#I have similar feelings about the i hate white people thing
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seitmai · 22 hours ago
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Three paces into the hallway, brown wood floors and white walls, you’re met with a smiling family picture. Only, you’re not in it. Because, it’s not a picture of Pete’s family. Pete doesn’t have a family. Pete Mitchell has a daughter from a one night stand with a married woman.
Uff 😬
The nickname stings you. Your name isn’t Mitchell because your biological father had wanted it to be. It’s Mitchell solely because your mother’s husband knew you weren’t his and would rather die before letting you take his name.
Damn
Your throat is thick with the knowledge that all you knew Maverick to be, is now all that he’ll ever be. An absent father, a fantastic pilot, a lousy cook. A thousand more things that you’ll never know.
To know that you don't know a lot and will never know more is rough...
It’s been almost two years since you even set foot in this house last. If you had known that Maverick was going to be gone this soon… you sit and think to yourself about if you would have maybe visited more. Probably not.
Sometimes being honest to oneself is not easy
He stares down at the pizza between the two of you as he chews through a bite, brows drawn together slightly. He hates thin crust pizza — it’s the worst kind of pizza. But, when you had suggested it, he had agreed with a tight-lipped smile.
Hey, nobody slander thin crust there are far worse kind of pizza ☝🏻
“I’m sorry.” Bradley blurts out. You both look across at each other, equally surprised that he has spoken. “…For what?” You ask quietly, lips tugging into a small frown. “I’m sorry that I’m here and he’s not.” He’s just got to say it. He knows you probably wouldn’t bring it up on your own, but there’s a big elephant in this room. Bradley knows what it’s like to sit in your spot, and not know how to talk about it.
God they are lowkey awkward together and neither of them just knows what to do with themselves 🥴
“We weren’t that close.” You tell him, like that’s supposed to make him feel better. It doesn’t. It’s like a blow to the chest. You’ll never get the opportunity to fix things, because of him.
I feel like this maybe hurts Bradley more than her..
Your teeth press into the inside of your cheek. Maverick hadn’t ever described Bradley as this nervous.
👀
Nothing. A couple of beers and a block of good German cheese.
I mean it could be worse lol🤷🏻‍♀️
“Uh... No, not really.” After a routine training presentation at the very beginning of their attachment, Admiral Simpson had once become so agitated by Maverick that he snapped his own reading glasses in half. Mav got a good laugh out of it, at least.
At that I would have laughed too 🤭
It’s an easy answer, rolling off of your tongue with a shrug of your shoulders and a deflated sigh. “People usually put us in the same boat — if they don’t like him, they don’t like me.”
That's really shitty, especially knowing Mav's reputation 🥴
That’s something that he thinks he can understand. There’s not an instant dislike, but there’s a pity that he finds in the eyes of people who once knew his father. 
At that they really share a bit of similar fate
Her boots hit the ground, your lips parting slightly as you realise that she’s headed right for you. Bradley feels your arm tug in his grip and turns his head, taking note of the way you’re trying to shrink behind him. Lynn is a hugger by nature, and she was a good friend of Mav’s for a long time. She means well, but Bradley isn’t going to let her touch you when he can see how unnerved it makes you.
Good thinking Bradley, nothing worse than an unwanted hug by a stranger 🫣
You check back over your shoulder, glancing briefly at the man behind you, who has assumed his best bodyguard impression. 
I'm sure he does 🤭
“Miss Mitchell,” The admiral takes his seat on the other side of his desk once again. “I want to first express my deepest condolences. Your father was a good man, and a… extremely skilled pilot.” Bradley almost scoffs. Even now, Cyclone can’t manage to compliment him.
It seems his feeling run deep 😬
“But— he’s dead.” You frown, rendering Cyclone suddenly quiet. “He’s got to be. It’s been a week. No food, no water, sub-zero temperature. What’s the point in looking?” Bradley grits his teeth. He looks across at you, the muscle in his jaw ticking. There’s nothing in your expression, no fear or sadness. Your father deserved more than that. “The point is to bring him home.” He bites from your side, staring straight ahead at Cyclone.
