#your value just decreases every fucking second so no one will give me the time of fucking day
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It's astounding how one thing can ruin your entire day and destroy your entire emotional state.
#every single fucking time i try to apply for something i get ghosted or rejected#like i fucking get it i have no value or place in society you can stop throwing it in my face already#and every single time my whole family is just all ''you just have to keep looking you'll find something it'll be fine''#fuck right off with that shit#it's gotten to the point that I'm sobbing in my bedroom because I got rejected by the fucking aldis down the street from my house#and for a fucking part time position at that. I get it. i didn't work until college then only worked on campus. and went to school for music#but i have too much anxiety to be a teacher and am just not that kind of person. i have no skills or experience so fuck even trying for#anything even remotely halfway decent#I haven't worked in over a year since I graduated and the longer it gets the harder it is to get back into working yknow?#your value just decreases every fucking second so no one will give me the time of fucking day#i kinda had a job for like a fucking week last month that I didn't even want I was pushed into it and I hated it and cried so much#every day I actually almkst made myself sick from the crying and intense anxiety and then a week in they were like hey we like you and all#you're a good person and a very nice girl you're just no right for here so we're firing you essentially. so now I'm even more fucked#I've never felt more lost and more like the universe had no place for me anymore#and being in singing in the rain at my community theater was the only good thing I had in my life where I felt I had a place again#but the show's over now so I'm back to having nothing and nowhere and just don’t know what to do anymore#no wonder I can't fucking write anymore I'm just too sad all the time#abby's self deprication hour#abby's serious corner#I did make some progress in the mario crossover the other day when I felt pretty good actually though so that's something right?#I'm trying I really am
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State of the Meta - EX Roles
We are now in month 2 of EX roles, and have now a decent assemblage of options with the trait. Still think they should be adding these faster to older pairs, but whatever. The cakes haven't been available long, and few players will have them given the absolutely batshit methods of acquisition, but I figure hey, let's talk about the structure of them.
Mechanics
For the unfamiliar, it seems as though new additions and rerunning Master Fairs are being granted access to EX Roles, which give their sync a secondary effect: Strike, Tech, Support, Field, or Sprint. Each also grants statistical bonuses. All of them give +60 HP, with the remaining 80 being split:
Strike: +40 Atk/Sp Atk
Tech: +20 Atk/Def/Sp Atk/Sp Def
Support: +40 Def/Sp Def
Field: +20 Def/Sp Def, +40 Spd
Sprint: +20 Atk/Sp Atk, +40 Spd
This role is unlocked through cakes, which operate similarly to candy: rare items that you need 20 coins of to acquire a single one, that is applied to a selected sync pair to unlock the extra role.
Distribution of Roles
At present, there are no Field or Sprint secondary roles. This is...fascinating to me. I expected more of that. More on that later.
More interesting is that this month, we have a general pool introduction in Lenora, who did get access to an EX Role. Which means somehow, they managed to make Drasna's release detrimental to her. Absolutely incredible. Only new pairs seem to get access, and at present, only one set of reruns are getting access: Master Fairs.
SS Serena and the upcoming NC Calem reruns will include their own roles being added. This seems to be the only introduction, but I am personally, perhaps foolishly, hopeful for more. I want PokeFair grid expansions to coincide with getting a role, but Classic Elesa suggests otherwise. Right now, there is no reason to hope for this being distributed to anything but new pairs and Master Fairs as they rerun. Depressing.
Acquiring Cake
At present, there are four methods of acquiring cake.
1) Daily Ticket Exchange
The easiest acquisition for everyone is that, each time you complete dailies, you get a Daily Ticket. Five of them can be exchanged for one cake candy, which means that at 100 days of playing, you can select one (1) type of cake. Wooooo...
2) Daily Region Rotation
The other accessible option is Daily Region Rotation's highest difficulty setting. Which isn't too hard. You get one of the cake coins per day, with a five day rotation of Strike-Tech-Support-Field-Sprint. So in essence, every 100 days of playing and beating these stages, you get one of each cake. Riveting.
3) PokeFair Scouts
This is the most accessible option they want you to take. New PokeFairs now come with rewards, in the form of four 5* powerups and four cake coins of that PokeFairs role. Notably, this is per copy pulled. This is honestly a fair trade. People who were pulling for a PokeFair now have better access to a boost for them, and even get more powerups for EX along the way. PokeFairs were always a bit disappointing, because you got nothing for it beyond the pair. These rewards are nice, and serve them well too. Having 4 per copy pulled means getting to 5/5 through the gacha rather than using candy has potential value. Not enough to offset the gem costs, but it's an interesting approach.
4) Master Fair Scouts
What is not an interesting approach is the Paid Gems Only Master Fair scout that still costs a full fucking 400 scout points, and if you pull them once at all, you get one (1) cake. The problems with this are myriad. First, paid only, but there's no decrease in demanded gems like seasonals. This makes it an atrocious deal from the start. Second, only one cake. This disincentivizes further pulling on such scouts if you get lucky early, and the presence of the General Candy bundle deal makes it easier than ever to just candy these. There's no push for pulling further to save candy on this kind of paid only scout. Third, your odds of pulling a Master Fair before pity are so low that you're likely requiring the full 36,600 gems. Which is actually more than using a daily on the regular focus. This is a situation where you're investing approximately $300 for a single cake, which is not a good trade. The staggered, partial success of the PokeFair is infinitely more enticing.
Role Combinations
As mentioned, Field and Sprint roles are not available through cake at present. They're only default. This means we only have Strike, Tech, and Support at present.
The biggest winner so far has been Tech/Strike. Tech has natural multipliers on sync, and thus the highest possible damage, that then spreads. Strike/Tech is similar, but without the natural multiplier, it's overall weaker.
Support on a Strike or Tech has been...questionable at times. The successful two are SS Serena and Paulo, who both require first sync, and thus remove their original problem of opportunity cost. The failure has been Petrel, who really, desperately wanted Tech for better sync damage. His DPS isn't worth writing home about. Variety Thorton is an odd choice as well, but makes a bit more sense. Despite being Field, he has a secondary DPS type in Electric. Powering up the Electric type with his Support sync is valuable. Moreover, he does better with DPS than sync, which makes a Support more valuable than the spread damage.
The oddity are Support pairs. All of them, except NC Blue, have been given Tech. Which has been exceptionally odd, as none of them have meaningful sync damage. NC Blue getting Strike made sense, he gets the extra rebuff on all foes with spread damage. But why Tech for the others? Sprint should be far more valuable as an effect.
I think the answer is twofold. One is, Tech gives points in bulk. Field would as well, but many supports are not specific to their type. They want the flexibility to go wherever, and applying a Field effect can, in some situations, be an active detriment. As the only other role with bulk, Tech has value for their tanking, which is central. The other is...I think they consider Sprint overpowered. No seriously, level with me. Support gives double damage for the rest of the match, and Sprint would give -3 cooldown. This combination basically ensures you beat a CS stage. You're guaranteed to make it to second sync, even if you can't DPS denial, and power is doubled. I think they're looking at Sprint as an effect to be saved for really top-notch Supports. Which, unfortunately, might mean Leaf and SS Dawn get hit with Field instead of Sprint. Though Dawn can make it work, let's be real.
Final Thoughts
While initial responses were supremely negative due to the Master Fair presentation and slow drip for complete F2P acquisition, I actually kinda like the roles. But much like the skill gear, its implementation has some kinks to work out.
Specifically, what is the most effective way to not care about these cakes? Not having the sync pairs that use them. If you barely pull on anything, like many F2P players do, these cakes have no value. There is no system of distribution to older pairs, and thus no real threat of ever being too far behind. If you decide to pull on a new PokeFair, you can just grab the cake coins you get for pulling. If you pull a new Master Fair, those come out once every three months, so barring repetition of roles, you're not really in a pinch. General pool pairs are rare, and no one pulls for Variety, so you're relying on your few and far between seasonal pairs to carry. And it's not going to work. Bringing in older pairs would increase the value of these kinds of rewards, putting the pressure on for unlocks. At the slow rate we're at now, the easiest way to not need them is not to pull. Which makes them a bad incentive to pull in the first place, because you have three outcomes:
1: Don't pull, don't need cake
2: Pull with luck, don't need cake
3: Pull and get bad luck, now need cake
Given that pulling isn't even a sure thing, the safest play is not pulling. The exact opposite of what these are supposed to do. Fortunately, the solution is clear: speed up access for older pairs. An EX role won't actually save the bottom tiers like Clair or Iris, but it would sure be nice for them to get something in their lives.
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Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Welcome to the working week although, for those of you in the NHS, welcome to just another day!
I’m sitting in for my brother Craig Williams on Mi-Afternoons at 1.00 p.m. Get your requests in NOW for ‘The Request Hour’! Hopefully see you later?
Many thanks to everyone that listened to the show on Saturday afternoon, and many thanks to those that will listen to it on Mixcloud. Next week, The Letter J (Part Two). Executive Producer: Charlotte Rabin. The Letter J (Part One) was scheduled following The Queen’s death because I needed two hours of mellow tunes, and The Letter I just doesn’t have that many acts. So, now that we’ve finished The Letter I, we move straight on to The Letter J Part Two.
Do you remember I quoted a stat recently that – on average – tall people earn more money than short people. Well, our friend Kwasi Kwarteng is six foot five inches. He’ll be earning a lot of money, won’t he? Despite the fact that he’s not qualified to be a politician, he doesn’t give a fuck about you and me, and merely wants to line his friends’ pockets.
Having said that, one of Kwasi’s budget decisions was to lift the cap off bankers’ bonuses. This means that bankers can now earn whatever their bosses want to pay them. It could be 100% of their salary? It could be 200% of their salary? Kwasi says this will “boost growth” and, personally, I agree with him! If you own a vineyard and bottle your own prosecco and wine, this is going to be a good time for you. Bankers love bubbly! They’ll be buying it by the caseload! See? Economic growth. If you make cocaine, this is going to be a good time for you! Bankers love cocaine! They can’t get enough of it. If this is your business, you’ll be making shedloads of money! See? Economic growth. If you’re a prostitute, this is going to be very good time for you. Bankers love prostitutes! If you’re a healthy, ambitious prostitute, this could be a boom time for you! See? Economic growth! These industries are really going to be benefit from The Tall One’s wisdom.
I’m so glad that insider trading is against the law, because it would be a terrible shame if lots of people bet on the value of the pound going down and, following a budget by a former financial analyst at a hedge fund, suddenly, as if by magic, the value of the pound decreased.
On Friday night, I watched England play in The Inter-Toto Cup or whatever it’s called! So close to the World Cup? What a bloody waste of everyone’s time! If Rice or Bowen pick up an injury tonight, I will be very upset! Every sport is run by a group of clueless suits. Most have never played competitive sport. Maybe they were employed because they have a financial brain, or organisational skills, or diplomatic skills? Or maybe they’re just tall?
As mentioned recently, people are disappearing from my Facebook page, thus there is room for lots of new people. These new people probably don’t know that I’ve self-published three novels via Amazon. As so many single women are having trouble finding a decent man that wants to stick around, they might be interested in my second novel ‘Whatever Makes Them Dance’? It’s all about a beautiful girl that is absolutely thrilled to finally find a man that wants a relationship (and not just a quick shag!)
Have a marvellous and momentous Monday. I love you all.
#mixcloud#mi soul#dj#music#lockdown#new blog#coronavirus#books#weekend#democracy#brexit#cronyism#election#autumm
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dawn addiction.
— minors don't interact.
— wc: 3,3K
content + warnings: 18+, including: car sex, oral (female receiving), fingering, public sex (kinda of), unprotected sex, tummy bulge, pet names (dabi actually calls the reader "princess"), virginity loss (only mentioned), i bit of fluff bye
pairings: no quirk!dabi x fem!reader
— song: Press Your Number; by TAEMIN
After waking up alone one dark night without you sleeping next to him in the spacious bed placed in the middle of his room, Dabi catches himself thinking about you and feeling strange without having your warm body next to his in the bed. Thinking about Y/N was becoming a vicious habit for him and it was the kind of addiction that the more he fed, the more it seemed to swallow his sanity. However, he didn't blame you for not wanting to be seen or related to him, in a small town like the two of you Touya was the delinquent that people avoided interacting with lest they be excluded from that closed society.
He stretches to the side in order to get his own phone from the small table placed on the side of his bed and finds himself standing there for a few seconds feeling the smell of your body that permeated the pillow next to him. After taking a deep inhale, Dabi unlocks his cell phone to try to call you, but there is no answer, after all, it was past 1:00 AM in the dawn and Y/N was now probably lying in her own bed in her house trying to sleep.
The dark haired man lets out an impatient grunt before dropping the cell phone on the bed. He was deeply rooted in you and, because of that, feeling like an insane madman who was insisting on something that couldn't be his. But what could he do but fall in love with you after kissing your lips countless times and spreading your legs dangerously wide for him before claiming your virginity as his?
And the end of that night, just like all the others where you would finish fucking and you would shamefully put on your clothes to go home, would be filled by him masturbating with the thought of your naked body running through his mind.
Touya could feel the warm temperature of yours with little mental effort with his own fingers and would cling to the fading memories of the few non-sexual moments you had shared over the past few months.
That night, Dabi slept when the sun was already up, but Y/N, on the other hand, didn't even sleep a wink. She couldn't even take a lousy nap, because her eyes were glued to her cell phone screen waiting to see if he would call her again because on the first call of the night she wasn't brave enough to answer knowing that her parents were half a wall away. A coward? Yes, that's what she was. But there was a perfect daughter demeanor that she needed to maintain, especially if she wanted to continue to nurture her father's idea of letting her start studying at a university in the metropolitan area of the country.
Y/N would turn twenty a week from today — and if her father's promise to give you a car came true, her plan was already halfway done — and she didn't want to be stuck in that small, rural town forever. She had big dreams, and, ironically, in most of them the fulminating image of Dabi was present beside her. What if she was the only one there who wanted to leave that life? What if he didn't want to leave with her? But more importantly, at what point had their relationship become so deep?
It was now 7 o'clock in the morning, which meant that in about two hours your parents would wake up to go to work. You took a deep breath and reached out to grab the cell phone lying next to you on the bed, and then began to type a message as brief and vague as possible to your lover:
"Pack up all your stuff by next Friday. Take everything that you think is important or of value to you, pack it up, and meet me on the other side of the bridge that leads to the avenue out of town, the side that has the rusty 'Welcome to our town' sign. At two o'clock in the morning. No delays. And please try not to draw too much attention, wear the most decent, neutral clothes you have in your closet. Oh, and bring documents."
And all week long you could barely look your parents in the face without feeling guilty for wanting to break free from their protective arms, but you just couldn't take it anymore. You hated that small town, and you also hated being forced to go to church every Thursday and Sunday with your mother because she said that God would "bless you with all your dreams come true," so why didn't he just indirectly help you leave that town behind? Literally, the only thing holding you back in that town was Touya and you wanted to take him with you outside the boundaries of that town that looked more like a village forgotten by the rest of the world.
Y/N's favorite place to be was Dabi's lips, and even then, the girl's replies to him by messages and short calls that didn't last more than 5 minutes started to decrease drastically. The useless monologues continue to increase inside her mind. Until the Thursday before her birthday when Y/N was about to fall asleep after standing for almost 2 hours listening to the local church mass hoping that her mother would not notice her slouching and irritable posture, suddenly a sound of something banging against her bedroom window was heard. And initially she didn't bother to get up to find out what had caused the noise, until she heard it twice more and frowned as she got out of bed after seeing that it was almost two o'clock in the dawn.
You drew the curtains in front of the window, opened it and stuck your head out, looking down and suddenly feeling your cheeks heat up violently. And there was Touya looking at you with a look of sorrow and animosity. He pointed in the direction of the hidden backyard behind your house where the two of you in the beginning of your relationship used to hide just to spend some time together or have a make-out session that ended up leaving both of you sexually frustrated because neither of you had the courage to have sex in that place where anyone could see you if you made too much noise. However, Dabi was the devil in your life worth sinning for.
— What the fuck are you doing here? — Y/N asked almost desperately as she felt Touya wrap one of his arms around her waist to glue their bodies together.
— What? Can't a man miss his beloved and want to go see her? — He asked, holding her face with his free hand. — You barely answer my messages.
— I told you we were going to meet tomorrow, on Friday. — You rested your hands on his chest to move away just enough to look him in the face.
— And about that, you're killing me with curiosity, princess. What are you thinking of doing tomorrow? It's your birthday. — Dabi commented, running his thumb along her bottom lip affectionately.
— I-I know. — You replied, looking away. — I was planning on... going out... with you. — You just didn't say it was going to be an out-of-town trip with no intention of coming back.
— What are you hiding? — He asked, leaning down to place a simple, tender kiss on her lips.
— Would you follow me wherever I went?
— I would follow you to the ends of hell if you asked me to. — Dabi answered, and instinctively you grabbed his face to place your lips back on theirs in a kiss deeper than the one before in a frenzy of feeling.
— Then do it. — Y/N whispered against his lips staring into his beautiful turquoise eyes. — For my birthday the only thing I ask from you is to always be by my side, I don't need material gifts.
Seconds after you finished speaking, the sound of footsteps inside your house could be heard, and a shiver ran down your back as your hands desperately pushed Dabi away in the direction of the very door through which the two of you had entered the yard.
— Damn, not even at dawn I... — Touya began to complain as he walked briskly away from you and disappeared into the darkness of the night to return to his house.
— Shhh, shut up. I'll see you at dawn. Two o'clock, don't forget. — You whispered loud enough for him to hear you as you turned back and faced the back door of your house slowly opening to reveal to you the sleepy figure of your father.
— Honey? — He asked, and you gasped as if you were distracted by something while you could hear your heart beating rapidly. — What are you doing out here? It's late? and cold, you might catch cold.
— I... — Y/N looked around just to make sure there was no more sign of Dabi. — I heard a noise here when I went down to get some water and just wanted to come down and see if it wasn't an animal or something. But it was nothing, I guess it was just my mind playing with me. — It was a good enough lie considering that it wasn't hard to wake up during the night to go to the bathroom or eat something from the fridge.
And then your father called you inside and you promptly went. As the day went on, not even your father's birthday present with the car seemed to quell the anxiety inside you of going to see Dabi in the middle of the night with no intention of coming home. Y/N packed three backpacks and after watching your parents go to sleep, put them all on the back seats of the car after grabbing the keys that your father had left on top of the coffee table in the living room, and also grabbing some money from your father's safe that was in a secluded room in the residence.
