side and in his bed. Why would he waste his time on a woman who broke up with him?

You're sure that Ms What's-her-face from his Instagram doesn't nag him about doing too much coke or fucking other women or meeting her parents or starting a fam- You throw your phone across the room and start sobbing violently. Three shots of Whiskey and too many Xanax bars later, you pass out on the sofa.

You stop stalking Dieter's Instagram after that night. You need to get your shit together before you do (even more) irreparable harm to your body and psyche. No more social media, no more alcohol, no more pills, no more Ben. He doesn't make a scene, letting you know that he'd like to stay friends. You know you don't deserve his kindness.

A few quiet weeks go by and you start to feel a bit better, now that you're not treating yourself like complete garbage. You eat well, take walks when the weather's nice and you've started dating a guy you met in the small coffeeshop near your apartment. Life is fine at the moment. You're fine.

----------

Loud knocking on your front door rips you out of deep sleep. You open your eyes in confusion and check your phone. It's 2:26 am. Probably someone coming home drunk and knocking on the wrong door. You wrap yourself in your blanket tightly and close your eyes again.

Another loud knock, now accompanied by a voice saying your name. You grunt and reluctantly get up, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders. You look through the peephole and your heart skips a beat.

“I'm sorry for waking you, babe. Thanks for letting me in, I-” Dieter looks down at his feet, fidgeting with his rings, “I didn't know where else to go.” You hand him a cup of chamomile tea, sitting down beside him on the sofa. “It's okay,” you nod, looking at his face intently. He's wearing his signature sunglasses. You assume it's because he wants to hide the evidence of his excessive drug use.

You both sit in silence for a few minutes before he lifts his head to look at you. He puts his right hand on the cushion between you two, wordlessly communicating his need for your touch. You gently place your left hand over his and move to intertwine your fingers. Dieter's breathing becomes heavier.

“What happened, Dee?” you ask quietly. When he doesn't answer, you move your right hand towards his sunglasses, watching carefully for any signs that he wants you to stop. You take the glasses off slowly and gasp when you see what he was hiding. It wasn't dilated pupils, it was a massive black eye.

You trace the swollen skin under his left eye with your thumb, causing him to wince. “I guess her husband found out?“ you ask with a wry smile, trying to lighten the mood. Dieter chuckles, shaking his head. “I'm sorry,” he says, lifting his gaze to meet yours. You shrug your shoulders, “I already said it's okay you came he-” “That's not what I mean,” he interjects. “I'm sorry for everything, for hurting you. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness and you're better off without me, but I want you to know that I really am sorry.”

And just like that, the heart you've worked so hard on fixing over the past few months breaks all over again.

Tears are silently falling from your cheeks as you lie down on your bed. You're on your side, eyes closed, tears pooling on the pillow when you feel the mattress sink under Dieter's weight. He's removed his jacket and pants, now lying on his side, mirroring you, in his boxers and shirt.

He caresses your cheek and murmurs, “C'mere”. You lay your head on his chest, your right hand resting above his heart. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer, kissing the top of your head.

“I do love you, you know,” he murmurs.

“I know.”

161 notes · View notes

sardonicsergeant · 1 month

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Every once in a while, I get the urge to get on a dating app or try to find something like a class or organization just to meet people... and then I remember I have a volatile personality that repulses most people, and most people suck and take advantage of you(whether intentionally or otherwise)

#sardonic speeches #i have like... a friend from middle school and one from high school that i message/see once every couple months #but lately i just... havent had the motivation to do....#anything...#i think my standards are too high for ppl i want to interact with... but if i lower them then ppl just bring drama into my life

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beansprean · 1 year

Text

Queening the Pawn Act 3 Part 7

Back to Nandor… Crew cameo! Wives cameo!! Jahan cameo!!!