This is rough... I get her questioning the process, it's not something that someone is usually confronted with..
You’re biting at the inside of your cheek so hard that you must be tasting copper, picking at the seam of your jeans and breathing like you’re trying not to cry.
🥺🥺🥺
“I— fuck. I don’t want to be here. I-I— I’m going to have to find a job, and I’ll have to call my mom, and— and my friends, and—“ “Hey,” Bradley mumbles, resisting the instinct to throw his arms around you. His brows draw together as he reaches out and squeezes your bicep, bending his knees so he can catch your eye. “It’s alright. I’ll take care of it.” You know that he’s just trying to be nice, but really, you’re sick of nice. It’s all that Maverick ever was and it left you with no idea of who he really is.
She has every right to be angry, upset and sad even if he really just ries to be nice, this is just not a good situation anyway and with the news of the investigation it just got SO MUCH worse🥴
He nods, closing his mouth, swallowing dryly. Thinking of what he can, feasibly, take off of your plate for you. The idea sparks in him. “You need a job. I can get you a job. Um, your friends, we can call them and bring them down for a weekend?” He squeezes again at your bicep, nodding his way through his plans, trying to will the tears in your eyes not to spill over.
I like that he is thinking practical!
“I don’t want to go back to his house.” It comes out as a whimper, and really just reminds Bradley that you’re in the same position that he was when he was just a little younger than you. It’s a scared kid type of feeling, being all alone in the world. Being in an empty house had made it even worse. He licks his lips and glances towards the skies, watching the sun pass behind a cloud. “You could stay at my place, for a night or two.” 
Just a night or two, sure 😏🤭
Ashes, Ashes | One | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader
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masterlist | prologue | next chapter
Synopsis: In which Maverick didn’t make it home after the Uranium mission. He’s missing, presumed dead. There are things that have to be done — someone has to take care of the house, the bills.
So, Maverick’s daughter is back in Fightertown for the first time since she was in elementary school. There’s a gaping hole in both of their lives now, and somehow, the world’s supposed to just keep on turning without him.
Warnings: mitchell!reader, no physical descriptors other than the implication that Bradley is taller, no use of YN, age gap (23/33), smut, angst, hurt / comfort, mentions of character death, mourning, military inaccuracies. This entire fic and my blog is an 18+ space, minors do not interact. Do not repost.
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Crossing the threshold into Maverick’s home doesn’t come naturally to either one of you. This place is something that you had both left behind. Outgrown. It’s solely his. It’s not your home and it has never been, until now. Now, you’re stuck here until things are figured out.
On that fourteen hour drive down to San Diego, you had a lot of time to think. How long is a person supposed to wait for a body to turn up before they go ahead and throw the funeral without it?
Three paces into the hallway, brown wood floors and white walls, you’re met with a smiling family picture. Only, you’re not in it. 
Because, it’s not a picture of Pete’s family. Pete doesn’t have a family. Pete Mitchell has a daughter from a one night stand with a married woman.
This picture is of a real family. Hung on the wall opposite the front door is a picture of Nick and Carole Bradshaw holding their infant son. He’s bald and gummy. They’re grinning and showing him off like a prize trophy — so proud of him even though all he did in those days was drool and pee himself. 
These days, their infant son is up to more important things. Their infant son grew to an upsettingly grand height and is carrying two of your bags in one hand behind you today.
“C’mon, Mitchell — these are heavy.” Bradley huffs softly from behind you, reminding you that you’re standing stationary and blocking his path. 
The nickname stings you. Your name isn’t Mitchell because your biological father had wanted it to be. It’s Mitchell solely because your mother’s husband knew you weren’t his and would rather die before letting you take his name.
You shrug your duffel bag closer to your body and turn left. Bradley huffs under the weight of your luggage from behind you, watching you walk your cute butt in completely the wrong direction. “Wait, where are you going?”
Not struggling at all under the weight of your single duffel bag, you turn slowly to face him and frown slightly. “My room.” 
You don’t remember Bradley. Not in your own memories, anyway. You know he was around, you’ve seen him in pictures but the image in your head doesn’t match. Not quite right. Like puzzle pieces bent and forced together.