After writing a short, albeit long, letter explaining to her mother that she was going to the metropolitan city — but without saying with whom — to try a new life there and that you would be fine because "there were friends waiting for you there" — which was a big lie, but she didn't need to know that — Y/N put on a sweatshirt and ran out of her now former home. Remembering all the various driving lessons her mother had made her take last year, you put the key in the ignition and made sure that your license and other documents were in one of the pockets of the three backpacks on the back seats. And you set off across town to reach the end of the bridge that served as both a gateway into and out of the city, parking exactly beside the welcome sign.
After about fifteen minutes, you watched a silhouette approach through the darkness, and if you didn't recognize the blue-toned sweatshirt with white details that Dabi usually wore when he didn't want to attract attention, you would surely lock yourself inside your car for fear that it was some sexual predator. Before he could finish approaching you at the agreed upon spot and open his mouth to vocalize something, you ran toward him to jump into his arms and kiss him fervently like you hadn't done in almost two weeks. He didn't fight your grip and responded to your display of affection instantly, he missed your touch more than he would admit.
— Where are we going? — He asked, analyzing her new car as he watched you open the back seat door and gestured for him to put his own belongings inside.
— To the big city. — You answered unlocking the door next to the driver's seat after hearing Dabi choke on his own saliva looking at you as if he hadn't heard you correctly. — Come in. — Your head swiveled inward.
— What do you mean we're going to the city? What about your parents? You have a loving family here, I have nothing to lose, but you? — Dabi put one hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently.
— I want to go to the city. I want to live with you. — Y/N replied feeling her cheeks heat up and looking at him expectantly. — You said you would go anywhere with me, to the ends of hell.
— And I will, but this decision... — You interrupted him.
— Please. For once in my life I want to do things my way. Without having to hide you from anyone, without having anyone judge me for being with you. Let's go to another city, live together, we'll figure it out when we get there. — You put one hand on his forearm, squeezing it gently.
Touya took a few seconds to process the information and after looking from you to the car, he said:
— Where are the keys? — You waved them in front of him, flashing an amused smile. — So get in the car, doll face. I'll drive. — He gave you a light slap on the butt before pushing you toward the driver's seat, getting into the car and putting the key in the ignition. — How long until we reach the city?
— About six hours, we can get there in the morning.
— Great. — Dabi started the car and began to drive along the deserted road while resting one hand on Y/N’s covered thigh and occasionally giving the area a gentle squeeze.
After about an hour of driving, you became distracted by fiddling with your cell phone until you noticed his long fingers sneaking up and over your thighs until they came dangerously close to Dabi's real intended destination. Her eyes cast a serious countenance at him as if she were silently saying: "Don't you dare" and in response his lips parted in a defiant smile as his hand on the steering wheel slowed and eventually brought the car to a full stop.
— C'mon. It's been almost two weeks since we had sex. — He said, lowering the two seats you were sitting on and pulling you to sit on his lap with your back against the steering wheel.
— And the best place you could find to have sex was inside my new car? — Despite your complaint, you didn't try to restrain his hands from reaching into your sweatshirt to grab and squeeze your breasts, nor did you object to the feeling of his knee pressing against the middle of your legs.
Touya lifts your arms and pulls up your sweatshirt and then concentrates on removing the simple tank top and lacy bra you were wearing, shortly after which he leans over your body to take one of your nipples between his lips to begin stimulating it. In response, you rub your hips against his leg as your hands grip his dark hair as a way to relieve the growing tension settling through your body. His hands slowly slid down your back, past your waist and into your pants, while his right hand also invaded your panties to run his fingers over your pussy lips and his left was busy opening the buttons of that garment.
Y/N put her hands on the hem of his sweatshirt, pulled it up, and was not surprised to see him with nothing underneath. Strangely enough, his skin was naturally too warm and it was not hard to believe that even with the low temperature outside the car he would only need a casual sweatshirt to not feel cold. And that was exactly why you liked so much to run your hands along his body exploring him calmly to make your touches last longer.
Dabi turned his body so that you were lying on the passenger seat and stood over you with a smug smile as his hands dug in and squeezed the skin of your legs after he finished getting rid of your pants with some difficulty because of the tight space.
— Keep your legs open for me or I won't let you cum, princess. — He whispered, sliding his mouth down her torso to her pelvis and pulling her hips up as high as possible before burying his fingers inside her pussy and enveloping her clit with his lips.
Y/N's hands gripped Touya's now messy hair and pushed his face against her hip in search of more of that mind-blowing pleasure she had missed for the few days she had been avoiding him. Suddenly the car became extremely hot, almost to the point where you both felt suffocated and ironically neither of you cared about that, not when Dabi was curving his fingers and sucking your clit in the way that always made your vision cloud and too loud moans escape your mouth. But, you didn't want to cum in his mouth, so your hands moved his face away from your hips and pulled his body up.
— Please, Touya, I need you inside me. — Her voice was slurred by her rapid breathing.
Dabi didn't need you to say anything else, he just stepped back briefly to get rid of the clothes that were still covering his lower body, adjusted your hips to his, leaned on the car door behind your body and guided his cock to the entrance of your pussy. As you felt him fill and enlarge you completely with his tip rubbing against your cervix, you groaned, leaning on his shoulders to face him and watching the small rise against your belly that was always present when that black haired man penetrated you.
Touya slid one hand down your neck and closed his fingers around your neck applying just the right amount of pressure to make waves of pleasure run through your body and not to hurt you. He began to move and Y/N passed her legs around his waist moving her body downward every time Dabi moved upward, occasionally he would take her lips on his just because he liked to feel her moans against his mouth and the rhythm of his hips gradually began to get harder and faster.
— I should cum inside you, hmm? — Touya asked, keeping eye contact with you every moment he thrust inside you again and making you clench your walls around his length without you even realizing it. — Damn, I love you so much, you have no idea what I would do for you.
— So show me. — You grabbed the wrist of his hand that was still resting on your neck and squeezed it without too much force. — Make me your girl.
With a smug and satisfied smile, he continued thrusting himself against her insides to the point where her hips began to ache just seconds before she reached her own orgasm with her nails digging into the skin of Touya's arm and her back arching as spasms coursed through her entire body at a high rate of speed. He gave a few thrusts against your pussy until the white streaks of cum painted your insides and slowly pulled out of you, wanting to prolong the feeling of having you squeeze him some more.
Dabi let his tired body fall back against the driver's seat and concentrated on stabilizing his breathing while you did the same as you looked up at him with the following thought running through your mind: "This is definitely the man I want to be with forever". The thought made your cheeks burn and it didn't go unnoticed by him:
— What? — One of his eyebrows arched.
— Nothing, I was just thinking... about you, about us. — You answered, starting to look around the car for your clothes, and an amused laugh came from Touya's mouth, who looked at you tenderly.
— So I'm always on your mind?
— More than you think, yes. — Y/N answered, leaning over to place a tender kiss at the corner of his lips. — Now get ready, get your clothes, let's get back on the road.
— Can we fuck again before we get to the city again? — Her eyes narrowed in disapproval.
— Shut up, you idiot.
#dabi smut#bnha smut#mha smut#my hero acadamy#boku no hero academia#bnha touya#touya smut#bnha dabi#mha dabi#i4nanami#bnha toya#touya todoroki#dabi x oc#dabi x you#dabi x reader#dabi x y/n#bnha
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please tell me your headcannons about the silly old traditions and funny hats and gowns worn at the Assassins Guild graduation ceremonies (bonus points: Vetinari occasionally attends as a distinguished alumnus; differences for those not taking the black) Downey has to make a speech
I love this ask, thank you so much. <3
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Downey has added feathers to the hats because it’s Downey and he believes all hats need a nice feather.
Vetinari: . . .I refuse.
Downey: It’s a single, white feather. Very stylish.
Vetinari: You can’t make these hats stylish. It’s impossible.
Downey: That will not stop me from trying.
--
First it must be said, I place most of my Discworld fashion firmly in the “anywhere from 1350-1650″ camp. Which means there’s lots of diversity but it’s all still very late medieval/early modern. This is a just-me thing though, as the books are all over the place with the fashion. There seemed to be a sense, in the early Watch books, that fashion went backwards (i.e. the more recent, to our mind, the clothes the more old fashioned they are on discworld) but that was quickly abandoned partway through the series and then it became a hodgepodge.
I still like the early modern feel and so am keeping to it. You can pry Downey’s stupid fucking doublet with its black pearl buttons and his slouchy hat with the Florentine “I’m very gay” feather from my cold, dead hands.
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This got long so it’s under the cut.
Fashion first, because this is Downey and the Assassins we’re talking about after all.
So I imagine the hats that the professors/teaching staff wear are the slouchy ones like these. This is modeled off of hats that were in fashion when the guild first instituted formal graduation ceremonies which are relatively recent (for a given value of “recent” i.e. only circa 150/200 years ago).
The students graduating with the Black get the slouchy hats too. The ones who didn’t take the black get the more familiar flat board graduation cap. (Students 100% balance things on top of the flat board cap. This may or may not be desired by the cap-wearer.)
The formal, ceremonial gowns, indeed the entire outfit, for the teachers are hilariously ornate because of course they are. It’s the Assassin’s Guild.
All ceremonial gowns would be different iterations of the houppelande.
Beneath the gown there is the Assassin’s black of the doublet with a long-ish skirt beneath the belt (knee length? perhaps floor - but then it starts hitting gown territory). The doublet is form fitting at the top, belted off with the skirt below. Naturally, there are very nice buttons. The linen undershirt is white and can be seen at the collar and wrists. Leggings/tights/hose/whatever you want to call them, also black and worn with dress shoes, not their usual working day boots. All men present wear this, including Vetinari.
(Downey: No grey-blacks allowed on stage unless it’s representing your specialty and I know you didn’t specialize in astronomy and quantum mathmatics.
Vetinari:
Vetinari: But it’s My Colour.
Downey: Put the doublet on.)
Women on staff are also all in black, but it’s a dress over a kirtle which is over their undershirt which can be seen at the cuffs. The dress et al is also form fitting on the top with tightly buttoned (or laced) sleeves, then there’s the belt and full skirts after. Dresses are always worn with a high neckline. They too have formal dress shoes, though you can’t see them.
The ceremonial gowns are black with coloured lining and trim. I’m thinking the sleeves are large and pinned back to show the lining which represents the general field you’re a specialist in. So, green for biology; red for literature/linguistics; white for deportment/dancing; blue for history; yellow for mathematics or whatever. The lining can be dual-colours if applicable. The trim will accent the lining but doesn’t mean anything in particular.
The slouchy hats, however, tell you what the person specialized in with regards to their training i.e. poisons; knife work etc.
Some gowns have that long drapey hood that is purely for aesthetics, but not all. I’m thinking if your specialty is stealth (coughHavelockcough) you get it. But, of course, as a specialist in stealth you don’t want people knowing that so no one who qualifies for a drapey hood wears it.
Students wear simple black gowns with relatively short, deep cut sleeves so you can see more of their doublet beneath. Boys wear the usual doublet/hose combo (kind of like this) and girls the formal dress/kirtle combo (think this, but all black and with less jewels and tighter sleeves) beneath their graduation gowns.
All gowns on students and staff alike are closed in the front - either with buttons or ties.
Aside from the hat distinction between those who are taking the black and those who aren’t, the gowns for those taking the Black are all black and have the drapey hood. Those that aren’t taking the black have gowns trimmed with a dark colour - maybe blue? grey? something that blends but still is distinct.
--
Ceremonial Nonsense
The graduation is held in the great hall where the students usually dine on a day-to-day basis. Parents are allowed and all families get a “plus two” for grandparents or family friends or whatever.
There are two separate ceremonies - the first is for those taking the Black. That’s the one where Downey forces Vetinari to give a speech as he is Guild Provost and one a Distinguished Old Boy etc.
Downey does his speech first and usually lines up those coming after him (Vetinari; Mericet; Lady T’Malia is what I have in my head. Though Mericet can usually convince Downey to sub in someone else as he is Too Old For This Shit).
For those taking the Black Downey will pepper in Fun Facts About Assassins and Helpful Pro Tips for Life (some of which are more helpful than others). Vetinari’s speech usually offers subtle rebuttals to Downey’s more outlandish life advice. Lady T’Malia’s is a universal favourite because she has the dry, disdainful wit of a person who has seen way too much nonsense in her life and has lived to continue to roll her eyes at it all.
Mericet, when he’s made to do a speech and can’t pawn it off on one of the younger staff, is always very short. His record time was 15 seconds wherein he got to the podium, looked somberly out at his soon to be former students, and said “All I can say to you is, good luck and don’t die” then he sat down. Downey could be heard to mutter: Really?? rather loudly.
Vetinari, more out of a desire to cause Downey some form of annoyance than anything else, will drone on for a long time and pepper in weird references only the headmaster of the guild will understand. He makes a few tiger jokes every year to which Downey, when he gets up to introduce the next speaker, will reply: “You really need to get over that”. No one knows what they’re talking about. However, the students always haaate it when Vetinari takes the podium. There is much sighing and sliding down in seats out of boredom.
The students are called up to the stage the receive their diploma in order of their name and it’s done by house (so viper house then black widow then poison dart frog or whatever they all are).
Weapons are expressly forbidden on all students after that One Unfortunate Incident back when Cruces was headmaster about which the least said, soonest mended.
Back when Downey and Vetinari were graduating, when weapons were allowed, all students were given a ceremonial sword and they got to wear it when they went up to take their diploma. Students still get a ceremonial sword (or dagger, depending on preference) but they are received after the ceremony.
The infamous ring is presented alongside the diploma.
For those not taking the Black, it’s still the same roster of speakers but it’s usually a faster ceremony (though, that is changing over the years as the Guild is sought out more and more as a general-purpose educational institution for parents seeking a classical education for their children).
Students in this group are also gifted a ceremonial sword but they’re allowed to wear theirs during the graduation ceremony because most can do nice, polite, gentlemanly dueling and not much else. Unlike their colleagues who can use it in increasingly diverse and experimental fashions.
After both ceremonies are complete there is a grand dinner with students and their families and much conviviality. Under Downey’s reign as headmaster the amount of “accidental deaths” that occurred at this dinner have decreased dramatically. Mostly because unlike previous headmaster, Downey thinks it a waste of a good education to knock someone off so soon. Also, it is deplorable manners and not civil.
(Vimes, “It’s also immoral.” Downey, “I fail to see your point, commander?”)
Wait at least a year or two until inhuming that One Guy who was A Class A Cunt During Maths. Or, if they’re really that bothersome, at least have the grace to wait until after the pudding has been served.
--
Pre-graduation tomfoolery
The graduating class, as a whole (well, those who survived the Run and those not taking the Black who haven’t accidentally fallen down the stairs), have two weeks between end of term and graduation and tend to run absolutely wild.
Downey’s main rule is: no one is inhumed, his dogs are left alone and nothing is set on fire; flooded; booby-trapped; or exploded etc.*
*see fine print for continuing list.
It is considered a grand tradition for each house to prank their house master. One year, students cellophaned everything in Mericet’s office. Including individual pages of books. Downey thought this absolutely Delightful. Mericet said, “that’s it, I’m retiring.” Which is, coincidentally, what he says every year.
Students will also strike up a very large game of Gotcha (i.e. Assassin) over the course of the intervening weeks between Term and Graduation. It used to be a very deadly endeavour but due to Downey’s new rule of “no inhuming until after graduation you daft kids” it’s just become a way to dunk on people.
These are also the weeks that students clean out their rooms which is always an adventure. Many will try and discreetly sneak out their illegal pot plants and shroom logs. Those that hide them in places that aren’t their room will have minor panic attacks because Lady T’Malia and other staff enjoy rounding up the plants ahead of the students and watching the fallout.
(Vetinari: I really should tell Vimes you have enough here to supply everyone in the city for a decade.
Downey: Leave my drug collection alone.)
There is a lot of Lady T’Malia and others being like, “You all do know we hid our illegal shit in the exact same places, right?’
Students will also throw end-of-year ragers in the common room which the staff pretend to know nothing about. These tend to get very messy very quickly. Downey will show up around 3am to shut it down, though. Because some people need to sleep and aren’t 18 anymore.
--
Anyway, that’s the long and short of my headcanon for Guild Graduation nonsense. All in all it’s a rowdy if somewhat bittersweet time. Downey secretly gets a little teary eyed over it. Aww look at his tiny little murderers going off into the big wide world. He remembers when they first arrived with knobbly knees and big eyes. His paternal side comes out in full force.
Vetinari: it’s very good you have hundreds of students and several dogs because I don’t know what you’d do without them since you’re basically 110% a dad.
Downey: i might have gotten married. What a horrifying concept.
Vetinari:
Vetinari: I have weird feelings about that which I am not going to explore in any great depth.
--
Thank you so much for the ask! <3 <3
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you know what, if you want a taste of the tomgreg i’m writing here ya go. i’m not spellchecking this and it has no title. here is your taste
The fallout unravels in a series of afters.
Fifteen seconds after the press conference ends, Kendall rips up his approved statement and tosses it behind him to the ubiquitous uproar of the roomful of press. He has just killed his father on national television, a new wave patricide for the twenty-first century, and Greg, well, Greg gave him the gun.
Thirty seconds after the press conference ends, Greg follows Kendall down a stretch of hallway like a rescue dog abandoned by the train yard having attached itself to the first person who threw it a bone. His hands are clammy against the yellow manila folder, making sweaty fingerprints against the cheap, Office Depot paper. The skin of his thumb pulls away from the nail with his incessant fidgeting and it stings like hell. Kendall is walking too fast despite his much shorter stride. Jess and Karolina crowd his side, but Kendall barrels past them.
Colourful language is exchanged. Phone calls are made. Greg can barely hear what is being said with the blood rushing from one side of his head to the other. His ears sound like oversized conch shells that swell with the shutter of every flashing camera that follows them past the podium.
“Sorry.” Greg offers them an uncomfortable wave, or what was supposed to be a gesture of apology. “Sorry for the—uh—inconvenience.”
“Alright, Greg, my comrade in arms,” Kendall says, holding out his hand, making a grabby motion. He looks composed, not even a decimal place to the right as nervous or overwhelmed as Greg is. “Sauce me the docs.”
“Right,” Greg says and surrenders them without protest. It feels good to finally let them go after they had been eating away at the argyles in his sock drawer for weeks. “Sorry, um, about the sweat. It’s my flight-or-fight response. I guess my body thinks I might be dying.”
Kendall ignores him, then passes the documents to an assistant so haphazardly that Greg almost wants to cry out, or at least make everyone in the room go through a strict vetting process before the manila folder can disappear from his sight. His worries are quickly quashed, however, when the folder is ripped open and the distribution of dozens of photocopies begins amongst the Kendall approved reporters waiting in the wings.