Acts 1-2

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Waist up of Nandor sitting on the couch in the library, continuing the talking head from part 1. The camera is now shooting from the side, and behind him you can see the right half of the bay window; a side table with a lit lamp, abandoned book, candle, butterfly display, and a small brass horse statue; a bucket of loose scrolls, and a wide gold mirror. The camera crew are reflected: a brown man with floppy bags and a sparse mustache is in the front, aiming the camera with one eye in the viewfinder; behind him is a large older Samoan man with a white beard ducking in front of a light reflector and pulling up cords; behind him is a white woman with long blonde hair in a ponytail, presumably the director, wearing a headset and holding up an iPad that she is writing on; behind her is a bored-looking Latine sound technician with long messy brown hair holding up the boom mic. Nandor is looking pensively away from the camera, brow furrowed and cheeks lightly flushed, fiddling his hands together in his lap. He says, “I was very confused by Guillermo’s conclusion. Which is obviously an unusual feeling for me, as he is normally so predictable.” 1b. Close up on Nandor at the same angle as he whips his head toward the camera, wide eyed and incredulous. He shouts, “Fuck that guy for making me feel confused!” 1c. Repeat. Nandor calms slightly and looks away again, flustered, hands curling into fists to press uncertainly against his chest. He spits sardonically, “Like I don’t know what love is supposed to feel like…”

2a. Flashback in sepa tones on a mottled brown background. Waist up shots of several of Nandor’s wives in a line, dressed in their 13th century finery and chatting happily together. One is clearly Marwa; there is also an older woman with short hair tucked beneath a scarf, a younger woman with freckles and long reddish hair, a fat man with a beard and long curly hair playing a barbat, a young person with a Roman nose, a man with a very fun handlebar mustache, and a person with long dark hair with their back to the viewer. Nandor’s dialogue continues from the present: “I loved many of my wives, but I did not want them around all the time. Or even most of the time. They were appealing primarily because they allowed me to do whatever I pleased and did not bother me unless I asked for them.” 2b. Zoom out to full body as the flashback continues. The group of wives, now including a young woman with a mole on her cheek and a young bearded man with three, are on the right, engaged with each other and mostly ignoring human Nandor and Jahan as they pass by. Human Nandor and Jahan are dressed respectively in the blue and silver armor and bejeweled tack they wear in their portrait together. Nandor has one hand on Jahan’s saddle and the other on his sword as they both trot excitedly across the frame, Nandor sporting a large open-mouthed smile and Jahan holding his tail high and ears pricked forward, uncaring of the wives left behind. The only wife to make a fuss is the younger woman with the mole, who has her skirts gathered up and is glaring at Nandor’s back as if readying herself to stomp after him. Marwa stops her with a hand on her arm, expression compassionate but sad. The older wives know better than to expect much attention from their husband. Present Nandor’s dialogue continues: “The one I preferred to spend all of my time with was my dear horse, John.” 2c. Shoulders up of present Nandor in front of the flashback in 2b. Pausing his narration, he looks down at his lap and bites lip softly, a contemplative line appearing between his brows. His speech bubble holds only an ellipses. /end ID

#wwdits #queening the pawn #nandermo #mlm #marwa wwdits #nandors wives #aspam john #aspam jahan #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows fx #my art #fanart #fan comic #image described

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gilgamushroom · 7 months

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Catching up on Re: Dracula and Felix Trench's performance as Renfield in Oct. 1 IS SO GOOD I'M EATING THE WALLS

I can't put it into words but the way he delivers the lines when he's making a case for his sanity? You can HEAR the charm Seward talks about. And then the bitter and sardonic way he talks in the aftermath? AND THEN. When he breaks down??

The phrase "woe is me" has never managed to have much of an effect on me because of how far it has fallen out of the vocabulary but Felix delivers it so naturally so gut-wrenchingly he's just a guy under so much stress in the worst situation and he's trying so hard. The whole speech feels so so real. The Dracula text is ALIVE

I HAVEN'T EVEN MENTIONED HIS SONG AT THE END I-

RENFIELD MY BELOVED ❤

#re: dracula #dracula daily

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art-crumbs-main · 2 months

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Hello. This is a oneshot fic about the cursed cat Alastor on my dash I wrote in 2 hours. No beta, we die like demons.

A.K.A, where Alastor went for 7 years. Whether I finish this is up on the wall, but I haven't written in a while and have been dying to. Here's a drabble to get it out of my head. Hope you enjoy.

CW: murder basement, implied cannibalism, Alastor being a prick, three dickhead cats

It is a happy day in Hell, and you are a horrible cat.