He’s taller than he looked at his high school graduation, which sits pictured and framed above Mav’s mantle. Older, but that’s to be expected. Up close, he looks more like his mother than his father. A slight bump in his nose and scars, nicely healed, but jagged and raised nonetheless dusted his cheek and his throat. 
Even with all those differences, there’s a familiarity to him that makes this all feel a little bit less suffocating.
Bradley’s brows draw together. He gives a small nod in the direction of the spare room. “That’s… I usually stayed in that room.”
“Oh.” You hum. With Bradley being ten years your senior, the room was his long before it was yours. With him growing up so close by, it was probably his much more frequently than it was yours. It’s not like you kept anything here anyway. It’s just a guest room that you would occupy every now and again.
There’s a brief quiet between you. 
“I just figured you could take the big room. ‘Til you get settled. I’ll go home once your car is fixed, if that’s what you want.” Bradley adds on. That sad little look on your face is killing him. 
The big room. The loft room upstairs. You’re pretty sure that you’ve never even been upstairs in this house.
“You’re staying too?” 
Oh. Yeah. He hadn’t addressed that point yet. Truthfully, he hadn’t even been planning to stay. He hasn’t even packed an overnight bag. But, from the second that you stepped out of the car and looked up at the house with that look on your face, he hadn’t even considered leaving you here alone.
“Just ‘til we get your car fixed,” He offers with a small shrug. “I’ll be here to run you around until then.”
Like he’s doing this for your sake. Natasha has her own life to get back to and Bradley can’t stand the thought of going back to his apartment alone. 
“Okay,” You agree, turning to peer down the hall towards the spare room. It’s nothing special — it really never felt like yours. “Alright, I’ll take Pete’s room.”
Pete. You call Maverick ‘Pete’ now. 
Bradley just nods, shifting the weight of your bags and nodding for you to head for the stairs. All the floors in this house are tan oak. The entryway is now herringbone. With the help of a friend, Pete had done the entire thing himself. 
Of course, as you walk silently across it, neither one of you would know that. Neither one of you was speaking to him last May, which was why he had needed a project in the first place.
Natasha’s outside on the phone. Bradley’s footsteps thud on the wood of the stairs behind you, following you up. You stop at the top, leaving just enough room for Bradley to stand there behind you.
The door to Maverick’s room is open. His bed is made. There’s a book thrown on top of it, the spine cracked and used, the pages yellow from years out in the sun.
“No way is he still trying to fucking finish War and Peace.” Bradley steps around you with your bags in his hands and heads straight for the book. Pete started this book before Bradley finished elementary school. Bradley twists and looks back at you. “He always gets bored and stops reading, then forgets his page and starts again.”
Another slow nod. One foot in front of the other, your shoes along the tan oak floors. Your fingers trail the white walls. Maverick wouldn’t have minded. This place was always messy before. It’s not now. 
This house is vacant and quiet, but it’s far from empty. It’s filled to the brim, practically pulling apart at the seams with everything that Maverick was and planned to be. He was finishing War and Peace — he made it to chapter 253 this time; further than he had ever made it before. 
Your throat is thick with the knowledge that all you knew Maverick to be, is now all that he’ll ever be. An absent father, a fantastic pilot, a lousy cook. A thousand more things that you’ll never know.
Four days of knowing, a fourteen hour drive down here, and it’s a book that stings like a cold slap to the face, reminding you of why exactly it is that you’re here.
Fire burns behind your eyes, blistering and stinging as Bradley sets your bags on the floor with a soft thud.
He turns with his attention completely on the book, his fingers extending towards the peeling cover of the paperback. His fingers curl around its weathered pages and he lifts it tenderly, examining the front at first.
It’s too early to start this process bawling your eyes out, and you refuse to let Russian Literature be your downfall, again. That thick feeling sits in your throat like a stack of weights as you sit down on the end of Maverick’s bed. The mattress is soft, taking your weight without a squeak of complaint. Maybe he finally listened to you and got a bed that wasn’t so harsh on his back.