One such reporter, who must have seen Greg hand over the folder, pounces on him, blonde and plasticky in that white-midwestern-Fox-News-anchor sort of way that immediately waives his interest. The foam headed microphone she poises in front of his face is uncomfortably phallic.
“Your name?” she asks.
“Uh, Gregory—”
“Roy?”
“No, Hirsch. I was, um, the one who fucked up—sorry—my testimony in front of Congress? You might have seen me on the front page of Reddit. Wait—are you broadcasting this?”
He gives a statement, then he and Kendall are ushered into another room, stale with the smell of dispensary coffee and complimentary pastries, then a second room where a legal team made up of people Greg has never met pulls Kendall aside. Their conversation is hushed, their faces pinched and wrinkled like globs of malformed Play-Doh.
Greg stands in the corner, ignoring the urge to lean his forehead against the spackle wall and find his breath. He was privy to Phase 1 of the plan and only Phase 1: get in a helicopter, get on a private jet, transport the super-secret documents, attend the press conference, give Kendall the super-secret documents, watch Kendall hand over the super-secret documents, et cetera. By now, they must be at Phase 2: try not to poop your big boy pants in front of the Wallstreet Journal.
Afterwards, Kendall pats him on the back and tells him to “gear up for the clusterfuck,” so Greg does. They get into separate cars, pulled in separate directions by the tailing reporters. Greg watches the second black car shrink into a dot behind him: Phase 3, which Greg isn’t destined to be a part of, apparently.
Greg holes up in his apartment with his phone readied and ATN on mute. He waits for the word from Kendall, but it never comes. He paces, showers the corporate stink off him, and changes into sweats. As he towel dries his 100 dollar haircut, his phone pings, then pings again, again, and again. It vibrates against the custom-made coffee table with such force Greg thinks the glass might shatter.
He snatches it up. A text from Gerri, from Tom, from Shiv, Roman, Karl, Frank, all spouting a thesaurus worth of expletives and a row of question marks, as well as several emojis Greg has trouble deciphering in this context. At the top of his lock screen is a notification for the New York Times article Kendall warned him about yesterday, then the statement he gave to the tabloid in all caps, bold Helvetica font.
“Oh, okay, okay, okay, shit. Shit!”
He puts his phone on silent and goes to the balcony to smoke a joint, realizes reporters are swarming his building like worker ants in camera-ready makeup and drugstore hair gel, and hurries back inside. He flexes his fists, chews up his lips until they look like a crime scene. He knew what he was getting into when he handed over those two sad, crumpled pages he saved from certain Wambsgans branded death. But maybe not to the extent of being called out for it, or having to face the ridicule of a family he just settled into. He was supposed to be the backup, a co-conspirator behind the scenes, not the second fall guy. He texts Kendall “Hey man, I’m kind of freaking out right now” but gets no reply.
Kendall is persona non grata. As far as Greg knows, he could be holed up in a Soviet-era Siberian bunker somewhere, eating beans from a tin can and waiting out the aftermath.
Greg kicks himself. He should have thought of that.
*
Ten hours after the press conference ends and five hours after the media shitstorm hits peak shit, Greg hears a knock at his door. Half-asleep from a nap he was unaware he was taking, he instinctively reaches for his phone again. The sun is setting, shrinking behind the eyesore of an office building that blocks his view and decreases the property value of his apartment. He grumbles as his phone screen illuminates, stinging his dilated pupils.
(15) Unread Voicemails from Tom Wambsgans.
“Shit.”
The knocking continues.
“Hey, Greg, open up,” Tom shouts, sing-song in a threatening sort of way. His voice is muffled by the door, the knob twisting back and forth. Greg half-expects an ax to come flying through the wood and plaster. “Greg, I swear to God, open this door or else you are dead to me.”
Greg stumbles over himself, nearly tripping over the edge of his Sherpa rug as he turns on a light. He unlocks the door and yanks it open. The smell of tropical suntan lotion and Armani cologne immediately wafts into his nose, like a bowl of fruit salad left sitting on a department store perfume counter.
Tom stands there, his fists balled up at his sides like a petulant child waiting for his mother in a long line at the supermarket check-out. His skin is tan and slightly sunburnt around his nose from their time spent in Greece, but his loose-fitting yacht clothes have been replaced by a stark white button-down and an Yves Saint Laurent suit jacket. Greg tries not to notice.
“What the fuck did you do?” Tom asks.
His eyes wide, his affectation intensified by his disbelief. He looks angry, jaw jutting out. For a second, Greg thinks Tom might hit him like he has other times Greg has told him something he doesn’t want to hear. But the scale is much bigger, with implications that extend far beyond extramarital activities and open business relationships.
“I, uh, well.” Greg finds his words then loses them, then finds some new ones. “I mean, is it bad?”
“Yeah, Greg, it is. It is very bad.”
Tom pushes past him into the apartment. Greg hesitantly shuts the door behind him, trying not to shrink in on himself. Meanwhile, Tom appears to be near hysteria, halfway between laughing and crying like he was when he first dragged Greg into the death pit. Tom glances out the window where a few straggling news crews remain, then turns to face him.
“Do you have anything to say to me?” Tom asks.
“What?” Greg avoids his eyes. “Like—like an apology?”
“Yeah, like an apology.” Tom lets out a humourless, near sociopathic chuckle. “You fucked me over, Greg! You fucked me!” Every consonant is especially harsh when Tom says his name. He pinches his thumb and forefinger together. “We were this close to all of this going away and poof! Fucking front-page news. I feel like I got caught with my pants down and everyone is laughing at my junk.”
Greg tries not to let the off-colour simile faze him. “Look, Tom, to be fair, I kind of fucked us both.” He takes a step forward to close the room width of space between them. “I mean, I implicated myself as much as I implicated you. But Ken said he would take care of it.”
“Oh, he did, did he? So, what, are you his bitch boy now? First comes corporate scheming then comes marriage?”
Greg makes a face at him, ignoring the jealousy uncomfortably sandwiched between every word. Sometimes he thinks Tom forgets that Shiv, Roman and Kendall are his cousins, like a baby who lacks object permanence for Fortune 500 surnames.
“Uh, not sure I would use that term but okay.” Greg tries not to pace. “Come on, this is what you wanted in the first place. To come clean, get it all out in the open. Like, it was the right thing to do, right?”
Tom raises his eyebrows, mouth falling open. “You are unbelievable.”
“What?”
“Jesus, Greg. I know it was you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You were the one who told Gerri I wanted to hold a press conference, you piece of shit.” The hurt that lines Tom’s face catches Greg off-guard. Tom tries to hide it with a self-satisfied grin, seemingly for having figured it all out, but Greg can see it in his eyes, festering. “So, now you want to claim the moral high ground? You lied to me through your fucking teeth.”
Greg had almost forgotten that had happened. It feels like it was years ago, not months. He was a fish out of water back then—he still is—but he thought it might allow him some wiggle room, help him avoid being caught in the clean-up net, gutted, then served on a platter if cruises ever came out. He supposes he could play the “I was oblivious” card—because he was—but that might not fly considering he just blew a big, shiny rape whistle on Waystar senior management.
“Look, Tom, I’m sorry, like really, I am, but you told me not to trust anyone, least of all you, and then you trusted me? It was your own advice!” Greg raises his hands as if to deny culpability. “So, you know, that, uh, that sounds like a you problem, dude.”
Something shifts in Tom’s expression, the hurt turning to resentment. “Is this unassuming nature of yours, this fresh-scrubbed sincerity, all an act?” Tom asks, gesturing to Greg and all Brobdingnagian six feet and seven inches of him. “Have I been duped, bamboozled, hung out to fucking dry? Again?”
Greg knew Tom would be upset, but this is something else, something that runs deeper than possibly facing jail time. Tom has never been especially easy for Greg to read; he masks his sincerity with deceit and covers up his deceit with generosity, trying to play at the Roy game by Roy rules until his intentions pervert into some sick joke only he’s in on.
Would you kiss me? What if I asked you to? What if I told you to?
At best, Tom is unpleasant to work for and borderline abusive to his employees. At worst, he’s strangely endearing. If Greg really wanted out from his clutches, he would have used the documents as leverage a long time ago. But Greg feels oddly attached to him still, like a pair of Siamese Twins held together by their liver: an organ that could be severed in two if need be, but Greg would likely miss the feeling of working so close to Tom by virtue of needing to keep their heads above the water before cruises sank them completely.
“Tom, come on—I just—I want you on my side.” Greg feels pathetic as he inches closet to pleading with Tom, but for what? Forgiveness? Understanding? A second chance? He’s not so sure.
Tom scoffs. “Why? Because I present a tactical advantage? Did Kendall ask you to recruit me?”
Greg would be lying if he said he hadn’t considered nudging Tom over to the Kenstar Gregco team, but Kendall had never given him the rundown on how this was going play out, or which factions the family might divide into. Truthfully, Greg didn’t think that far ahead when Kendall laid out the initial plan. There had been no time for that.
“Kendall has nothing to do with this,” Greg says, motioning between them. “The documents were a favour. I was just doing Kendall a favour.”
“Yeah, sure.” Tom grits his teeth. “You used me, Greg. You were a featherless chick, trying to fly from the nest, and I took you under my wing! Now you want to significantly alter the pecking order?” He shakes his head. “All you Roys are the same. Like a piss of leeches in cashmere turtlenecks and cable-knit sweaters.”
Greg feels the urge to tell Tom he’s technically not a Roy, but it would be fallacious. Tom isn’t one either, not really. They’re both nameless actors on the outskirts of the freak show, one of them a clown that married into the circus, and the other a clown that has trace amounts of circus in his blood. This was their choice.
“I’m indebted to you, Tom, I really am.” Greg reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder. Even though they’re barely touching, he can feel his body heat radiating from beneath his primly ironed Oxford. “Look, what can I do?”
Tom goes quiet, glancing at where Greg has made contact. For a moment, Greg naively thinks they have reached some sort of understanding. His hopes are quickly dashed.
“Alright, Greg,” Tom says, his performative smugness returning. “You can tell me where Kendall is for starters.”
“Kendall?”
“Yes, Kendall. Come on, where is our quasi-Dmitri Karamazov? Has he gone AWOL or is he out roaming the streets covered in blood with three thousand rubles clutched in his tiny fist?”
Greg narrows his eyes at Tom, dropping his hand from his shoulder. “Okay—um—no? And I don’t know where he is. He kind of went dark on me.”
“Oh, so you two are in cahoots but not really in cahoots?”
Greg ignores how pleased Tom sounds. “Is everyone back yet?”
“We flew in a couple of hours ago.”
“And?”
“Oh, they’re beyond pissed. Your balls will be in a little brass box on Logan’s desk come morning.”
“Makes sense, I guess,” Greg says but he doesn’t really believe it. Tom is just playing the game again, trying to intimidate him with lowbrow banter fit for any fraternity hazing ritual. It only signifies that Greg has passed the threshold of what is expected of him again because, in actuality, Logan is in a worse spot than anyone. Except maybe Kendall who has to deal with the consequences of putting him there. “So, where do you stand? In all of this.”
Tom snorts, but he looks unsure. “Oh, please. Stop with this which-side-are-you-on bullcrap. You sound like a fifth-grader picking teams for kickball.”
“Hey, I’m being serious. Like, what do you owe Logan? What do I owe him? I mean, I owe you more than anything,” Greg says and the compliment makes his back teeth ache. “I want you there—here—like, I want you to play on my team. Or you could, maybe, play both sides. You know, do a little undercover. It could be like a James Bond, Q type situation.”
“Greg, you’re being ridiculous.”
“How? How is that ridiculous?”
Tom just shakes his head. The sadness Greg had taken note of before returns to his face. Greg knows Tom has a responsibility to Shiv, and whichever way Shiv goes he has to follow. Greg was just hoping their alliances had yet to be decided, but it sounds like she has made up her mind, so Tom has too. No game plan, no strategizing, no conspiratorial comradery. Greg feels stopped in his tracks, pushed to the outskirts by someone who has always tried to bring him in.
Tom heads towards the door, removing his phone from his back pocket. “Keep in touch.”
It sounds like a threat and a promise rolled into one.
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limbo, chapter 2
“I swear to Truth, if you pat touch the top of my head one more time, you’re going to lose a hand!” Ed screeches, panting with rage.
Cat just grins back at him- he doesn’t know how he ever could’ve thought of her as innocent. “Oh my,” she says, sweet as can be. He is not falling for it. “Feel better now?”
He hisses at her and she coos. “Do NOT presume to know me!”
“It’s really quite impressive how much anger can be stored in-”
“-DON’T TEST ME CAT, I SWEAR-”
“-such a small container.”
“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU CALLING SO SMALL THEY CAN’T DEFEND THEMSELVES!” He rears up, holding up his fists and leaping in front of her, but she just laughs and pushes him down. He lands head-first on the ground, then pops back up, shaking sand out of his hair- there’s no way he’s getting it all without at least one long shower.
He seethes quietly – he’s already learned he can’t beat her in a fight, not hand to hand – while she scans their surroundings. “Alright, Edward Elric, where do you think we are?”
He scoffs up at her and crosses his arms. “How should I know? You’re the one who said we should jump out of the train early because the sun looked pretty.”
“And so it does.” She extends her palm out dreamily, letting it warm her, before turning back to him. “I stand by that. However, I believe you’re significantly more well-traveled than me, as I’ve never quite left Central before now. I was hoping you’d have some level of travel expertise, or at least a way to make us shelter.”
Ed sighs, dropping his bag into the sand surrounding them, then follows it down himself. “Unfortunately, I used my alchemy for all that, and I’m not much of an alchemist these days. All my usefulness was shot the minute I made a trade with Truth.”
She frowns at him. “My brother is an alchemist, and even that was too abstract for me to follow. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him mention Truth in his metaphorical ramblings?”
“Yeah, well, I’m a different class of alchemist than Major Armstrong,” Ed says, not without a sense of pride. It only lasts a second before he deflates again, running his hand through the sand and letting the grains fall through his fingers. “Or was, at least.”
Catherine snorts and yanks him to his feet, then picks up his suitcase and starts walking in a random direction. “My impression was once an alchemist, always an alchemist. Or did that deal scramble your brains?”
“I still know how to be an alchemist,” he retorts. “There’s just not a lot of use for it now. It’s like… It’s like my friend, Winry, you know? She’s a genius with automail and machinery, but if you took away her hands, all of that skill would go to waste. I have all the knowledge and skill, but none of the ability.”
“That’s selling your friend a little short, isn’t it?” She asks thoughtfully.
“How so?”
“There’s a couple of things- first off, I bet she could get new hands with automail.” Ed moves to interject, but Catherine starts moving faster, forcing him to jog to keep pace. “I know automail decreases fine motor control, but if she’s really a genius, I bet she could figure out a solution. And moreover- she doesn’t have to stay a mechanic. She could teach others, she could research better techniques for others- hell, she could find a new passion altogether. Point is? Her life wouldn’t be over. I don’t get why you’re letting this sidetrack you so badly, I expected more-”
Ed finally catches up with her and turns to glare, mouth twisted in an ugly grimace. “I can’t do any of that, okay? I can’t! You shouldn’t expect more from me-”
“Well, why not?” She fires back.
His breath is speeding up and he wants to think it’s because of his slow run, even though he knows he’s still too in shape for it to affect him this bad. “Be- Because you shouldn’t! I- I don’t have another way to practice, there’s no way to make up for the handicap. And I haven’t been interested in research beyond what’s essential to restore Al’s body since, since my mom died! And I don’t have another passion, alright? I tried so hard to move on, after I lost everything, but all I did was burden people- they would’ve all grown to hate me, I know they would’ve, just like my brother-”
He stops when she drops all their bags to pull him into a close hug, so tight he almost can’t breathe- it’s comforting in how secure she feels. His voice cuts off immediately and he’s left with his panicked breathing and something in his eyes feels wet and it’s so, so embarrassing—
“I’m sorry for poking at you, Ed. I know things aren’t always as easy as they seem, and I shouldn’t assume.” She pets his hair while he calms, going mostly limp, leaning on her for support. “Was there ever a time you loved alchemy?”
He looks up at her, shining eyes wide at her soft smile, and his voice wobbles when he speaks. He’s never felt his too-young age more. “When Al and I were kids, we used to stay up late to read my dad’s books. He wasn’t around a lot. I- I remember our mom would come in and be so concerned over how late we were up, but then we’d show her what we made and she would be so, so proud of us.” He sniffles and steps back, smiling a little at the memory- he hasn’t thought about this in ages. “I made her a bird, once, and she put it up in our kitchen.”
Catherine grabs the rest of their bags and starts them walking again, trying to find someplace to stay before the approaching sunset. “That sounds really nice. Do you want to hear about the time I beat my brother in an arm-wrestling match?”
His eyes light up and she bursts out laughing- the rest of their walk is spent reminiscing over a time when their talents weren’t valued as commodities, and they were just kids exploring a hobby. It’s bittersweet, remembering how he once viewed alchemy as more than a battle strategy, but it’s also nice to think back to his childhood focus on being innovative and creative with it.
They’ve been walking for hours and the cold’s set in when they finally see structures on the horizon, signs of life. They both start running towards it, hitting a second wind of energy, but are met with two hulking figures blocking them from entry.
Ed looks up at Scar and Hohenheim and thinks, oh shit.
---
Ed’s honestly not sure what would be more bothersome: having to fight his way through this village or being forced to sit for tea with his father.
As it is, he’s sitting tensely in the corner of a room while Catherine talks happily with his dad- he thinks she could smile less, Hohenheim isn’t that funny, after all. Ed crosses his arms – the room seems to darken as a shadow passes over them, the weak candlelight flickering – and Hohenheim finally glances over at him.
“Ah, Ms. Catherine, could we pick this up later? I believe my son and I need to have a long overdue conversation. I believe you’ve briefly been acquainted with Scar; he could show you around the area?” She looks to Ed for confirmation – not permission, but to make sure he’ll be okay left alone – and he offhandedly nods.
Hohenheim waits for her to leave before leaning towards Ed, smiling faintly. “It’s been a long time, Edward. How have you been?”
Ed sits back in his chair and scowls as intently as he can.
“Any news since the Promised Day? How’s Al?”
Ed doesn’t blink.
“How have things been without alchemy? I spent a lot of time out East, back in the day, there’s ways to apply your knowledge without that direct connection-”
“Could we not do this right now?” Ed finally breaks.
Hohenheim smiles, self-assuredly, and Ed wants to punch him. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
Ed screeches, lunges towards him, and actually does punch him- to his surprise, Hohenheim takes it without fighting back. “What are you even doing here?”