Your name is Alastor, and due to some unfortunate circumstances of a deal you made to save your own hide, you have found it transformed. If a bit inconvenient, your new body isn't terrible-- it doesn't quite strike fear the way it used to, but it's quite covert and just as deadly. Being something so unassuming most certainly has its perks, and you're not going to complain about all of the new information you've gained about your new surroundings. Not to mention, anything, frankly, other than a dog is fine by you, and (you're sure) by Rosie, for that matter.

Yes, your old friend, Rosie. Naturally, you're on her way to her now. You'd managed to find her in your afterlife pre-predicament, and while you know she won't recognize you at first, you're counting on the fact that she has a certain fondness for the softer things in life. Cannibal Town has been a godsend, truly the only place in Hell you immediately felt like you belonged, and finding someone you knew and quite cherished in life there didn't hurt to mould a rather high opinion of the place.

You find her at once after walking through town, of course, and who wouldn't? That distinct voice could turn heads from across the room. Or, better yet, across the square as she announces she would be off shift for tea. Tail up in the air and head cocked, you pad into town hall and find her back in a rather cozy study, munching on a bit of demon flesh with her cup. It smells fresh, and the blood coating her lips is immediately enticing, but it is far more important to get her attention first and foremost.

Swallowing your pride, you make your way across the room to her, and rub against her leg, a horrible chattering sound escaping your feline throat. You despise so much bodily contact most of the time, but Rosie has always felt rather safe to you. As such, it's not as abhorrent as you expect, and it's quite effect. You hear her gasp and you know you'd gone about this correctly.

“Oh?? Who's this, findin' his way into my private area?” She picks you up and places you on her lap. You feel small. You don't like it. She strokes you, and the fur on your tail stands on end. If she takes notice, she doesn't show it. “I'm on break, y'know, little guy! Oh, but I can't say no to a face like that... I'll take an appointment. Just for you.” Unable to thank her, rather sardonically, you make a crackling noise that resembles absolutely nothing even close to human speech. She laughs --a bright sound that made your ears flick fondly-- and scratches behind your ears. Most embarrassingly, you find yourself leaning into it. It does really feel quite nice... You lay down on her lap, suppressing the infernal motor wishing to spark to life in your chest. You must preserve whatever small dignities you have left.

Your eyes open (you're rather startled to find that they had ever closed) when Rosie offers you something from her plate, the darling. You have a passing thought about such things being unsanitary, but you don't object. You swipe it from her and take it with your rather useless mittens, licking and gnawing at it with hooked tongue and sharp teeth. She coos at you some more, which is rather embarrassing, but you can't say you didn't expect, and you let it fade into the background as you start figuring out how to divise a plan to make Rosie aware of who you really are and what you've become. You're not entirely sure why, but you have a distinct feeling she can help you. More than anyone else.

You wouldn't dare summon one of your soul contracts, after all. Sure, you could always threaten them into silence, but it's about the principle of the thing. Husk, for instance, would probably laugh in your face, and you can't have your reputation tarnished as such. Niffty... you have no idea what she'd do. Rather unpredictable, that one, though you quite appreciate her unhinged company. Anyone else is either dead by now, or too far beneath you for you to possibly offer you anything useful. You're startled from your deep train of thought by Rosie nudging you into a standing position. “Well, alright, this engagement has been lovely, but I'm gonna need my legs to work, I'm afraid!"

You nodand jump off of her, and she regards you with a funny sort of expression. Too busy to dwell, you suppose, she shrugs it off for the time being and returns to her post. You can only hope that she'll put together that something isn't quite right. Finding yourself alone, you decide to explore.

You'd been in Rosie's dwelling enough times, but never like this. Everything is so big compared to you, and the weight of it all pins your ears flat to your skull. In annoyance, mind, not intimidation. You're not as mobile, nor do you have the same perspective on life that you used to, and that's going to make investigating difficult.

What you're hoping to find, plain and simple, is something that could help you signal to Rosie that you're not some mindless beast. You note her radio with a certain pride. You're sure even before you found her, knowing her tastes, she probably listened to your show... Oh, your show. You can't possibly run it in a form like this. You can't talk! All you can do with your given vocal chords is screech into a microphone and hope someone finds it appealing. You sigh. Passions will have to be grieved at a later date. There are other things you would do better to focus your energy on.

You search the kitchen and the larder. Fresh meat is hanging from meat hooks in a chilled section of the place. You sniff at it, and its sharp smell confirms your suspicions. Rosie must have made a deal recently. You walk out of there, manipulating the doorknobs as such, and pad back into her parlor. There's a table and cozy chairs, and bookshelves-- those could be an option. After all, if you saw a cat reading a book, you would certainly think to question it. You'll reserve it as an option. It could be good if you finish exploring and need something to pass the time.

You skip over her chamber. It's not your place to go snooping in a lady's quarters uninvited. Besides, you're sure you won't necessarily find anything of use in it. You also skip over the restroom. Anything that could help you in there, isn't necessarily something you want anything to do with.

The basement is locked, but that poses little obstacle to you. You still have some of your powers, after all. You only have to look at it for it to click and open for you, the door swinging on its hinges. You suppose you could always show Rosie your magic, but you're not sure that would be enough on its own to tell her not just what, but who you are. You trust in her intelligence, but even you think you might not be able to figure it out just by the cat possessing telekinesis. Sure enough, it is Hell. There are stranger things afoot (or a-paw, you suppose) than a cat with psychic abilities.

You descend the stairs and your ears immediately prick at the moans of the wretched. You hear someone start to beg for their life, and another person exhale a gurgly breath. Your tail waves contentedly. The sounds of the broken and destitute never fail to bring up your day. Upon seeing that you are apparently small and cuddly, the begging stops short, and the poor soul it was coming from slumps back into despair. Rosie has to keep her surplus fresh, you suppose. What better way than alive? You pad up to her more lively prisoner and jump up on his lap, fixing him with a gaze devoid of sympathy.

In a desperate bid to self-soothe, he reaches up to pet you.

You bite him.

He swears, rather uncouth, you think, and attempts to swat you away from him. You evade expertly and swat back, swiping him across the face. He clutches his newly-bleeding wound and cries out. You land and turn up your chin, turning tail while you're at it, and pad back towards the stairs. You're not sure what he expected, behaving so rudely. Touching you without your permission. The nerve. The audacity. The pure entitlement! You stop at the base of the stair to lick the blood from your paw. Rather unbecoming of you to be covered in the essence of such simple-minded, inconsiderate filth.

At the top of the incline, three pairs of eyes shine down at you from their shadows. They whisper amongst themselves, before the leader of them trills down at you. To your surprise, you understand her perfectly. Mrrrow? “Just who are you?" You stop grooming and cock your head.

Prrrip! Purr-- purreow. “Who am I! You've some nerve-- I admire that.” You start up the stairs. Rrrreow. Mr-mrreow! “I've just as much right to be here as any of you, and you should know already that this bid for intimidation you've got going on isn't about to work.” The others bristle. A low growl comes from the ringleader's throat.

Rrrrrrrrrrrr... “Do watch yourself, stranger. When I asked you who you are, I meant it earnestly. Your smell is strange to me.” She hisses. “I suggest you mind your manners and answer my question to save us all quite a bit of trouble. Are you new? A stray?” You narrow your eyes.

Prrr! “Trouble! Oh, dear, well, surely no one would want that," you shoot back playfully, “And just what kind of "trouble" might I be inviting?” One of her posse finally gathers the nerve to speak for herself.

Rrrrrrrroooooowwwwww... “For you? The trouble of being torn to shreds. For us? The trouble of picking your sinew from our teeth.” You trill, amused.

Chrrrreow! “Hahaha! My, how assured of yourselves you must be. It's adorable, ladies, really. This has been fun, but let me on by, if you would. I need to keep looking for ways to communicate with your master.” They look at each other, seem to come to an agreement, and part for you. You walk past them, tail waving, entirely expecting what happens next.

The three of them, in their combined power, pounce upon you and begin trying to do as they threatened. You let them tear you up a bit --it'll make your case when you go running to Rosie far more convincing-- before you strike back, summoning your lovely pet to knock them away with its numerous shadowy limbs. They skid across the floor one by one and scatter, fur on end. A bunch of fraidy cats after all, you suppose. You hear Rosie enter the room, drawn by the commotion, you suppose.