“Well, that’s a complicated question. After all that went down on the Promised Day, I spent some time trying to figure out what to do next- I thought about just settling down next to your mother’s grave for one thing, letting everything catch up with me. I ended up here, where the remaining Ishvalans have gathered. I’ve been helping them rebuild, with what little I can do. Truth knows I’ve needed a break, but this had to be done.”
Hohenheim sighs heavily and Ed frowns at him, stepping back. “Why didn’t you take the chance to rest?”
He laughs sheepishly and shrugs. “I suppose I didn’t feel like I deserved it. I’ve taken so much from the people of this world – contributed to so much of their hardship, intentionally or not – and I felt that giving up without trying to make at least one thing right would be the most selfish thing I’ve ever done.” Something in Ed’s cold expression seems to falter, just long enough for his father to notice, and Hohenheim looks down. “I suppose it’s not fair to talk to you about my being selfish. I’m sure you were frustrated when I up and disappeared after everything happened?”
Ed studiously avoids even looking at where his father sits. “Al thought you were dead. I couldn’t have cared less, beyond his being upset about it.”
“I guess I deserve that,” Hohenheim offers. Ed doesn’t respond. “Look- after the Promised Day, I was out of power. All those souls got used up fighting Father. I’ve only got my own now, and it’s only got a year left, maybe. Every single one of those souls was selfless in the end, giving up their existence to help me win that fight; it’s the least I can do now to carry on that idea, for the little time I have.”
“Al would be angry if you died without saying goodbye,” Ed mutters petulantly.
Hohenheim laughs loudly and smiles fondly- Ed doesn’t think he used to smile ever, not even when he and Al were kids. “I’m sure he would be. Your companion, Ms. Catherine, seemed to mention you had a falling out. I’d hope you’ll let him know that I left for a reason? Both times?”
Hohenheim is as strong and imposing as ever, but there’s something pleading lying under the surface now. Ed can’t forgive him – he probably never will, all those scars still digging in from when he was a child – but he can respect what he’s doing now.
“I’ll let him know. And- and I don’t have power anymore, but I think I’ll stick around a while, if that’s alright. Help you rebuild, and all that.” Redeem himself for joining the State Alchemists even when he knew how much blood he’d spill, but Ed can’t say that- not when Al so recently condemned him for it and his own demons haven’t faded.
“I think that sounds like a great idea,” Hohenheim answers, and his eyes crinkle when he smiles.
---
Ed’s trained himself to be a fighting machine since he was a child, but he’s not used to hard labor- he’s always had his alchemy to pick up the slack while he focused on close combat techniques. As it is, he’s panting heavily while trying to help hoist a canvas roof over a newly erected home.
It doesn’t help that he’s working with Scar and might be a few feet too short to lift it up, but if anyone comments Ed will show them how hard he can still punch without alchemy.
They finally lift it up, covering the home, then Scar quietly directs him over to the next open patch of land, each of them carrying a bucket of water and mud- there’s not a lot of resources this deep in the desert, and Scar’s had to create what few building tools they have.
Ed silently looks away each time Scar pulls oxygen and hydrogen out of the air to make more water, carefully ignores how Hohenheim almost certainly trained him on something more than just basic creation and destruction. At least they’re building the houses by hand, something that Ed can actually help with.
They start raising the structure, building it muddy brick by brick, and Ed feels content in Scar’s silent presence- he’s not usually this comfortable with this much quiet. It’s peaceful.
They get done building the foundational structure of the walls before Scar gruffly calls it a day, telling Ed that they’ll have to wait for it to harden before continuing. Ed looks at the progress they’ve made – he and Scar put roofs on three houses and built the base of one, Catherine and Hohenheim built the bases of two, and there’s nearly a dozen Ishvalans doing even more – and realizes this is the most he’s done for someone since long before the Promised Day, back when he was called the People’s Alchemist and Amestris’s civilians needed him.
Ed has been hurt and damaged by the loss of his alchemy, but he’s not broken by it. There’s still a future for him to try and find, whether it’s through teaching or research or going East like his dad mentioned. He can keep helping people, the thing that made his alchemic talent feel the most important, and return home better.
Scar invites him into one of the houses for dinner, and Ed laughs along with the children who crowd around him, asking for stories. He tells them some of his favorite accomplishments as an alchemist, all the way back to defeating corruption in Youswell, and finishes by explaining his first feat of creativity: putting together a tiny bird. He walks Scar through the motions and knowledge, and grins as the children cheer at the finished – if not lopsided – product.
He’ll be okay sticking around a while longer, to help the Ishvalans build a new home.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/26252785/chapters/69795654#workskin
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SnapDragon’s Merchant Thoughts
So the game started a day late which made me very sad but whatever. Then I woke up from my nap and realised the game had started. I looked at my role and discovered I was a merchant. I spend the first five minutes wondering what the actual fuck, but that is besides the point.
Merchants huh? That is new. My objective is having the most money at the end of the game as living Merchant. Which is in fact an interesting concept but not entirely new. It debuted in ext-300 under the name “Bandits” but instead of working together we work against each other and we don’t know who we all are.
We get money by selling items. And we spend money by buying them. So my initial prediction is that we are here to play stock market and that items are the stock. In my honest opinion some items will be worth a ton and some will be worth nothing. For example in my opinion Protection items will be worth a lot so merchants have to chose between keeping them to protect themselves or selling them and get lots of gold. The same applies to weapons because it can be used to eliminate loot piñatas.
We are also the literal definition of loot piñatas. As in the role personified. Therefore claiming will be risky if not doing it at all.
So now a LOT of setup speculation. “You are a Merchant. You are here to exploit the chaos and make your fortune” is the fluff text. Therefore I’m gonna assume this is going to be a slow game with roles that can exploit the loot piñata mechanic. No extras joined so that rules out Undead since they cannot abuse loot piñatas. Vamp however live on recruiting loot piñatas so that is my lock-in for evil faction. Vamp however need a supporting evil faction. Coven fits this role to a T. With 18 players I’m going to assume 1 VM and around 4-5 coven. There is also the supporting cast of more merchants. My initial guess is there is more than 2 but less than 5 so 3-4 is my guess. The amount of merchants also influences the amount of coven there is.
On the topic of village roles. We talk about a loot piñata game. Therefore we talk about Thieves. Thieves will be the bane of our existence since it will make keeping items risky as all hell. Then we have some RuneSmiths, apothecaries and blacksmiths.
My final idea of a setup will be VM+1 Harpy, 1 Witch, 2 Djinns, 1 Furie, 3 Merchants -> 8 evil/neutrals. This leaves room for 10 villagers. With 3 merchants I’m going to assume 2 thieves, 1 runesmith, 1 apothecary and 1 blacksmith and 5 random roles that are going to be close to Vampire and Coven related roles. Stalkers/Militias/Gravediggers/Revivers and the lot. My guess is going to be 1 Stalker, 1 Militia, 2 gravediggers, 1 reviver as the final village roles. I exclude seers because they are too swingy for this setup. Except for maybe the novice seer because they would also see us as neutral and give us an incentive to claim.
On to some more merchants discussion since I think I barely scratched the surface at this point. I as a merchant want to win from the other merchants which means both staying alive as long as possible while making the largest amount of money existing. But I think there are also some drawbacks to buying and selling. I think that every merchant gets the same night options offered with no price visible. Therefore if we all want to buy the same items the price will be high because competition. If nobody wants to buy an item the price will be low. The trick I think is going for items that are not as desirable as other items but still better than the bad items. Avoiding the competition, going for the bargains. My other guess is that craftable items are worth near nothing because… well… they’re craftable. The obvious exception being Armour items (If they are craftable, I don’t have much knowledge of the BlackSmith yet).
My second thought related to merchants and selling is that selling to a fellow merchant will inflict penalties of some sort. Either being that you sell for low or sell for very high and they lose money. The other option being a bonus in that selling to a merchant will make money for both of the merchants. On that topic of protection items. I think they sell for high, but giving them to a fellow merchant is not something you’d want to do because they then can sell them the next night for also a lot of money. Then another thought. If items decrease in amount over the game they will become more valuable. That is if they end up in the GY or get used or anything.
That brings us to the next topic. What items are we able to expect over the course of this game? My guess is mainly consumables and renewables. Runes + Armour + Weapons + Potions. I think Demonic Relics are out simply because they’re rare and they would be worth a fk tonne to the lucky soul who winds up with them ergo they swing the market too much. On the same note wolf items are out too assuming a vampire. As for starting items I think Merchants will start with some. Armour + a random item. This is because we have to buy N1 and will lose money if we don’t sell so we need to have the option to sell N1.
This also brings us to the 3th Merchant thought: Trade-routes. My guess is continuously selling to the same person brings a bonus or malus depending on the items being sold. The idea being that selling to the same person establishes a trade route which will give more money depending on if you sell different items to them but less money if you sell the same item continuously. This gives us Merchants the dilemma of having to choose between maintaining a trade route or selling for gold.
On another item topic: Popular buys will become more expensive to buy as the game progresses. And as the game progresses the items we will be presented will also increase in value. This brings me to another point that I previously didn’t even consider. There may be relic items in the game and we get the option later on to buy the relics that can trigger/remove their effects (Demonic Eye and Heart of Hades). The flaw with this is that we as merchants may decide to not buy the relics so a possible DemonCult can never trigger them. And the possible demonic items that are in the village may turn out to be useless if we never buy the trigger items. This is a very specific scenario though.
On to the next topic: Council. I think council is in the game and every merchant worth their salt wants to be on it. This is because Council can generate items out of thin air.
My last thought: Outlaws. If we try to sell to an outlaw they will just take the item and we will generate no money.
To the last point: Strategy, I’m going to employ a high-risk strategy. With potential thieves etc keeping items is a waste of inventory. This also makes sure I can buy high later on when I believe the value of items increase.
N1:
Okay so apparently we’re able to leave the fking town. This puts dirt in my setup speculation since I do have to eliminate coven over a numbers issue. Perhaps if it was more than 20 I would have allowed coven to remain as a viable option. If all supposed 3 of the merchants are able to leave -> 4-basement, 5-coven 6 village with the 3 loot piñatas leaving. Merchants I think are balanced around them becoming loot piñatas at all points in time which allows for the coven. Instead I’m putting in a subfaction war. Subfaction war also fills in with the chaos because subfactions want to finish each other off to detriment of the village often. There is also no council which is kind of disappointing. Then again it’s maybe good because whoever as merchant gets on the council has a definite advantage. My proposed setup is this:
VM, MS, IL, 2 GD, 1 Stalkers, 1 Militias, 2 Thieves, Novice Seer, 3 merchants, RS, BS, Apothecary, LM, Mortician.
I’m also given the Potion of cleansing buying option so I’m not gonna rule out Damned and Demoncult just yet.
I start with as predicted: Armour and a Hvísla Rune (low cost item). I’m obviously going to sell the Hvísla for 4 gold to make some money for next nights purchase. I will keep the Armour for now eventhough keeping it does not fit in my high risk playstyle. The armour is worth 31 gold at this point. I am also going to buy cleanse potions because of the volume of the items that is. All items are tier 1 items so I’m going to assume the value between the three does not vary a whole lot so 2x cleansing is more than 1x weakness eventhough weakness costs less. The other choice was Fjat Rune which costs as much as the 2x cleansing potions.
Then we go to a second alternate setup. One involving Outlaws. Merchants and Outlaws have synergy. Outlaws want to collect items while Merchants want to sell them. Therefore it would not totally be out of the question that this is a potential combination. It also poses a second neutral faction to support the vampire because both Outlaws and Merchants want the game to not finish too quickly. Collecting items and selling items etc. This poses as help for the very confirmed Vampire who wants the game to start slow even if they’re found early. This WILL eliminate the novice seer since there will be too many neutrals and instead puts in a drunk or even a regular seer. A possible setup for this would be: VM, 3 Merchants, 2 Outlaws of varying degrees, 2 Thieves, 1 RS, 1 BS, 1 Apothecary, mortician, (drunk) seer, 1 stalker, 1 militia, 2 gravediggers, whatever.
I’m not sure if I consider my ability anything strong. In general I don’t really give a crap about who I transfer items too, I just want to make bank. The only thing it does is identify potential merchants in the early game and/or find potential evils later in the game. However I’m still using the ability to generate visits AND to find a potential Merchant N1. I’m using it on the one who nukes the everloving SHIT out of the game in Gandhi who I’m also going to transfer my Hvísla to.
I have also already identified Tomyris as a potential Bandit/BoB/Merchant due to the “new faction confirmed” comment. Same with Gilgamesh referse psychologying the shit out of everybody.
On the topic of things already being proven false
- No council
- Price options are visible so no invisible bidding against other merchants
The rest has to remain to be seen.
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Can someone check the GFCI?
When a circuit breaker snaps, it’s because the circuit was beginning to heat beyond design capacity and it’s shutting down to prevent something worse from happening, like fire or damage to a sensitive circuit or device.
It’s a safety device, and we all know how much I love safety devices, but at the end of the day if you don’t take action when a safety device activates, generally the damage can be much worse than what the device was actually protecting.
Folks, our owners have decided that it’s going to be much easier to control the world if they only have to do it from one government, and if you still think this is a conspiracy theory, you need to turn off CNN and step outside your basement. Even the dimwit in Ottawa can no longer keep the secret of where those in lofty chambers have decided we are going, although I sincerely doubt he understands the repercussions, just like 98% of the population. It’s not their fault, they are wired in such a way they can’t see the truth, either by design or programming.
Doesn’t matter which it is (blue dress/brown dress), the damage to our population has started and we don’t have the collective will to stop it, because we’ve been conditioned to be victims. Correction. Most have been conditioned over the past two decades to be victims, to be at the mercy of big government and those who know better than you do.
I’ve a friend who explains it perfectly. He says that most people cannot see past the end of any given month. It’s not a derogatory thing, it’s just who they are. These are the people who live paycheck to paycheck, who don’t plan for the future because they are just trying to stay alive. They work hard to keep up, but are consumed by just trying to cope with what life throws at them. These are the majority of people on this planet. Not a bad thing, but these are the type of people easily controlled by fear.
The next group are the people who can see 6 to 12 months, and they understand cause and effect better than the first group. They understand that payday loans are bad and that you should control your destiny through planning. These are the type of people who run our governments and provide services. They see the benefits to organized approaches to problems and find safety in numbers of like minded people.
The last group, the smallest one are those who can see 3 to 5 years down the road. These are the visionaries, people like Edison and Orwell, Tesla and Rand. These are the Elon Musks and Bill Gates of the world. They drive humanity through aspiration and ambition.
Unfortunately they aren’t always right, for example I would consider Karl Marx to one of the latter.
So why am I talking about Karl Marx and circuit breakers you ask?
Well it’s because my tin foil hat is on too tight, or because I’m not quite right in the head I guess, or any other of the labels those who can’t see past the end of the month would paste to someone like me who likes to think a bit more long term than the end of the next season of the Kardasians.
Shutting down the world for a bad flu wasn’t a decision based in science. It’s not even a decision based in safety, and believe me I know a thing or two about that. The whole “nobody moves, nobody gets hurt” thing really doesn’t work for long. Sure, nobody gets hurt, but no body eats either. This is what your average person isn’t thinking about when they scream “stay the blazes home”.
Yes, you can stay the blazes home. Yes, you can cower under your bed until the bad thing passes, but at the end of the day the Magic Pantry was just a kids TV show.
Dude’s gotta eat, right?
I’m currently living inside the “Atlantic Bubble”, or whatever is left of it after those anointed in oil decided to take their toys and go home, but in reality we’ve created an interesting paradigm here on the east coast of Canada that’s unlike anywhere else in the world.
We’ve created the perfect culture of fear.
Now for those living outside the bubble, we’ve shut the door, turned off the lights and posted a big “FUCK OFF” sign on the front lawn. We’ve turned our back to the virus like it’s a Trump supporter. This is our plan. We’ve posted guards, created intricate rules around who can go where and why, and basically made it impossible to move anywhere without government permission. All over a bad flu with a survivalbility rate of over 99.4%, with 70%+ of the mortality coming from those 70 years of age and older. You are more likely to die from an automobile accident today than COVID.
Don’t get me wrong, COVID is no cake walk, it’s a nasty disease, but it’s not Ebola. I’ve been battling this virus now for 11 months, I’ve seen how it works, it’s veracity is substantial, and if you have co-morbidities such as diabetes or heart disease, it can take a toll on you, and yes, more people are dying from it than the seasonal flu, but at the end of the day it’s not going to wipe out the human race. The majority of the people who test positive don’t even know they have it.
And don’t get me started on testing.
I can’t talk publicly about it but if you see me out and about, ask me why I think testing is a control and not a diagnostic element. Sorry, the hat’s tightening.
Let me throw one example out for you to chew on, let’s say vaccines. Now the vaccines are the panacea for the masses right? I mean we should be amazed we were able to concoct a vaccine that is 95% effective in eradicating this virus inside 8 to 10 months, hell, we should be ecstatic, right? I mean it took 30+ years to get a handle on AIDS and we beat COVID in just 240 days. We currently linbe up to get an annual flu shot to protect us from the last major Coronavirus (Remember the Spanish Flu?) that has been in development for the last 60 years and it’s still only 35-40% effective, and less than 50% of Canadians get it
We must be freaking geniuses now.
I’ll never understand the sheer amount of dumb optimism that’s out there, but I certainly appreciate it. Without that optimism we’d be more like Lemmings than we currently are.
But back to the “great reset”, shall we?
So dude’s gotta eat, right? I’m going to quote one of my modern day heros, Elon Musk when he says “If people wants stuff, they have to make it” or something along those lines. In other words, there’s no money tree. My parents very early on taught me that lesson, and that if I wanted anything in life I had to earn it or make it, that there was no such thing as a free meal. The problem is most people today have been conditioned to think there is. Trudeau has been giving away our money like a drunken sailor on shore leave to the tune of $400 BILLION dollars in 8 months. Let me put it another way, in the last 240 days Trudeau has spent $10,814.00 per Canadian citizen, or around $25K per taxpayer. That’s debt folks, that’s directly on the shoulders of every Canadian. But it’s ok they say because interest rates are so low we can afford the additional leverage.
Problem is folks is interest rates don’t stay low after a major crisis. Why? It’s called inflation. As money supply loosens, so does the value of a dollar, and when the value of a dollar decreases because there’s more supply of dollars then prices increase. When prices start increasing wages need to go up to keep pace with inflation, and when that happens there are two options. Control monetary supply, otr deal with runaway inflation.
How do you control inflation you ask? Great question. You raise interest rates to throttle spending.
How can anyone forget the late 1970’s? It was less than 50 years ago folks. Remember Trudeau’s 6 & 5? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller? JUSTIN? For fuck sakes the kid was living at 22 Sussex drive when his father created the greatest economic challenge of our lifetime.
Wait, check that. Apparently the second wave will be worse than the first.
This great reset is gong to be tragic. Already they are estimating over 100 Million people in 3rd world countries will die next year due to disease and starvation because of the lock downs. In our own western countries the most disadvantages are already our most vunerable populations. Humans aren’t meant to be caged, nor can we afford to be. We need to be free, have purpose, and contribute to a vibrant society.
You can’t govern that. You can’t rule over a captive society for long. History has shown us that time and time again that King’s aren’t benevolent rulers and those who suffer the most are at the bottom the societal ladder.
If you aren’t seeing the end goal yet, I get it, but I do. You only need look as far as the ice cream eating elite who enjoy fine dining when your cupboard is near empty and jet off to Mexico while telling you can’t bury your spouse or child. They make you endure cruel mental anguish while they spend your tax dollars on jet setting and pontificating about a communist world that they rule.
All in the name of a better world, one free of climate change and racism.
Who knows, maybe they are right, maybe they are part of the component of society that sees the future more clearly than the rest of us.
I guess that’s why they get ice cream and can go spend Thanksgiving with their moms while you can’t bury yours.
I guess that’s just our lot in life, to be ruled, to understand it’s for thee, but not for me.
This what we want? This what we deserve? Am I wrong?
I don’t think I am, I just want to be. Can someone go downstairs and check the fuse?
Jim Out
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If You’re Good…
Harry meets you in a bar and is seduced by your bubbly and outgoing personality, he asks you on date to know each other better little did he know he was not the only one with a special job
Part One: Bloody Mary and Museum Dates
A/N: Here she is! Part One of If You’re good… Let me know how you like it!
Word Count: 7.3k
TW: Alcohol/Mentions of BDSM practices
A huge thank you to my little love @harryscumcloth for beta reading that shit and being so supportive!
This story is dedicated to @lovegoodcrown (i can't tag you so I just hope you’ll see it) because they’ve been so sweet and excited! They fucking deserves it!
Moodboard! Talk to me about If You’re Good...!
“I would go for a Bloody Mary, if I were you.”
The voice came from behind you; its depth, its pace and rawness sent a shiver down your spine and your palms started sweating. You took a deep breath and tapped your fingers on the cocktail menu the barman handed you earlier. An obvious sign of your anxiety.
You closed your eyes as you turned around. “It’s not fucking…” The voice in your head was cut off by the sight of the man who addressed you and… It fucking was. It fucking was who you thought it was.
You stumbled over your words, “W-What?”
“They have great Bloody Marys here. You should go for one if you don’t know what to order.”
He smiled at you widely and you inhaled deeply; most likely to keep you from passing out. You bit your lip and your eyes widened. He was even more beautiful in the flesh and you just couldn’t believe he was talking to you right now.
You blinked twice to be sure you were really seeing him and not just imagining it.
“Are you… talking to me?”
You pointed at yourself, your eyes shifting everywhere to see if you were mistaken but the tension inside your brain just blurred your vision and you couldn’t quite see whoever was around.
He laughed for a second and squinted at you. He furrowed his eyebrows and passed a hand through his hair.
“I think I’m talking to you. But I’m not sure.”
He looked around at the empty bar, making you realize that you were alone at the inn. You looked around confused, “I’m sorry… I’m just-”
You held a nervous giggle in before telling him defeated… “I’m a dumbass.”
He chuckled again, the sound making you even more nervous and endeared by him as he stepped closer.
“It’s okay. We’re all a little bit of a dumbass, aren’t we?”
“Yeah. I guess we are.” You let out a jumpy laugh.
You tried to gain some composure. You were pretty much freaking out, but you had a good reason to; Harry Styles was talking to you. You smiled at the thought. You told him you were a dumbass. Your smile disappeared and you felt a bit embarrassed, but the feeling left soon enough when you just remembered yourself that auto-derision was a good way to introduce yourself to him.
You cleared your throat before speaking again, “So… Bloody Mary is your advice?”
His dimples popped out when he started to grin. Ask him to marry you right now, coward. The voice in your head gained way too much confidence in a matter of seconds.
“Yes! They’re really great here.”
You nodded and watched him call the barman to take his order.
“Two Bloody Marys, please.” He looked over at you and smiled.
Apparently it was your order now, not only his. You stepped up to pay, but like the gentleman he is, he held his hand up to stop you.
“It’s on me.”
He smiled tenderly and handed his credit card to the barman who swapped it with the drinks.
Who would’ve thought that your wooliness and your incapacity to make an easy decision in a social environment would gain Harry Styles’ attention?
Social awkwardness is sexy. The voice in your head was getting a little bit too full of itself and you felt a puff of confidence burst inside your body.
“Thanks for the drink.”
You gave him a smile as you lifted yourself onto the high stool, silently inviting him to sit with you.
“I’m a huge fan, you know?”
You watched as he sat next to you, his fingers toying with the top of his glass. He beamed at you and his eyes smiled from his cheeks.
“Oh yeah? Thank you!”
“I am! I really loved your album! Looking forward to what you’re going to do next!”
You gave him your worst wink and laughed before taking a sip from your glass.
He looked at you with a smile and gave you a sly look when you mentioned his next move.
“This is very sweet! I’m happy you liked it! Have you come to the tour?”
His lips reached the glass and you looked at him swallow his drink before you continued the conversation.
“Of course! The last night of the tour! At the Forum! What an amazing show! Like… You’re such an amazing performer!”
He snickered at your enthusiasm and gave you a tender smile before thanking you again.
“I mean… You sang Kiwi three times, that’s some performance skills!”
You both giggled. You remembered being at the show and the adrenaline rushing through your veins when instead of leaving, he just kept on performing it over and over.
“That was sick! By the second time I was like... exhausted!”
You got up from your seat and placed your hands on your knees faking your exhaustion and breathing loudly.
“I was like… He’s going for a third time? Really?”
You heard him laugh but his stare never left you, watching your every move.
“That’s some stamina here, man! I almost broke my leg dancing to Kiwi that night.”
You sat yourself back on the stool. His smile making you feel so warmed and welcome.
“I don’t regret it a bit, though.”
He snickered again while you took a long sip of your cocktail. Not so embarrassed and nervous now, are you? It seemed that his presence was just so natural and easy. His aura was just so friendly that you felt like you knew him enough to be yourself.
“It was my favorite show of the tour! I didn’t want it to end! I just couldn’t leave the stage!”
The eagerness in his voice made you giggle. Both of you really enjoyed the show and that was a beautiful thing. You loved his artistry so much, and his dedication to his fans. He just kept giving. It was just such a rare and genuine feeling of being cared for by the person you looked up to the most.
Truth was, you were quite a casual fan, if that was even a thing… Fairly, you weren’t freaking out as much now as when he started talking to you. Thank the alcohol slowly running through your veins, sister. You had to be thankful for it silently.
“I had an amazing time. It was so much fun.”
He smiled at you and raised his glass. “So did I!” He took a quick sip before placing his drink on the counter.
“Did you come to the show alone?”
His question surprised you. Not that it was inappropriate but you always read too much in people’s voices and interrogations. He’s asking if you’re single. You shushed the voice in your head and tilted your head to the side, pinching your lips.
“Well… Yes.”
He gave you a little smile, and brought his glass to his lips. He answered before taking a sip.
“Going to shows alone is such an exclusive experience. I love that!”
He drank.
“Are you alone tonight?”
You looked around, a playful pout on your face.“Well it seems that I am.”
He grinned and you felt a shiver down your spine.
“I’m alone most nights anyway.” You coughed for a second before picking up the conversation again.“I like being alone.”
“It’s quite nice being alone sometimes, for sure. Am I bothering you?”
You felt your cheeks burn. Of course not! Please stay with me! Forever! Forever would be nice… Your inner self was sure a clingy one. You chased your thoughts away and bit your cheek.
“No! Not at all! You- You’re really nice.”
A smile crept across his face when his eyes met yours, leaving your face flushed at the sight of his dimples. Not only was he gorgeous, but he was also sweet and witty. But you? You were just.. you. You being yourself had always been enough for anyone else, but no matter how friendly he was, he was still Harry Styles.
“You’re really nice, too.”
He tilted his head to the side, giving you a side smile and a tender look.
You giggled and tried to exhale the stress away. Just go for it! For once, you might listen to your inner self. How wrong could she be? It was worth a try.
“Would you want to dance?”
You asked him with a shy smile and just hoped that the next song would be something that would not require physical proximity. You were not quite ready for that yet.
You knew if his hands even brushed your skin, you might collapse… It was a lot of pressure that you didn’t really know how to work with. You needed to be in control; to be in charge, and letting go wasn’t really one of your strengths.
His lips formed a tight line before shaking his head. “I’m a terrible dancer.” You could tell he was trying his best not to laugh in your face.
You swallowed the gulp in your throat, you felt wrong for asking him to dance now that he refused. You didn’t want to insist; you just felt your confidence decrease drastically. Your eyes searched around the room, looking for something to keep the conversation alive. You weren’t ready for him to leave yet.
You stammered, “Well, it’s okay. I just… I mean… It’s cool. Do you… come here often?”
He grinned and took another sip of his Bloody Mary, his glass slowly emptying while yours was still half full. You thought maybe you should drink it in one go and you’d feel better.
“I came here a few times with some friends but tonight I felt like coming alone.”
You wondered what would bring him alone in a bar. Was he as desperate as you to meet somebody to sweep him off his feet? Was he depressed? Was he bored? Was he sad? Was he lonely? There were so many questions that you were dying to ask but you were too scared of overstepping and you valued his privacy.
It was kinda hard tip-toeing around the conversation because you were overthinking his status. If he was any stranger you would’ve asked but there was this weird line between the two of you where you knew he was on the lookout and he wouldn’t share personal information with you. He had to be careful and you couldn’t blame him for that.
“Why did you feel like coming alone tonight?”
Of course your curiosity was stronger than all of your principles. So fuck personal space?
“Well…” It seemed he didn’t expect this question because he didn’t have an answer.
“I guess… Sometimes going out alone feels good too?”
You shrugged, remembering that well you were alone tonight and as you previously told him, you were alone most nights.
“I won’t argue with that.”
You two shared a chuckle before you finally took another sip of your drink, relaxing you and making you feel easier. You asked him about the other nights he would spend alone. Were there many? He told you about every time he felt like the world left a bitter taste on his tongue and that being alone or with family was necessary to take a break.
He was so much more open than you thought he’d be. You still didn’t know anything about him but every detail he sprinkled in his conversation were little treasures to you.
You talked about your favorite books and asked him for some music recommendations. He told you about his creative process and how writing helped him cope with communication issues; to which you responded that it did the same for you. Sparking the conversation over the fact that you liked to write too.
He asked you if you were living in LA and if you liked it here. You asked him about what it was like living in the UK. You wanted to know if he felt sad that he had slightly lost his British accent. You were curious to know if he enjoyed gardening, or if he liked Pride and Prejudice? Had he ever binge watched a show for 15 hours straight before? Was he into video games? Was he an active user of MySpace in 2007? All of his answers were as valuable to you as they would be from a very dear friend.
He was curious of you also. He had questions like; How do you like your eggs? Have you ever gotten into a bar fight? Did you fancy Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter more? Have you ever danced in the rain? Were you interested in art? What's your favorite genre of literature? Could you stay in apnea for more than a minute? What's your favorite instrument? Can you play the kazoo? You answered all of his questions with delight. The two of you were getting along so well. He was very relieved to know you had never gotten into a bar fight.
You stayed at the bar for hours, just talking and laughing, until the barman asked you to leave because it was closing time. The clock was reaching three o'clock and you and Harry hadn’t finished your conversation yet.
“Mind if I give you a ride?”
You smiled widely to his proposition as the both of you walked out the bar. “Sure. Thank you very much.”
He pressed his car key, and you saw the black Tesla’s headlights light up from across the street.
“If you don’t mind, go ahead and get in the car before I do.”
You noticed Harry side-eyeing around him, looking around if anybody was taking pictures of him, and more, if anybody was taking pictures of you and him. You didn’t want to take that risk. You nodded and, in the light of your alcohol consumption, started your best FBI moves to get to the car, brushing the walls, trying a stupid twirl and if it wasn’t for your natural self-consciousness, you would’ve probably pulled a Starsky and Hutch move by rolling over the car hood.
Harry watched you climb into the backseat of his car with a smile plastered across his face as he tried to hold in his laugh. After a few minutes of laying on the leather seats, you heard the front door open. Harry placed his arm behind the head of the passenger seat and turned to look at you.
“Everything’s good, down there?”
You grinned with all your teeth. “Yep.”
You climbed over the seat to get in the front, sitting your ass down on the passenger seat. You put on your seatbelt and watched Harry do the same. He started the car and asked you for your address to put in the GPS. Once all the settings were done, he turned on the radio. Bohemian Rhapsody started playing. You looked at each other as if it was a decades old habit of yours and started singing (or more like screaming the lyrics) in the car.
The ride wasn’t long. He finally parked down your building. It was the moment you had feared the entire night; goodbyes. What if you never saw him again? What if you leaned in to kiss his cheeks? Kiss his lips, idiot… The voice in your head was definitely too loud.
“So… Well, I guess this is where we part ways?”
He smiled softly. “Yeah…”
“Well… Goodbye, then.” Your bottom lip hung lower than usual, a sure sign of sadness. You reached for the door handle and gently pushed it open and stepped out.
“Hey!” You turned around and watched him scratch his head shyly, his eyes shifting from yours. “Hm.. I had a nice time.”
You looked down and smiled. “Me too.”
He bit his lips nervously, you could tell he was jittery and the shy look in his eyes made your heart beat a hundred times faster. He looked out the window before his gaze ran over your face. “We could go out sometime?”
You couldn’t even stop yourself from smiling, you immediately answered. “Yes. Yes. Absolutely. I’d love to.”
He chuckled at your enthusiasm. You were definitely too much into it but you couldn’t hide your excitement.
“I’ll hit you up?”
You plucked up some courage and a lot of alcohol to ask him. “There’s… Hm… This Art Exhibit that seems interesting at The Getty. If you feel like going this week?”
He offered you a huge smile, both of his dimples showing. “Sure. I’d love to.”
You walked back to your place, a blissed look on your face; even your roommate asked you what was going on. You just smiled at her and told her that you had a lovely evening. But you couldn’t quite believe it. You had to pinch yourself three times before going to sleep to be sure it wasn’t a dream. You had a museum date with Harry. It wasn’t usual for you to feel so drawn to someone that quickly.
***
The chemistry between the two of you was crazy. You went to the Getty on Wednesday. You walked through the exhibition, commenting on every work of art. He would ask you how you understood the pieces and you’d ask him how he felt about them. You two engaged in a heartfelt analysis of every piece in the museum; some of them being emotional others being hilarious. You’d stop in front of odd looking sculptures and give them names. He took pictures of you in front of the fountain, saying how pretty you looked and how your shirt matched the water colours.
You’d make silly faces to children and he’d laugh from the back. You two played hide and seek in the basement of the museum; sneaking around the hallways to avoid the crowded areas. You settled in a group of teenagers to which a guide was explaining a very old painting. You sat down on the floor with the group, legs crossed and your head raised to look at the painting as the guide explained the creative process behind it; the years it took to make it and the legacy it held. Harry sat next to you the same way and later the two of you discussed the piece in a refreshing discourse.
He brought some very interesting arguments and you found out he was way more educated on that matter than you thought. As the conversation flowed, you discovered that he was educated on a lot of subjects you never knew he had an interest in.
You spent the afternoon in the museum. You went out as the sun starting to set. You ordered ice creams and sat on a bench behind the huge building. The golden hour made everything bathe in a dim light, the birds sang behind you and the large fountain in front of you reflected the sunlight. A light breeze made your hair dance in the air and your cookie dough ice cream made the moment even sweeter.
Harry turned his face to you, his own ice cream in hands. “Want to taste mine?”
“Is that mint chocolate chip?”
He smiled, “Yes.”
“What kind of sociopath are you?”
You chuckled slightly as you watched him roll his eyes before a smile appeared on his face. He licked his ice cream vigorously. “Too bad for you.”
“Alright, let me have a taste.”
He held it to your mouth and you took a lick. Your face scrunched to the taste of the mint and you stuck your tongue out. “Really not my thing.”
You held yours to his face so he could taste it, he chuckled before trying your ice cream. “I like it.”
“That’s because cookie dough is good. Mint chocolate chip is like… How many people have you killed?”
He laughed before tasting his ice cream again. “Too many to count.”
“Not a good answer.” You licked your lips and shrugged. “But I’ll take it.”
You were enjoying Harry’s presence more than you’d want to admit. He was sweet and witty and oh, so dreamy. You looked at his lips for a second. Kiss him, you fool. You shushed your thought. Imagine if his lips roamed around your thighs and traced your body up and down. You took a deep breath. What if you sat on his face and gave him a taste? A shiver ran down your spine and left a shock at your most sensitive spot. You tried to focus on something else. While his hands are tied above his head. And he’s helpless and hungry for you. You squeezed your thighs as the images of Harry being tied up filled your mind.
“You know what we haven’t talked about yet?”
His voice woke you up from your daydream. “Huh?”
“What you’re doing for a living? Like you told me you were a student and you had some other job.”
Your eyes widened as the image of Harry’s long body squirming underneath you as you ask him if the rope is too tight, slowly faded away.
“I’m a student yeah. And I have two jobs ‘cause living in LA is expensive.” A chuckle left your lips as you took the last bite of your ice cream.
“It is…” He smiled softly as he cleaned the corner of his mouth with his paper napkin. “What do you do?”
“I do… A lot of things.” You laughed nervously. “Anything that can get me some money and that’s fun enough to keep me entertained.”
He smiled and didn’t ask for more. After all, he’d know soon enough and right now wasn’t soon enough.
***
You and Harry went through all the museums in Los Angeles in less than 2 weeks and it seemed that now you were art buddies, despite your urgent need and desire to be more than his buddy. You’d say it was always so hard and awkward for you to grow touchy feely with someone you like, like more than a friend. As paradoxical as it was, touching a friend or a stranger never felt weird to you but the moment it was about someone you liked more; it was the hardest thing to do. You didn’t want Harry to get mixed signals, but if he wasn’t the one to place his arms around your shoulders or run his fingers on your cheeks first, you wouldn’t know how to act. You just hoped you were more than a friend in his eyes too.