“Mr. Radio Demon!” she scolds. You look up at her. Wait, what? She sighs. “Oh, what, you thought I wouldn't recognize the feeling of your power? Give me some credit, Al.” She interrupts your relief as she picks you up by the scruff, resting her hand on her hip. You attempt to struggle, but this is apparently your weak point-- your body is useless like this. Embarrassing as it is, it's somewhat comforting. It sort of reminds you of when you mother would grab you by your ear to scold you as a child. “Now, just what are you doin', terrorizing my cats.” Your tail waves with annoyance. They attacked YOU. Not your fault you defended yourself. After a pause, you realize she expects you to answer her. You stare at her, rather deadpan. You open your mouth and meaninglessly chatter at her.

This seems to trigger her realization.

Only just now apparently deciding to be of help, your shadow comes around and taps Rosie on the shoulder. It communicates via gestures that you're not in this form of your own will, and can't speak, and she arches her eyebrow. Then, she bursts into laughter, setting you on the floor. “Oh! Oh, Lord, what kinda mess did you get yourself into this time?" She wipes at her eye. “I'll tell you what, let me finish my work day, and then I'll call around and see what we can do to get you back to your regular imposing self, hmm?”

You blink at her in acknowledgement, irritation (however fond) plain in your gaze, and she just laughs again. “Oh, pray I don't change my mind! You're adorable! Y'know how much I like a fluffy thing with whiskers.” She kneels down and pets you, smoothing out your fur and scratching behind your ears again. They pin flat, but you don't shy away from her.

You have a feeling it's going to be a long time waiting.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin #alastor hazbin hotel #cursed cat alastor #fanfiction #oneshot #radiorose qpr #writing #writeblr #hazbin hotel rosie #hazbin rosie #hazbin fanfic

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divinekangaroo · 2 months

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Read one analysis, and im confused. Is Lizzie to be blamed for Graces death? Is she to be blamed for Tommy sleeping with her soon after?

Lizzie x Angel can be considered the precipitating event, but Lizzie had zero influence or control on the long decision tree which followed which led more directly to Grace's death.

Based on the attribution analysis we frequently apply to, for example, working backwards from deaths at our workplace to determine points to target for change, for example,

If the Shelbys ignored L x A (took no action), would Vicente have hired an assassin to shoot Tommy and accidentally hit Grace? No.

If L x A hadn't happened, would Vicente have hired an assassin to shoot Tommy and accidentally hit Grace? No.

And because both of these if/then scenarios immediately before and immediately after what is seen as the 'precipitating event' result in a "no the death would not have happened", the analysis re attribution actually commences at this first step:

What was the first decision 'fork in the road' after this apparent precipitating event (of LxA hook up) which started the path down towards Grace being shot? (because it's actually this first decision that starts the cascade, NOT the 'precipitating event'. Remember: if the precipitating event is ignored, the death does not happen. It's the response to the precipitating event which actually starts the cascade towards the death.)

In my mind it was John (and maybe Arthur) deciding to take the path of violence and firebomb Angel's restaurant. Note: they had not even spoken to Lizzie at that point. She only found out there was an issue with Angel at the wedding!

At every point along the decision tree, John (and Arthur) made the choice to apply more violence. Vicente then chose to respond by matching their violence. John (and Arthur) then stepped up the violence another notch. Vicente then matched that higher violence. All the way to Angel being murdered, so Vicente hired an assassin.

That said, there *were* other contributing factors influencing the overall context, which may have led to influencing John (and Arthur and Vicente) to believe violence was the only possible decision at each decision point:

-Tommy has no tolerance for unrest, likely part pressures of both his rapid territory expansion + the deadly Russian scheme, and when everyone is part-way down this path of violence, gives a speech to his family where he makes it clear things have gone too far for apology, and outlines force/violence as necessary because he cannot have anyone stepping out of line right now. It is unclear in my memory if Tommy ever expressly told John/Arthur to kill Angel, but whether or not he did, this speech alone set a frame in John for further violent response as the appropriate action.

-Churchill keeps Tommy so busy/stressed out of his mind with seriously high risk, life threatening illegal activities such that Tommy couldn’t pay attention to brewing turf wars/friction, enabling a space where John escalated matters without Tommy's oversight (and what was Arthur doing? why didn't Polly know? Why did John and Arthur act without consulting Polly? So even with Tommy's distraction, what was John and Arthur doing to not establish this was appropriate?)