Since the two of you had seen most of the art exhibits and gallery openings in LA, for your next date, you agreed on something even more cliché than museums dates; the movies.
You would've proposed netflix if you weren't terrified to be alone with him, but the cinema was fine too. You still got to be in the dark with him.
You had this mixed feeling growing inside of your stomach. You wanted to be alone with him. You wanted to touch him, to run your fingers through his hair, to bite his lip, to control him, in a way that would leave him wanting you even more but he had this power over you. The kind of power you usually have over people. He made you nervous and shifty and craving for his lips and you just couldn’t wait to reverse the trend. Get back in your place and exercise your power over him. If he wanted you to…
He was a tough one to analyse though. He was confident, yet shy. Outgoing but still reserved. He was a lot of things at once and you were eager to discover every single side of his personality.
The two of you laughed a lot during the movie, getting shushed by the other people in the theater. Every time he would touch you, you’d shiver. Like when his fingertips grazed your knee, or when his hand crept onto your thigh or that moment he stretched his arm out behind you and it fell on your shoulder, but especially when his lips brushed your ear when he whispered to you.
You felt helpless, but you knew that somehow, at some point, the table would turn in your favor. It didn’t take long to come. The two of you were sitting in his car outside of the theater with the rest of your popcorn in hands.
“Let me help you.” He smiled as he took the box of popcorn out of your hand, giving you the space you needed to readjust in your seat.
“Thank you.” You gave him a soft grin and took your popcorn back, bringing a piece to your mouth.
He looked outside the window, as the dark of the night surrounded the car. He looked at you for a second before a smile appeared on his face again, his body sprawling on his seat. His head fell back and his smile never left his face. “I love spending time with you.”
He looked at you from the side and you felt your cheeks burn. A nervous laugh left your mouth. “Thank you. I love spending time with you too.”
He placed himself correctly on his seat and leaned towards you. His hands grabbed the popcorn box and put it out of the way. You could tell he was one to take the lead; that was usually your place. Grab his face, girl. And kiss the shit out of him. You didn’t know if listening to your inner self was a good idea right now. You preferred staying still. Harry’s face got closer to yours, so close you could feel his breath on your skin. His fingertips brushed your cheek and he whispered against your lips, “Can I kiss you?”
You felt your heart jump out of your chest. Fuck yes! Fuck yes! Kiss me! Kiss me and then fu-! You shushed the voice in your head as you swallowed the gulp in your throat. “Yes.”
His lips were about to reach yours, his hot breath warming your skin and his hands cupping your face. You felt his wet lips land on yours but before you could open your mouth and taste him, the ringer of your phone resonated in the car. You slightly pulled away from Harry. You watched him take his hands off your face, a smile on his lips as he leaned back in his seat. “Do you have to take it?”
You checked your phone and grimaced at the sight of the caller. “Yeah. It’s work.”
You got out of the car as Harry’s smile slowly faded away. “Sorry. It’s important.”
He gave you a weak smile and a thumbs up as you closed the door of the car. You started walking aimlessly as you spoke with your client on the phone. Harry was watching you through the windows, while his fingers ran through his own phone.
You stayed outside for about 6 minutes and when you got back inside of the car, the atmosphere felt a bit heavy. Kinda awkward. Go back to business! Mouth on the mouth! Hands on the D! Your inner self was one too fast for sure. You smiled softly to Harry.
“Is everything okay?”
You sighed as you sat back at your place. “Yeah. Sorry. T’was a call from work. Kinda got me stressed out.”
Harry pinched his lips as he gave you a compassionate look. “Oh. What was it all about?”
“Nothing too interesting. Just a client that wanted to squeeze in my schedule tonight.”
He smiled and a giggle left his lips. “Tonight, I’m the one on your schedule?”
You felt a boiling sensation in your stomach as Harry’s smirk widened on his face. “What?”
He looked at you deeply before licking his lips. “You know you haven’t told me what your job was, yet.”
You felt out of breath for a second. Time to show him who’s the boss, girl. You backed up with your inner self. You used your teasing tone. “Haven’t I?”
He raised his eyebrows as he looked down at you. “No…”
You felt a new burst of confidence and you gave him a smug look. “Well... I don’t talk much about it. People can be judgmental and I don’t have time for that bullshit.”
He looked a bit surprised by your answer, kinda intrigued, kinda amused. But mostly, he went on with the teasing turn the conversation took.
“I’m not ‘people’, am I? And I’m not judgmental. You do whatever you want.”
You smiled to his answer. He was definitely not “people”. He was Harry fucking Styles; that’s someone. And more, he was someone you liked. But you decided to play it cool. “I work in an Insurance office.”
He gasped dramatically as his eyes widened. “Oh my god. You do not!”
His laugh resonated in the car as his eyes ran over your face, offering a kind look. You batted your eyelashes at him and licked your lips as a conceited grin appeared on your face.
“Only on Wednesday and Friday afternoons. But every night of the week, I’m a Dominatrix.”
You talked fast enough for it to go unnoticed but slow enough for Harry to understand every word you said. You watched his mouth open as he started talking.
“That’s nice! Only on Wednesdays... And what?” He stopped mid-sentence, realising your revelation.
“And Fridays.” You smiled as the weird look on his face turned into a nervous expression.
He ran a hand through his hair and moistened his lips. “But every other night of the week?”
“I’m a Dominatrix.”
He blinked twice in surprise. Maybe what surprised him most was your assertive and prevailing tone more than the words you said.
He looked like he ran out of words to say and you liked that now, the tables have turned. He was the helpless one and you were in charge.
He looked surprised for a moment but then his expression changed and he started to laugh.
“That’s funny! I definitely wouldn’t have guessed.”
He didn’t believe you. He truly thought you were joking. You smirked down at him. Of course he wouldn’t have guessed. Maybe you should show him what you can do. You ran your tongue over your lips before talking again.
“Nobody ever guesses.”
It took him a few seconds to breathe as the realisation struck him. You were very serious about it.
He laughed nervously as his fingers tangled his curls. “You’re being serious right now?”
“I am.”
His smile disappeared for a second and you felt awkward. You knew now that once you revealed this information about yourself, things always change. People don’t see you the same way. You would always feel the need to explain yourself as if your job wasn’t legitimate, as if it wasn’t proper. You felt like you needed to tell him that you choose everything you do, that if he was uncomfortable with it, he could leave. But his little smile and the sparkle in his eyes made you feel at ease. There was no need to explain anything. He understood but you could also tell he was curious.
“It’s a very humane experience. You learn a lot about people and the way they cope with their lives. But it’s treated like a dirty little secret or something disgusting and unnatural.”
“I don’t think it is. I think it’s a great way to cope with life and... I mean it’s great. As long as it’s safe, you know?”
You smiled softly as the tension eased. “Of course.”
“You’ve been doing this for a long time?”
“Two years now.”
He nodded along with your answer. You watched a little pout form on his lips. He was probably wondering what questions he could ask and what questions he shouldn’t. It was cute to see him nervous, tip-toeing around the conversation. The same way you felt when you first met him.
“Hm…” He paused to think for a second. “What’s the weirdest thing you ever encountered? I mean if you want to talk about it... You don’t have to, of course.... Just if you feel comfortable.”
You giggled tenderly. It was sweet of him to ask if you were comfortable with it. “You’re cute. The weirdest thing I encountered was a guy who was into kangaroo fighting.”
He laughed just as confused as you were when you met your client for the first time. “Kangaroo fighting?”
“Yeah…” You chuckled with him, admitting to yourself that it was, indeed, something unusual for the least.
“How did you help him...?”
You laugh as you shook your head. “You don’t want to know.”
He snickered as he watched you intensely, trying to decode you. Now you were no longer the nice girl he shared a few museum dates with. You were also the sex worker; the Dominatrix in his car.
You took a deep breath as you got more assertive and teasing. “How do you cope with the stress of your life? I’m sure you have kinks.”
He smirked and a breathy laugh left his lips. “Maybe.”
You raised your eyebrows at him. “You won’t tell me? I’m a professional you know.”
He licked the corner of his mouth before running a hand through his hair. You could tell the two of you were playing a little game here. “So you can help me with the stress of my life?”
You grinned and bit your lower lip before shrugging. “Only if you want me to.”
“Depends what you propose to help me.”
“Depends what you’d like me to do to help you.” You snapped right back at him.
“Touché.”
You tilted your head to the side. “So?”
“I could use some help.”
You smiled widely before your inner self took the lead, getting more commanding and tough. Hearing the tone you used, you could’ve grabbed his jaw and choked him a little bit, the sensation would’ve been the same. “My question isn’t if you could use some help. My question is do you want my help?”
“I…”
You cut him off. “You?”
“Yes. I want your help.” You could hear his obedient tone, he was getting more docile. You liked to have him this way. It was definitely different from your usual interactions with him.
“Good. I like to hear it.”
He smiled as he gave you a chaffed look. “How can you help me, then?”
“Well, I can make your client chart, if you want to.”
“Like any other client?”
Mister Styles wants to be treated a certain way. What a diva. You agreed with your inner self and gave Harry a complacent look.
“You want special treatment ‘cause you’re a superstar?”
He scoffed in an over-dramatic way, as if you offended him and then a smile settled on his face. “More because I’m your... friend?”
His answer took you by surprise. His interrogative tone when he said he was your friend made you feel like he wondered if he was more.
“Oh... Yes. You’re not like any other client but I won’t differ from my usual routine of work though.”
“Which is?”
He furrowed his eyebrows in concentration as he listened to you.
“I make the client chart, have a training session to set all ground rules and apply the chart for the first time and then if the client wants to continue, we set a date for our first session and what package they’d be interested in purchasing.”
He smiled softly. “Sounds fair.”
“So, we can make your client chart right now?”
A surprised and amused look crept on his face. “Right now?”
You shrugged. “Only if you want to.”
“In the car?”
You giggled a little bit as you leaned back in your seat, pulling on the safety belt. “No I’ll need something to write on.”
You watched him start the car and put his seatbelt on. “Let’s go back to my place?”
You nodded as he smiled softly to you, running his gaze over your face before his eyes landed on the road.
The ride to Harry’s place was silent, a little bit awkward as both of you were realizing that what was coming next would be rather intimate. He parked in his alley and you stepped out of the car. His house was huge and beautiful. He invited you inside, took off your jacket and gave you a small tour of the place. You came back to the living room, and Harry offered you a drink that you accepted politely. You sat down on the couch and Harry sat in front of you on the other sofa, only a glass table separating you from him.
“So?” He looked at you with a smile.
You sipped on the drink he brought you. “Let’s make your client chart.”
He grinned widely.
“Paper and pen, please.”
You watched Harry get up and bring you a stack of white paper and a pen. You thanked him and you placed the paper in front of you. You placed your glass on the table and pushed it away.
“So, let’s make your chart funnier.. I can practice my guessing skills.”
He looked confused. “You’re going to guess... my client chart?”
“I can try.”
He chuckled slightly before taking a sip of his drink. “What’s even a client chart?”
You chewed on the pen for a second.
“It’s my work file if you want. All your contact info, the submissive Q&As, and a first set of rules and boundaries.”
He raised his head in interrogation. “The submissive Q&As?”
You smirked as your fingers played with your pen, tapping it on the table. “It’s a little grid of questions concerning your ‘kinks’.”
“And you’re gonna guess my ‘kinks’?”
You offered a smug smile and sipped on your drink before answering. “I’m gonna try.”
You stared at Harry for a few seconds. You tried to analyze his moves before asking your first question.
“The first thing I usually ask is if you’ve ever been with a Dominatrix or if you have any experience of Domination and BDSM.”
“I’d say I’m new to Dominatrix stuff but… I know a little bit about BDSM, yeah..” He looked down with a smile.
“Good. You’ll know a few things already, then. Do you identify as more submissive or dominant in your intimacy?”
He smirked. “What’s your guess?”
“You switch.” Your tone was assertive. You knew your game.
“What makes you say that?” He seemed intrigued by your assumption, not surprised though. “You play it easy saying I do both.”
“I think you present characteristics usually linked to doms, the same way you present some associated to subs.”
He furrowed his eyebrows.
“You’re very confident. You take the lead. You’re usually quiet and laid back. You’re assertive and not boastful. Very dominant like.”
He shrugged smugly and you kept delivering your discourse.
“You like teasing and being playful while also discrediting yourself from it. You’re like “I didn’t do it.” And you don’t like confrontation. You get easily intimidated as much as you know for a fact that you are very intimidating yourself. A perfect balance.”
He smiled softly. “Did you spend the last weeks analyzing me?”
“I’m used to doing it. Gotta read people and understand them to be a good dom.”
You gave him a smug smile and cocked your head to the side. “So...? Am I right?”
He smiled as he answered unashamed, “I’d say I’m usually more dominant than submissive in my intimacy.”
You licked your lips before gazing at him through your lashes, looking directly into his eyes.
“I’ll teach you how to be a good sub, then.”
You watched his cheeks get all red as his eyes shifted away from yours. He coughed a little bit before passing his tongue over his lips.
“What kind of things are you into? Whether it be as a dom or as a sub.”
He took a deep breath. “Weren’t you supposed to guess that?” He decided to be a little tease and play with you. You liked it.
“Indeed, smart mouth.” You took a long look at him. “Spanking?”
His eyes widened before a smile appeared on his lips.
“More into giving than receiving, I’d say.”
His usual smirk was plastered on his face. “Why do you think I wear so many rings?”
You giggled at the thought of him picking up rings just so his spank hurts more. Such a dom move.
“I think you’re into bondage. You give me Shibari vibe.”
You wrote down a few things as you waited for an answer from Harry. “Do you know what Shibari is?”
“It’s a Japanese art of bondage. It can be quite extreme.”
“Indeed. You know your lesson.” You smiled down at him. “I think you like light bondage... Being tied up... Maybe a bit of choking.”
He choked on his drink for that matter. You touched a soft spot.
“You like slapping. Being slapped. I can tell.”
He laughed nervously and you wrote your assumptions down waiting for him to confirm it.
“You’re into humiliation?”
“I…” He took a deep breath and another jittery giggle fell from his lips. “I like bondage. Never been slapped unfortunately. And I think choking is quite cliché.”
You laughed at his answer. He was a little brat. He probably never been into the actual position of a submissive. A power bottom at best. You liked the idea that you could be the one to get him there. You noted what he said and drank out of your glass again.
“Anything you’ll never ever do? What we call hard boundaries.”
“Anything that involves blood, knife and unhygienic things.” He larked about the comment. It was usual for you to hear these type of things when you ask about hard boundaries.
“What about soft boundaries? Things you’re not much into but you’re willing to try?”
“Hm…” He took a minute to think about it. “Wax play?”
You giggled. You could tell he said that out of the blue but you liked his eagerness to answer the questions. Make hot wax drip on him until he’s squirming under you. You were not quite there yet. But it would come.
“Alright. If you’ve had experiences with BDSM what was your safeword?”
He rubbed the corner of his mouth with his fingers and laughed. He coughed before answering. “Kiwi.”
You felt your blood run faster in your veins. The song had a whole different meaning to you now. And you liked it. You raised your eyebrows at him. “Oh. I see. I like it.”
He gave you his usual smirk and took a last sip of his drink.
“I have a few ground rules.”
He made his head move in a motion to let you know he was listening to you.
“I don’t have sexual intercourse with clients. I don’t switch. I need full communication no matter the subject at stake. It’s completely private and under oath of never revealing my real name when talking about my work as a Dominatrix. I work with rewards and punishments and I’m the one choosing them. I don’t engage in personal relationships with my clients.” You smiled at him for a second. “But you’re not any client so I might go around this one.”
He ran his tongue over his lips. “Might not be the only rule you’ll break for me.”
Your cheeks burned as his gaze intensified. You couldn’t let him win on your territory but he knew how to make you swoon.
“We’ll see that. If you’re interested in trying things out.”
“It sounds good to me.”
You looked down on him, taking back the lead of the conversation. “So? Ask me nicely.”
He batted his long lashes at you, smiling shyly; giving you a glimpse of a side of him you were very excited to discover or at least uncover. You smiled back and licked your lips, taking the lower one between your teeth.
“I’d love to try a session.”
“Please.” You ordered him.
“Please.”
You liked hearing it coming out of his mouth. It sounded really lovely. He chuckled slightly before bringing his glass to his lips. “You seem good at your job.”
You smirked down at him. “We can plan that, no worries.” You raised your eyebrows in a smug way. “And I am very good at my job.”
He blushed for a second, his cheeks painted in a lovely shade of pink. You took another sip and you giggle slightly.
“Now it’s all about knowing…” You tilted your head to him, licking your lips. “If you’re good.”
-------------------------------
taglist: @shhh-you ; @libbyhermione
#harry styles#harry styles smut#harry styles fluff#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles oneshot#harry styles writings#harry styles angst#harry styles drabbles#harry styles blurbs#harry styles imagine#harry styles au#harry styles x reader#harry styles fiction#harry styles fanfic#harry talks#harry thoughts#concepts#fanfiction#fanfic#writings#if you're good#sex worker!y/n
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PROGRAMMERS WILL RECOGNIZE WHAT WE'RE DOING HERE
Whereas designing programming languages is like designing chairs: it's all about the ratio. Don't you learn things you'd never have known otherwise. The other thing I repeat is to give you a couple years, whereas his relationship with other firms will last his whole career. They create a new web-based applications, it could save you ten lines of code. But now you can read the beginning of the summer. Microsoft used this approach, their software wouldn't be so full of security holes, because the people offering expensive solutions can spend more to sell them to gullible retail investors; they hoped to sell through it. They had three new ideas: index more of the best programmers can solve a given problem. When I catch egregiously linkjacked posts I replace the url with that of whatever they copied. $300 a month, because the remaining. I could tell which companies to worry about than how to organize fundraising. The main value of notebooks may be what you want in your language may be related to how you qualify what you say.
Why do patents play so small a role in software? Investors August 2013 When people hurt themselves lifting heavy things, it's usually because I'm interested in this mystery—for the same reason, as a way to simulate the rewards of a startup that seems like what startups do. If you really have in financial models for something like that must obviously entail some wild feat of salesmanship. But there's a second much more common one. I think, should be. But they're not so advanced as they think; obviously they still view office space as a badge of rank. And not just from the technical community in general; a lot of middle class kids, getting into Harvard won't mean much anymore. Murder for example. Do what you love doesn't mean, do what will make you happiest this second, but no to the first couple generations.
They got paid a lot. So innovation happens at hacker speeds instead of big company jobs is particularly hard on programmers, because they'll attract only those who cared enough to learn it at all. It's wrong to call it an essay. Try a patent search for that phrase and see how many results you get. It's all-encompassing redesigns. What all this implies is that there are huge variations in the rate at which it changes is itself speeding up. The phrase seemed almost grammatically ill-formed. The intermediate stuff—in war, surprise is worth as much as Apple would. But because adults conceal their flaws, and at the same time. What do you wish someone else would get an even colder reception from the 19 year old.
That is certainly a good goal, but in fact they were probably pretty similar. That brings us to what I was saying. 23 is a better model. You can see this most clearly in New York. What do you read and feel sad that there's only half of it. File:///home/patrick/Documents/programming/python projects/UlyssesRedux/corpora/unsorted/nsearch. Bill Gates was young and inexperienced and had no business background, may be changing.
As long as things are going, and we think as it spreads outward it will help to understand what a real essay. Two of the four spams I missed got through because they happened to use words like fuck and shit within baby's hearing, lest baby start using these words too. On the other hand, startup investing is a very good spam indicator. And when a wolf appears, is he going to eat a certain amount to break even. Every movie is a Frankenstein, full of prowling VCs looking for the next hot platform is that thousands of hackers have spontaneously started building things on top of whatever you sold in phase 1, accept offers greedily. There were a few other things most people can't imagine such freedom. But writing an interface to a buggy piece of software, not designing it. But schools change slower than scholarship. After a few seconds I realized this was kind of intimidating at first.
But only one company we've funded has so far worked in the spammer's favor, would now work against him, lest their motives be perhaps correctly suspected. This is an astounding number, because the VCs need them more than any house might. So it's winner take all. He only took it up because he was a startup guy. Why do they think it's time to buy. It has always seemed to me the solution is analogous to the solution I recommend for pitching your startup: do the right thing. Org chart. Get rapidly to demo. But don't give them much money either.
And you don't want to wait for better technology: early aircraft designers were mistaken to design aircraft that looked like birds, but I got the impression it might be helpful in deciding what to do in the design of the program benefits from evolution. Like early medieval architecture, impromptu talks are made of lists, which are the most common mistakes young founders make is not the sort you face when you're tacking upwind, trying to arrange deals. Google's founders were willing to pay more to keep them fed, and as users buy more stuff the search results useless, because the kind of work. Instead of trading violins directly for potatoes, you trade decreased financial risk for increased risk that your company won't succeed as a startup would usually become profitable only after raising and spending quite a lot in the course of writing it, they had about 500 people, the same number Yahoo had when I went to work for a while, but their production. So I don't think there's any limit to the number of startups founded by eminent professors. In a few days it will be a little frightening to be solving users' problems. As Richard Feynman said, the imagination of nature is greater than the imagination of man, he meant that if you don't want to have too much to do with the sort of economic violence that nineteenth century magnates practiced against one another and communist countries practiced against their citizens.
Thanks to Rich Draves, Geoff Ralston, Ingrid Bassett, Dan Giffin, Aaron Swartz, and Paul Kedrosky for reading a previous draft.
#automatically generated text#Markov chains#Paul Graham#Python#Patrick Mooney#Bassett#professors#Apple#startup#companies#rate#Frankenstein#VCs#Giffin#piece#house#guy#Feynman#baby#Richard#relationship#solution#countries#thing#Rich#frightening#number#things#deals
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The Principles of the Specialist
These principles were designed and are currently being perfected in order to make someone so good and so focused on something that there is virtually no one better than them at something than themselves (Except if there’s an identical specialist who studies for more time with the same quality. Quality here meaning perfection or near perfection on the learning process). Results on this are based on 2 subjects, so... Not a lot of scietific value to that but hey, getting past the basic principles is already hard enough, imagine getting past the excelence principles. If I were to guess, I’d say 0.1% of people getting past that is already too much of a high expectation to rely on (But then again, that’s an opinion. Do your research. Maybe you find out I’m wrong).
1 - Study the area for at least 2 years (5 years is the recommended)
To acquire this, there are 3 steps: First you must have learned and conditioned all of the Basic Principles and almost all of the Principles of Excelence (With the exception of the 2nd, 6th and 7th. Although not having the 7th would be very risky, it could still work, but if you do not have the rest of them... There are simply too many drawbacks for me to consider you a quality self-learner). Second you’ll need to follow IN.ORDER. the 6 steps to be a self learner. Third you’ll need to keep yourself on the same track for at least 2 years and the reccomended would be 5. So yeah... Good luck with that.
First of all, if you do not have the 2nd, 6th and 7th of the principles of excellence, you’re gonna have drawbacks. Not having the 2nd can lead to depression, giving up or accepting authoritiy’s opinions instead of yours and many other fallacies based on the lack of self-esteem. Not having the 6th will make possible for your thoughts to be clouded by judgement and bad feelings that will hold you back in your learning because your brain will be clogged with anxiety, tension and pain. Not having the 7th is gonna hurt your descriptions unless you’re capable of distinguishing objective from subjective and judgmental apart with 100% of accuracy. Now to the actual main problem: If you study something for one year, (With all the principles ready) it may take sometime until you get understand and map ou your entire area and be presented to all the common arguments you find to defend each position. Again... It is possible to do that in 2 years if you’re an absolute beast (That’s why I say 5 years is reccomended).
2 - Recognize pseudo-sciences inside your own area
To acquire this, you need to understand the 8 steps of the scientific method. Respectively: Ask a question; search for answers and informations related to the question; form a hypothesis; plan an experiment to test the hypothesis; perform the experiment; analyze the data; draw a conclusion; share the results. If you understand all of that you can identify a pseudoscience if you see one. Be aware of logical fallacies and remember the 8th and 9th principles of excelence. Once you’re able to do that practice everytime you look at something that says it’s scientific and judge it from this perspective.
If you fail to recognize a pseudo-science when you see one, chances are you are going to believe it and use it to explain the world around you causing contradictions that don’t actually exist and ultimately leading you into a downward spiral to conspiracy theories that are fundamentally innaccurate.
3 - Completely map out the area you are studying
To acquire this you’re going to need a good amount of meditation (Roughly a month or 6, once you are well rounded in your area). You’re gonna ahave to name every field there is in your area and finally describing each one very briefly. Take me in education for example. Education is divided in times of learning, types of learning and finaly the definitions and discussions of learning. Respectively: Pedagogy (Study of learning in children); Andragogy (Study of learning in teenagers and adults) Geragogy (Study of learning in old people); Heutagogy (Study of learning in Self-Learners); Epistemology (Study of the study); Art of teaching (Various ways of passing on the rationalization and conditionings down to others).
If you fail to do that, your brain is going to have a hard time linking the informations and arguments it has into a solid chunk of your memory and is also gonna have an even harder time trying to come up with neural pathways to understand the area you are studying and where each thing fits directly. A great example of this is how people learn history in school. They may know that the Egyptians were building pyramids and that mamoths lived long ago but they’d have no idea that both these things happened at the same time...Which is horrible to think about. Litterally everyone who learns history in school fucked up in their learning process.
4 - Use all the 9 types of teachers
To acquire that you’ll need to check if you have used and if you still use all of them on your learning process. Which is absolutely crucial for not having your learning limited by a 10 thousand year old book that claims to have all the answers. (http://psychobender.tumblr.com/post/160738209793/the-types-of-teachers-preme)
If you fail to do that your learning process will most likely be lacking in some aspects such as never having tested your conclusions, trusting books to tell you the truth, trusting your own anecdotal evidence to help you master anything. How bad could this be? Just look at every person who has joined a talent show believing they had a great talent only to have their dreams obliterated in front of a milion people audience.
5 - Access contents in the world’s common language (currently english)
To do that you must first understand the spoken and written language as well as be integrated in the international culture (Such as understanding references and common knowledge of it). Given you have this, you will need to check if everything you learned has a double check in the english speaking world. Once you meditate enough to know if everything you learned, you checked the english field, you can be safe that you looked at a reasonable amount of intelectual variety.
If you fail this, you’re going to limit your expertise to the information present in your native language only. And that is specially harmful if you are living in a country that doesn’t speak english as a second language. Even if you’re talking about the history of a local tribe, having access to the interpretation and arguments of people from all over the world is crucial to build any robust knowledge.
6 - Study at least 3x a week
To acquire that it recommended that you find a need to study instead of simply building a routine. For example, if you are studying random ass texts and articles just for the sake of studying, it’s not gonna be much of a useful talent, unless you get lucky to use those later in life. It must come from demand. If your happiness depends on helping people and in order to do that you need to study psychology, now THAT is demand. It could even be that your happiness comes from looking smart in front of people but it needs to come from somewhere. Pure conditioning won’t save you here. NOTE: 3x a week is the bare minimum for you to get any sort of absoluteness out of your talent. I’d recommend 5 - 7x a week.
If you fail this, that is, underdoing it, you’re gonna be travelling on below average grounds for expertise and that is NOT what I’d recommend for any specialist of any area. Also, having an purely conditioning driven study routine is going to increase your stress (Cortisol) levels and your brain will interpret studying as a punishment instead of reinforcement (With reason), further decreasing any chances you thought you had of becoming the best.
7 - Be capable of explaining your expertise to all ranges of people. (4 year olds to 20+ and layman to world renowned genius)
To acquire that you need to understand what you do in the simplest terms. For example in education: Simplest terms is: “I teach people how to learn better”. Hardest terms would be “I study Pedagogy, Andragogy, Geragogy to understand the mind’s development in learning, Heutagogy to understand the process of acquiring with different levels of autonomy, Neurology to complement the use of the brain, a bit of nutrition of the brain for the same reason, Epistemology to be able to question the very base of learning as a whole and psychology to be able to use their technologies to boost the mind and it’s development throughout learning”.
If you fail this, you’re gonna have a hard time selling yourself to work somewhere or even to provide a service or justify your expertise to other people and in the end it won’t matter how much you know since you’ll never be able to put your ideas to the test or even make them useful for someone else who might wanna hire you. Might as well pretend you’re good at something. You’ll get the same results, if not better by simply pretending.
8 - Love what you do
To acquire this, you can’t just like it, you can’t simply enjoy your work. It must be one of the main, if not the ultimate priority in your life. The stepping stones are simple. Find out exactly what makes you happy (I personally suggest the archetype family test but anything that can pin down the actions that make you happy will suffice); try to find happiness in different ways on the same area; use your area as a tool to find happiness and pleasure. After you’ve done that for 2 to 5 years, you'll probably keep this passion forever (Unless we find a cure for aging. In which case, I’d say you’d keep it for about 200 to 500 years).
If you fail this, you’re going to lose 90 to 99.99% of all your potential willpower towards your expertise since there will be no reward (Reinforcement) for the effort in the end. It’s going to build up stress and every day on the job will feel like hell until the point that the only reason you have to go is gonna be that you’re 1 day closer to retirement. You may even get to the point where you’re the best but everytime someone comes up to you with a request, you’re gonna look at them as if they just asked for an organ transplant of your left lung.
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40. the wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round...🚍
What was the last thing you realized about your past? I recently moved back to the same state I moved out to a few years ago. It’s been interesting to compare and contrast my own mentality upon returning as well as how the area has physically changed since.
Which do you think is worse: verbal abuse or physical abuse? Both suck from experience. Once I eventually understood that his words weren’t ever actual truths about me and his actions had more to do with his own insecurities than anything I could ever do or say…the dynamic sort of transitioned from me having emotionally turbulent hysteric responses to me silently mediating, zoning out peacefully until the ranting, crazy man eventually stopped ranting.
What is the newest thing you’ve discovered that is making you happy? My friends 6 yr old kid and I are gonna be Coloring Book pen pals. I draw her one, she sends some of her drawings. I’m super psyched to have a reason to use my cardstock and sticker books again!
Did you have to walk anywhere today? Umnnn not yet. But I’m all sorts of stir crazy and I’m tired of having to pull teeth for a ride to Wal-Mart.
What was the last thing that offended you? I wasn’t offended, just irritated in general.
Do you wish your friends a happy birthday on facebook? I try my best to get around to it.
Is your bed made of metal or wood? Umm, metal I think.
At what time of the day do you usually feel the best? There is no specific time. It varies drastically from day to day.
Do you accept friend requests on facebook from strangers? Nope. Only candy and rides in unmarked windowless vans.
Do you think people should be able to talk openly about suicide? Absolutely. If people would actually openly talk about their real issues and sufferings perhaps it would decrease the isolation often associated with tragedies like suicide. We are all flawed and fucked up in some way, let’s cut the crap and stop pretending.
What are some of the most helpful things you can say to someone who’s suicidal? I would never give somebody generic bullshit suicide advice. I would personally tailor my approach on the person and the situation at hand – genuinely taking interest in who they are and what sort of mentality brought them to this point, so I can get a better sense of how to best connect with them.
If you’re a Christian, do you ever fear getting persecuted? I’m not any religion. But it’s stupid that we live in a world where some people are still so damn closed minded and intolerant.
Does helping people make you feel happier? Of course.
What are some of your favorite ways to help people? Listening and validating their thoughts and problems….ohfuckit, I’m a free therapist. I also enjoy buying 2-for-1 burgers and giving the second one to a homeless person in the vacinity.
Do you feel offended when someone insults your beliefs? Please be my guest. Feelings are just that – how you feel, not universal facts. I don’t take it personally because its not personal.
Do you feel like life is too demanding for you? Life is life…it is what it is. If you’re constantly pestering and demanding crazy shit from it, it’s likely going to demand crazy shit from you.
Why does no one ever ask, “Are you ok?” I feel like people have asked me that before…?
Do you want to rearrange your room, or do you think it’s perfect as it is? It’s fine. Plus, we just moved. There's barely any furniture to rearrange.
Do you wish you could talk about God openly without getting persecuted? I’m not a religious individual but honestly, it'd be refreshing to be able to discuss any religion-oriented topic without the collective hostility from both sides.
Do the days seem to go by fast or slow for you? Sometimes fast, sometimes slow…sometimes both or none at the same time.
What city do you dream about living in? None in particular. I’m fine living anywhere (not cold).
Do you ever fear persecution in support groups? They’re called support groups…isn’t support somewhat implied?
Have you ever felt an angel fly into your room? Not sure what that would even feel like.
What is this month’s calendar picture? It’s a picture of your mom and former pop sensation, Clay Aiken, having vigorous sex on a bed of lightly sautéed onions.
Do you want this month to end? Why or why not? It makes absolutely no difference to me.
Do you have a sunburn right now? No. So pale.
Where you live, can you get sunburned and frostbitten in the same week? Um, if I spent the first half in the desert and the second in like a walk in freezer??
Where did you go today? Nowhere. #stircrazy
What color is your desk (in your room)? I don’t gots a desk. I want one, though.
Do you collect random magazine clippings that you like? Maybe in high school. Magazines aren’t really a thing anymore unless you’re a receptionists' office.
Do you have anyone you can fully trust? I never fully trust or distrust anybody. Everyone gets the same equal dose of healthy skepticism.
List five things you’d like to say to five different people. Are you aware how much mental energy doing that would drain me of?
Does venting on social media make you feel better? Yeah, however I think that’s just because any writing in general helps me feel better.
Do you want to be an encouragement to others? I try. I'm not like…gross and overly positive about it, but I try to keep it in the realms of realistic and supportive.
Do you feel like anyone else values you? I mean, I’m operating under the assumption they do, but I could be wrong for all I know.
Do you run every day? Lmao. Don’t be ridiculous. Running is strictly for near-death emergencies and chasing impatient city busses.
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Divergent, Request
Request: Hey! :) I totally loved your Divergent/Eric oneshot <3 I wanted to ask if you could write another oneshot with Eric where he is constantly picking on a abnegation transfer until she kind of breaks down and Eric feels guilty because in truth he is in love with her and couldn't handle his feelings for her. Have a nice day :) <3 (my english is pretty bad, I hope you could understand a bit :D )
Pairing: Eric x Reader
Warning: swearing (a little)
Words: 2.6K
A/N: I changed it a bit I guess (didn’t set everything during initiation) but I hope you like it!
Any similarities to other writers’ work are not intended. All ideas used in a fanfiction I post are made up in my brain (as long as it is not a request).
Tag: @bookgirlthings
/////
Your test results were clear. As clear as your reflection in the mirror. A sight you didn’t see that often. You had known it for months already – you wouldn’t stay in Abnegation. Still it took you a lot to not let your blood drop onto the grey stones. For sixteen years you had been raised after Abnegation’s values. You were forced to be selfless, what you were able to be at some times. But they also tried to make you forget yourself for the sake of others. That was something you were never able to do.
Your stubborn ego couldn’t. There was only one life for you and you couldn’t waste it with staying behind and put anyone else on top priority. You wanted to be your own top priority.
Abnegation had showed you some good things. Like the will to serve. You wanted to serve. Really. You just wanted to serve differently than Abnegation.
After all that didn’t mean you were suddenly braver or a more reckless person than before. So you found yourself jumping out of a train onto a roof. Just in time before your chance had been gone.
No one else had transferred from Abnegation to Dauntless. But that was alright. You loved meeting new people. Even if you felt like everyone was starring at you and wondering why someone like you would be here.
„Initiates, get over here!“ Everyone gathered around a man with a tattooed neck. He introduced himself as Eric, one of the Dauntless leaders. „You chose Dauntless? Then jump.“ He took a step to the side and waited for someone to go first. You definitely wouldn’t go first. Before you jumped into a black hole at the bottom of a twelve stories building, you wanted someone to go before you so you could hear if they would just crash onto the floor.
Eventually you didn’t hear anyone’s head exploding and brain splashing. When it was your turn you just did it. You didn’t think about. You got up the wall, turned around to face Eric and the other initiates and let yourself fall with opened arms.
Since you first came up with the idea to transfer to Dauntless a few months back, the desire for adrenaline rushs only increased. You were not that brave, not reckless, not even intimidating to a mouse, but you were up for Dauntless. You craved a higher pulse and faster heartbeat.
All the initiates were separated into Dauntless-borns and transfers.
„The Dauntless-borns know how the initiation works. Just one thing will be different this year.“ Four, a Dauntless that was responsible for training initiates, left the final word to Eric.
„Four and I will be switching teams. Dauntless-borns go with him, transfers follow after me.“
„I still think this is not a good idea, Eric. We want to make Dauntless members out of them. Not psychopaths like you.“
„Shut up, Four.“
/////
The first day of training was so strange. You had never worked out like that. Sure, you had prepared yourself in your room, back in your parents house, but not so extreme as the training here in Dauntless.