-Hughes keeps Tommy from actually attending the Vicente 'truce' meeting, leaving a space where John and Arthur go to town with humiliation and mockery. Tommy would *not* have approached this meeting this way; he is particularly businesslike even with his enemies, and even when he does mock (eg the IRA 'Chosen One' scene) it's more sardonic and contextual and not as...personally, racially, weirdly childishly targetted in the way John and Arthur did

-Something shifty *is* going on with Angel. He is a shifty dude. I have a detailed theory but it's a tangent to this point.

-Vicente is well aware of the humiliation/destruction of Sabini and highly sensitised to being treated in the same way. There's also a range of ethnic and racist factors in here too which further sensitise Vicente to not take it (Sabini says swallow, I say spit)

-(and you can go further back to frame their daily lives and also the war as a contextual contributing factor: these boys are all primed for violence being seen 'as the answer' because frequently, it was the answer. And in fact was integral to several of their successes, too.)

Then we go all the way down the other end of the decision tree and ask:

2. What was the final decision "fork in the road" just prior to Grace's shooting which resulted in Grace being shot?

For me, this was (offscreen!) Vicente hiring an assassin BUT SPECIFICALLY deciding the best place to assassinate Tommy was at a public charity event *held* by Tommy. One reason might have been access, but we also have to consider the way Vicente was at the point of really wanting to destroy Tommy by now. Assassinating a gangster like Tommy publically at a major 'stepping into' legitimate society milestone would have destroyed the Shelby family name in so many spheres, both criminal and society. It would have left the family after Tommy's death battling to hold their territories and without ability to leverage Tommy's financial legacy all that well. Ultimately it was a decision for maximum humiliation of Tommy Shelby and hurt of the Shelbys, to kill Tommy at his 'triumph' moment, instead of sniping him, ambushing him in his car, doing it in an alley or at his house. But because this decision of public assassination venue was made, this meant Grace (and many other people!) was present and at risk of being shot by accident, which is what happened.

I also think a little on motive: between Angel, John, Vicente, Tommy, Arthur, Lizzie is the only one in the 'people involved' chain leading to Grace's death who did not have ‘violence or harmful intent to others’ in her motivation. She never influenced or directed steps towards violence, whereas all the others did. If you apply a 'violence begets violence' / 'eye for an eye' approach it wasn't Lizzie's fault either, she never turned it towards violence diretcly or indirectly, that was all with John (& Arthur) and Vicente, with framing from Tommy influencing John.

Or you could consider a legal culpability angle too, if you like: Vicente and the assassin are culpable for Grace's murder. John (maybe Arthur) are culpable for Angel's murder. John and Arthur are culpable for property damage, arson and assault (causing permanent blinding). Angel *might* be culpable for fraud (false identities/false representations) but given there were no direct or consequential flow-on damages (financial or otherwise) from his fraud it's hard to say (and he's dead anyway!). But what did Lizzie do? Date a guy - who probably approached her, given the mores of the day - and invite him to a wedding? There's no legal culpability there.

It just really gets to whether you believe the precipitating event (Lizzie hooking up with Angel) is the sole source of blame or whether it was the - call it at least - eight decision points along the chain, mostly in John (and Arthur) and Vicente's control, where each time the decision was taken to *increase* the violence to the point of murder and retribution. Based on having to work with lawyers and specialists unfortunately frequently to analyse deaths on sites and work out how they could have been avoided, it is often misapplied to blame the 'precipitating event' which appears the obvious problem - as above, it is frequently the first decision in response to an otherwise *ordinary* and low/no risk precipitating event, and the subsequent cascade, where the failures that lead to the death occur.

I have seen a reading that Lizzie got with Angel just to get back at Tommy, but...really? She is so invested in the Shelbys; there is no hint or undercurrent that she was intending to betray Tommy's business information. Even if she knew who Angel was, so what? He didn't fit in the definition of "foreigner" - he was born in England! And, let's not forget, no one told her that Angel was a risk to the business until after the restaurant was firebombed and Lizzie was at the wedding wondering where the hell her boyfriend was. John could have told Lizzie before choosing violence to break it off with Angel, and she probably would have, such is her investment in the Shelbys.