Eric made you all get some condition at first. He called you a ‚pack of jumping mice that needed to turn into kangaroos‘. You didn’t know exactly what he was talking about because died out animals weren’t your specialty. But you understood the message he wanted to deliver.
„Where is the one that thought the jump was for amusement?“ Back in Abnegation no-one shouted. It was only your first day in Dauntless but you already got used to it.
Eric’s stare set on you, after he had made you out in the crowd. What? Did he mean you?
„Yes, I mean you.“ His stare got only more intense with every second. „Your jump was awful. Get to the mat, initiate.“
A girl that had transferred from Erudite, Florence, had been doing push ups with you for the last forty minutes. She had quite the angsty face when you moved your feet to Eric on the mat.
„Initiates, I’ll demonstrate what not to do when you’re in a fight.“
Without any warning he rammed his fist into your face and sent you down. „First, don’t ever pay not attention.“ Instantly your left eye lost it’s sight to a minimum. Ignoring the pulsating pain in your face, you got back onto your feet and paid attention. Eric sent a combination of punches towards you, that aimed for your guts, but you avoided them due to your fastness. He acknowledged that with raising his eyebrows.
„The next thing was to not getting punched. Obviously that is something you are capable of.“ Within a fraction of a second, he kicked your legs away and again you landed on the mat. „But don’t only be fixated on your enemies fists. Feet can be dangerous too.“
Getting beat up by Eric lasted for a good hour. And it only stopped because Four had showed up and pulled him off you.
Florence and another guy came up to help you walk. „Am I getting extra points for playing your punch bag?“
Eric had already started to leave but turned around when he heard your cocky voice. „You are getting minus points for even thinking that, Stiff.“ You weren’t afraid of his eyes and took up the stare contest. For a good thirty seconds he looked into your proud eyes. „Training is over. Everyone, get out.“
Eric ended the stare contest, what made you even more prouder of yourself. You had never been beaten up before. But if it would be always like that you could see yourself in a lot of physical pain. And fun if you were able to fight like him one day.
/////
The next days nothing changed. You needed to play Eric’s dummy for giving the initiates lessons. He didn’t give your body the chance to heal your wounds. But that didn’t stop you. You didn’t surrender. Because if you’d surrendered you were out.
You really got minus points after the first time. But then you went higher up in the ranking. Maybe because you trained with clenched teeth, ignoring the injuries Eric had given you.
But his dislike towards you didn’t seem to decrease. He always eyed you with this look of annoyance.
When Eric introduced the initiates to throwing knives, everything got even stranger. He didn’t say a good word to anyone, but he also didn’t say bad words to anyone. Except you. Constantly throwing remarks about how you needed to do that, how you needed to do this. But you really didn’t get the point because you weren’t worse than anyone else. He just liked to pick on you.
When it came to playing ‚Capture the Flag‘ you wanted to prove him a point. He didn’t want to chose you for his team, but because you were the last one to be chosen he hadn’t that much of a choice.
You had loved the shooting training. It was a lot of fun to take out as much of Four’s people as you could. But instead of stupid remarks you got no word from Eric.
Also no word from him when you faced your fears. Only silence and bitter looks.
When you passed initiation and became a Dauntless, there were still no words from Eric. He was the most distant yet attracting person. You couldn’t understand how you could even think that way. But to be a real Dauntless you obviously needed to be a freak.
For a few months Eric avoided you, you avoided Eric. When you were confronted with each other, Eric would make a remark, you would ignore it. Then you returned to avoiding again. It bugged you but you never showed it. That worked until you both couldn’t avoid each other anymore because you worked yourself to the top and became one of Dauntless’ leaders.
„Do you think leadership is a joke?“ Eric and you shared an office since two weeks. He probably saw you as an intruder that invaded his space.
Even if you were part of the leadership now, you were still not much of an outgoing person. Your reservation didn’t want to stay back in Abnegation, it had followed you. Although here in Dauntless it had another meaning. People had respect because they didn’t get a reaction. Florence had told you that they were calling you ‚the Nod‘. Everything you ever gave as a reaction was accompanied by some head nodding.
And most of the stuff that Eric did say now, didn’t get a response out of you because it was bullshit and would hurt if you’d really let it get to you.
„Because I care for our people and want to do something about their complaints?“
„Because you mark them as ‚very important‘.“
„They are very important. Dauntless can’t function when people are unsatisfied.“
„You should have stayed in Abnegation.“ Every remark he had ever made was about your fighting, your stubborn brain, how much you annoyed him. But he never brought Abnegation up. And that got you exploding.
„You mean because of my constant positivity and selflessness?“ You joked.
„Because you are a pain in the ass, Y/N.“
„What? You know my name?“
„I do and you know that.“
„Good, then use it the next time when you have the urge to tell me how much you hate me.“
„You don’t tell me what to do!“
„Fuck off, Eric.“ You grabbed your remaining work and left the office. Heading straight through the pit to the shooting range.
On the way you kicked everything that lay on the floor. And with every step the frustration grew. If Eric wouldn’t be such a douche all the time you would really like him. But he was a douche so you hated him. But also don’t. Fuck, it got even more frustrating when your head dug deep into that confusing-thoughts-about-Eric-carousel.
You now had the power to tell people off. So you did it when you arrived there. Alone you shot dummy after dummy until your anger decreased. You had imagined it was Eric you shot in the balls, not a lifeless figure.
You had power now. You shouldn’t let Eric win every time.
With increasing anger again, you headed back to the office and found him sitting at his desk, staring into nowhere.
„What are you still doing here?“
„Telling you that I’m sick of your rudeness.“
„I’m rude to everyone. File a complaint. Maybe if you mark it with ‚very important‘ I’ll consider to read it.“ He turned, from whatever he was looking at, to you. „But probably not.“
„What did I ever do that makes you hate me so much?“
„Maybe it’s your face and character I can’t stand.“
Wow. No better excuse from a former Erudite? „Even if you think I’m ugly, I thought you’d be more professional about it.“ You weren’t that conceited about your appearance. After all someone constantly tried to flirt with you. But hearing that remark from Eric got you to the verge of an emotional breakdown. Especially because you thought completely else about him. If he would just drop his bad manners, he’d be a pretty decent guy.
„I am trying, you just make it so hard with your…“ He made his hands portray the body of a woman.
„Is there something more about me you want to say? Maybe we could finally drop it after that.“
„I would love to repeat it.“ He got up on his feet and with that his voice got louder. „You’re a fucking pain in the ass, when I look at your face I always get the shivers, there hasn’t been one day of peace in my head since you arrived at Dauntless because you fucking never stop distracting me.“
You could have never done what you were doing now, when you were still back in Abnegation. Your fist hit his mouth because you couldn’t keep your cool anymore. „How can you be such a prick! This won’t go into my head. Obviously your parents did something completely wrong. How can someone have such a high concentration of asshole-genes?“ Your fingertips startet to tingle and you couldn’t control your breath anymore. Was this how an emotional breakdown started? The tears filling your eyes didn’t make it any better.
„Why are you… are you crying?“
„Fuck no!“ You turned away but Eric grabbed your shoulders to face you again.
„Y/N, I’m sorry. Stop crying!“
And you started to cry for real. Out of pure stubbornness because he told you not to.
„Stop crying, I didn’t want to make you cry. Stop it. I just didn’t know how to act around you because of that silly feels.“ Your mind was so confused by hurt feelings that you didn’t register his soft voice first. But when you registered it you instantly stopped crying and gave him the most irritated look you probably had ever made.
„What the fuck are you talking about, Eric?“
„I don’t know. I just… I like you and all that stuff.“
„What?“
„You know, that romantic liking someone. I feel it. For you.“ He was so embarrassed admitting it.
„What? You hate me. Like I hate burger night because the patties taste like the sole of a shoe.“
„You have eaten a sole?“
The irritation in your face got replaced by annoyance. „No. But that’s not the point right now.“
„Yeah.“
„So?“
His grab around your shoulders losend up. „I don’t hate you. I just didn’t know how to handle this one-sided feelings, so I returned your cold with anger.“
Oh no. Oh no no no no no. He was honest? „You did all of that because you thought the feelings were not mutual? Seriously?“ For sure his confession pleased you but you couldn’t enjoy that yet. His previous actions made you furious. So you hit him again. This time using the other fist and hitting the other side of his mouth.
„Because of that I did what I did. I didn’t want this to stand between us.“
„You’re the biggest idiot inside the fence. You never came up with the idea that this ‚cold‘ is something I show off to everyone?“
„No, I…“
„Because if you had said only one word, you would’ve known that the feelings are fucking mutual, dumbass!“
Eric’s brain needed a good minute to process the information. And then his stare turned into the one he always used to hide whenever he had laid eyes on you. You didn’t stop him when he slowly pulled you closer. And you didn’t punch him again when his hands pressed you into his body. In fact you didn’t give him the time to do anything else anymore because you already pressed your lips onto his, tasting the blood you were responsible for but kissing him even harder.
As soon as you handed him back the control, he pressed you against his desk and couldn’t stop kissing you anymore. His fingers trailed up and down your well-shaped body and found their way under your shirt. This was so exciting. The office’s purpose got changed a little. But only as long until someone knocked and instantly got in.
Eric and you split instantly apart but you had got caught. Florence stood in front of you with blinking eyes and a pale face. „I better go.“
„I’ll come around later, Flo.“ You called after her but she was already gone. „What now?“ You turned to Eric again.
„You mean since you found out I don’t hate you and I, that the feelings are incredibly mutual?“
„Yeah?“
„First more of this, Y/N.“ His hands cupped your face and picked up where you two had been forced to stop. Unnecessary to mention that you didn’t come around Flo’s that evening.
#fanfiction#fanfic#ff#divergent#insurgent#divergent fanfiction#divergent fanfic#insurgent fanfiction#insurgent fanfic#divergent eric#insurgent eric#divergent eric fanfiction#divergent eric fanfic#insurgent eric fanfiction#insurgent eric fanfic#eric x reader#eric#eric coulter#eric coulter x reader#eric coulter fanfiction#abnegation!reader#abnegation transfer!reader#eric x abnegation!reader#eric x abnegation transfer!reader#request
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ANO - CAS LETI- ALE VYSLEDKY SVEDCIA!!!
Miss. Antónia Ficová, Engineer.
Humenné,
06783, SR, EU
To attention:
Russian secret services and RF representatives
To date: March, 6 2017
Subject:
Complaint on your contribution with speculative background and manipulative instrument´s since 2014 for your benefits
First of all, I woud like to get know you better in different way of sabotage and frauds. Viewed in this light, you know that I am not your toy or submissive little girl waiting for your help. Conversely, could you please make clean your table and make sure that your people will treat me with highest respect for my strict values and dignity and honesty and ditrect way of my life and my lifestyle.
Secondly, I don´t have to explain why you focused and still focus on me, on my goals, activities and my perspective future since you have done a lot of to restrict me and isolate me. I mean I am simple woman from village with basic requirements for basic life, you know what I mean? You started to mix into my life and you started to question all my qualities and abilities since that option works only for you. In other words, all Pan_European Uni, at Tematinska is full of russian employees with your salary? Full slovak republic of your people with your instructions? Full town of Humenne is full of your people? For what kind of reason?
Thirdly, look, what you have done, and what other have done since they, and you, considered me as a russian spyer, had extreme consequences. So, I am not russian, I don´t even want to have russian citizenship, I don´t want cooperate with those kind of people that use white horses for frauds and dirty deals with bn USD, EUR . So, If you gonna punnish me for selfconfidence and selfrespect, kindly focus why your country has got gdp and why your culture is in that way. However, since your large activities during my staying in Bratislava, and other places, I have decided to left for you only clean table, is that clear for you? And don´t even try to change me, from inside and outside, since I have got very strong character. So, I don´t care about long list of your corrupted people at highest positions in SR, for example ministry of labour, regional offices, to put your people, and to make this land your country? Listen, you left me minimum sources for life, by papers only sixty euros, due to fact that is better for you to isolate me, to use all manipulative method´s since for you are important only papers, doesn´t matter on human lifes and their backgrounds.
Fourthly, I identified a lot of possible threats from your side, just because I have no interest about you, and I don´t want to see next to me any russian guys. Do you know how is possible to identified russian people? Look at history of land, at national statistics and clear data and facts. They know only to drink a lot, only to eat to much, don´t work only robb, to make dirty businesses, to have rich lifestyle so quickly for free, or on behalf of others, in sum. So, if you used me, and still use me, how long you gonna plan my future, you understand?
Fifthly, you know how hard is to build selfconfidence and to get respect and professional reputation? Do you know how many hours, days, months, I have spent by studying and sitting by reading books and working on computer? I am self educated person since nobody never ever develop my skills and talents into something what is suitable for me as a woman. The main goal of woman is not only give births or to serve husband or to clean and cook all the time, wake up asap. So, you will see potential of woman that don´t want to be victor of tyrany of any unprofessional individuals at high positions because they don´t know what to do with their free time and with their penises, you know what I mean? I don´t want to have any close relations with you, so kindly make sure that if you will see me on the street first say hello, how are you. I am not here for your entertainment, due to fact that god had plans for me, to see me healthy and happy. Not prisoned by you and others, and with managed bankruptcy. I should be rich at 25 years, and I never gonna respect you since your attacks are against me. So, according to slovak lifestyle, basic slovak student after uni graduation, have possibility of first paid job with salary 1.000,- eur per month according to the industry and position. So, according to the usa lifestyle, fresh graduate, hardworker, have got unique opportunity to make 400,- usd per hour. So, I know to analyze and do research, why I have to be over here. Either you gonna make clear official public statement, what and when and why you have done. 16 months to be influenced by local people or local treatment resulted into what? To be unemployed? I can not to have my papers at the my hands? And to spend them how I want? Go head, just go head.
In this regard, I am not insignificant, and I didn´t apply to be public figure, so if you have got any secret lives, I don´t care, clean your mess because my skin and my feets are not gonna wait for your discrimination and elimination due to my extreme talents, to my contrinutions to state budgets and micro and macro levels, clear? And, If I have to be always alone, that doesn´t mean that I want. I would love to be surrounded people at my level and company with understanding. But your goals is only, how to delete me. SO, don´t pretend that my life and destiny plays important role for you, how long you benefited from me?! How many people, that I never met, pretended that are my husbands, fiances, etc. How many statements you provided to others without my knowledge? If you started to underestimate me, you should count your bills since I am ready for 39. hell from any sides. And, as I mentioned too many times, you only try to decrease my immunity system, since I have experienced on area of SR too many experiences that are not allowed for young age. So, don´t mix me with lazy naive stupid individuals. And, show your huge heart for prisoners, due to fact that I am not dangerous and my appearance can be changed by one second, since I have learned to be comedian actor, and there is nothing what I would not accomplished by my hard work and chances. So, only you, decision makers. You started to take control over me and monitor me since what? As experimental rabbit? Which method you did not to use? Kindly show your final reports since society see me to walk every day without material products. And somebody like me should have everywhere opened door and everything for free, since I highlighted you as much I can, and you fuck me off. So, mother world, welcome in this real world with cruel instruments. Well done, you can have any other virgin, since I am not gonna be homeless or bitch, just for your fun. And how many of you are paid for tyranny´s activities? I don´t care if you change, or not. I am not gonna change myself for you, to suit your category.
The bottom line is: doesn´t matter how I live, you only want to see me suffer and emotions for free, and attract more investors. Btw. my ideas, when they will be under my trademarks, my licences? You only exceed my precious time by making bullshit bureaucracy that doesn´t work for me. I want to see what is out there for me, clear? And don´t lock me at one place. Why didn´t you put me at jail? Didn´t you make false activities in that way?
Don´t forget that god is watching you 24/7 just for your talents. Nobody gonna cry for you and share you love every single day for free.
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((Sorry. By brain just shuts off at too much text))
“Look, I get that it does take energy to read things, but I don’t understand why instead of reading it, you took the energy to send an ask about how it wasn’t worth your time to read it. It’s kind of insulting, considering how much work goes into running this blog, which means doing things like writing and formatting those forms and making sure each of them contain information that is relevant and important and gives insight into the story and character. This blog wouldn’t exist without those things, and I put conscious effort into making sure that there’s always something interesting or insightful, or even just a reminder of something important, something to ask about somewhere in there. It gets really frustrating to feel like none of that effort generates any interest, or that following me is so tedious that you don’t see the value in trying to read anything that’s longer than a few sentences. Especially because the things that I post that are longer than a few sentences tend to be pretty important, and are there for a reason.”
“And at the very least, if you’re not going to read anything and you just stick around for my admittedly gorgeous face, it’d be nice if you didn’t report back to me that you think nothing is interesting. That you’re not even willing to skip to the good parts. I’m not expecting you to read and take notes on every word, but at the very least when I take the time to make something like those forms and fill it out, it’d be nice to not have that treated like an obnoxious burden that I’m throwing onto you.”
“This is an ask blog, which means that the story and character development revolve around me getting asks to move things forward. If I’m not getting asks, which I’ve barely gotten recently, I try to prompt them by posting related things and letting people know what I think is important to talk about. It’s incredibly discouraging to then get nothing in my inbox. And it’s even more discouraging to open my inbox to see someone telling me that they thought it was boring.”
“I’m not saying this to put all the blame on you as an individual, but, like... did it occur to you that telling me that if I put more effort into something it decreases the chance you’ll care about it might be a sentiment that’s kinda insulting? Writing out the forms for this period of the blog took two days of researching, compiling information, writing everything out, formatting it, and taking screenshots to stitch together so I can fill them out. I don’t mean I worked on it for a period of two days on and off, I mean I did nine hours of work the first day and six the second day, and I may end up making more if I need them. That effort isn’t for no reason, and when the things that I create to build interest get treated like they’re unimportant or outright ignore, it makes me question why I bother doing things like this at all.”
“This blog is something I care about and put a lot of effort into, and the only asks I’ve gotten about my previous two update posts were an ask about not reading them, and this one. It makes me wonder why I bother running an ask blog to begin with if no one cares enough to ask anything. It’s been a long term problem that’s been seriously fucking with me, and this just adds onto that. If you’re going to send an ask-- or two-- telling me that you don’t want to read what I have to say, just save your energy.”
#((the irony of course being that you probably won't end up reading this but.))#((i've been struggling for a long time to get consistent asks and i've devoted hours to writing updates and working on things to generate i#((when i'm talked to like i'm greedy or stupid for expecting people to care about that effort when they chose to follow this blog))#((it's a bit insulting. and that's not putting everything on this anon but this is just the most relevant example.))#((and it's been a serious consideration that if no one cares about this blog and i can't do anything that i want to do because of it))#((then there's no reason for it to exist.))#Anonymous#answered
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