I do think Lizzie was primed to fall for/be vulnerable to someone like Angel, following her humiliation at Epsom where Tommy 1) did not acknowledge her faltering expression of love/care, 2) asked her to play the prostitute, 3) set her up for assault/rape and 4) probably came into work within the week after this happened to Lizzie and announced he was getting married and had a kid on the way. Imagine her looking for someone with the same kind of 'air' as Tommy (danger/intelligence/power) in order to clear out her head of any remaining longing for Tommy. But I certainly don't think she ever thought her association with Angel would *hurt* Tommy or the business in any way - Lizzie was just trying to move on.

Depending on how you consider the hints about Angel, he could have been deliberately honey-trapping Lizzie to spy on Tommy, but I don't think she was aware of this at that S3-E1 point (and again -- John and Arthur didn't tell her anything before they destroyed the restaurant!)

[I do like to consider how symbolic both Grace and Angel's names are, though: how Angel being murdered leads to Grace being murdered. There is no salvation for this family is there. And, the symbolic parallel in their names and deaths made me wonder if there is also that symbolic in their roles: Grace was initially a honeytrap for Tommy, so...was Angel a honeytrap for Lizzie? But that's drifting from the point of your question sorry...]

---

Ah, Tommy and sex again. So I’m always intrigued at takes that make Tommy (who has ALL the power) deciding to sleep with Lizzie somehow Lizzie’s fault?

They made it clear in the show TxL only have sex ‘when Tommy wants’. How she says it makes it clear he’s not doing it out of want for her…sex for him appears to be some kind of release/anxiety thing too, like having sex is a momentary way to feel better, even if briefly.

And really, I do think about the power imbalance: Lizzie’s job/money and personal dignity is now dependent on Tommy being able to hold his shit together and keep doing what he does. She *could* say no to him, but why would she? She is infatuated/in love with him, she’s financially dependent on him, her social status is dependent on him, and she does also *care* for him as a person and very much probably a friend. She’d know better than anyone how Tommy uses sex as that kind of anti-anxiety release. She would accommodate his needs no matter her own hurt at doing so, in the hope he hurts less / hurts himself less, which is a pattern she demonstrates again and again.

So if they have sex ‘too soon’ after Grace dies, well, it’s probably Tommy’s fault as the initiator and the holder of power, and only minorly Lizzie's fault for not saying no (dear god when can we stop blaming women for not saying no), but really, why is there any fault to consider at all? Grace is dead, there’s no infidelity or broken promise — and remember the sheer pressure Tommy is under in S3. And we're upset the guy has uncomplicated 'take me out of my head for a moment please' sex with a once lover/prostitute for a bit of relief? Such a terrible judgement to apply to him (and Lizzie) for someting that doesn't matter and which is effectively consensual and hurts no one else, given all the other actually bad things Tommy does that would merit such judgement.

IDEK man. By the time T x L are having sex again, Lizzie is also much more aware of how delicate the whole Russian situation is than she was at start of S3; any desire she might have to say no out of personal dignity/pride probably dissolves when she realises she might be one of the few slender threads Tommy’s got to actually get some uncomplicated relief/release from the disaster of, and immense grief and threat of, S3, and maybe stay a little sane for her being able to give him that brief human comfort and care. I mean, he could be going to prostitutes for anxiety release, but given the issues with possible leaks/risks, as well as the way he actually needs care and comfort in his grief not just release, I just. Yeah.

Why are we blaming Lizzie again? I've confused myself lol. She can't be blamed for the S3 sex Tommy has with her. (- edits to add: on the point of 'so soon after grace's death', Tommy's also under massive time pressure. He knows he has to sleep with Tatiana very soon to make his whole ploy successful and keep the wheels in motion; take this 'headcanon' however you will, but I like to imagine he didn't want the first time he had sex after Grace to be with the mad Russian duchess who actually propositioned him for sex on the night Grace died in his arms....I mean, really, what would have been better, Tommy being disaster-fucked by Tatiana first and maybe having a worse breakdown than he did have (that little one in his study), or Tommy having off-screen comfort sex with Lizzie and being able to just keep on keeping on...?)

#Tommy: lies back and thinks of the Shelby Company Ltd Annual Report net value increase and his whole family *not* being hung as criminals

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