It’s been almost two years since you even set foot in this house last. If you had known that Maverick was going to be gone this soon… you sit and think to yourself about if you would have maybe visited more. Probably not.
“I’ll change the sheets and stuff, then I’ll get out of your hair for a bit.”
Lifting your head, you blink at him. He has already started to pull back the comforter and strip the bottom sheet from the bed, awkwardly forcing you onto your feet again. 
Mobile once more, you turn slowly to take in your surroundings. This is Maverick’s room. It’s his house, you were prepared for that much — but this is his room. The last thing you want is to be alone in it all night.
“Oh. Sure,” You nod, setting into motion to help take the sheets off. You watch him instead of what you’re doing. 
He’s so methodical about it, like none of this phases him at all. But then, you’ve not seen how he has been for the past few days. “I was thinking of just ordering food tonight, since I’m kinda tired — and Pete never had groceries. Would you want… to maybe join?”
“Sure.” Bradley nods, tugging the pillows out of the cases. He glances up to you with a strictly polite, neutral smile. Quiet settles between the two of you until the bed is just a bare mattress and uncovered pillows. 
There’s a moment of total stillness between the two of you. Your gaze flickers up, meeting his, and the realization settles between the two of you. Maverick’s favourite cologne was a French thing that some woman in the eighties had liked. Citrus in the shade of cypress wood. The scent fills the room like he’s standing between the two of you.
Bradley glances down at the white sheets in his hands. The snowy white peaks of those mountains, Maverick’s aircraft spiralling into them, engulfed in flames. In a sick way, Bradley hopes that he didn’t manage to eject. At least then, it would have been instant. Maverick wouldn’t have felt anything.
You watch his adam’s apple bob in his throat from the other side of the bed. The last you had heard, Mav and Bradley weren’t on speaking terms. You wonder if this is as weird for him as it is for you.
“I’ll put these in the washer. You can… unpack, or whatever.” He decides finally, already taking one step backwards, headed for the door. You stand there, blinking at him. Even with those steeped, broad shoulders, he makes it through the doorframe unscathed before he turns to check where he’s going.
He probably knows this house inside and out, just like he knew your dad. Once. 
When it comes to wracking your brain and trying to remember Bradley Bradshaw, you can’t ever come up with anything. Maybe a glimpse, here and there. A blue t-shirt with green stripes. His school backpack accidentally left in the backseat of Maverick’s convertible beside your shoddily installed car seat. 
Truthfully, your experience with Bradley Bradshaw is limited. He’s just as real to you as any of the other guys in the stories you grew up hearing about. Your very own Peter Pan is downstairs right now, trying to figure out Maverick’s ancient washing machine, just so that he doesn’t have to stand up here and stare across at you.
He can’t hide from you forever, though. Evening comes, and so does hunger. 
He stares down at the pizza between the two of you as he chews through a bite, brows drawn together slightly. He hates thin crust pizza — it’s the worst kind of pizza. But, when you had suggested it, he had agreed with a tight-lipped smile.
Natasha has gone home. It’s just the two of you. Sitting in this unchanged, all too familiar kitchen. You’re barely unpacked. You set up a couple of things in Maverick’s bathroom, but it doesn’t feel right to be in the big room upstairs. That wasn’t ever your space to claim.
You chew absentmindedly at the bite you had taken. The TV in the living room is off. The record player is coated in a layer of thin dust already. It’s dead quiet. The kitchen light is dim above your heads.
There’s a chip in the corner of the table on Bradley’s side. It’s there because Bradley was running through this kitchen when he was four years old and had tripped and knocked his front tooth out right here. His thumb trails the tiny mark, wondering how his teeth had ever been that small.
Wondering why you aren’t angry with him, too.
Maverick had picked him up that day, turned him around and held Bradley while he cried, stemming the blood and quickly introducing the concept of the tooth fairy. He had done all that he could, and Bradley still found a way to resent him for what had happened to his own father.
Bradley hasn’t ever done a thing for you. Except maybe pay for this pizza. And here you are, calm as can be. 
The sauce base feels tangy and coppery, and the cheese makes him want to puke. He sets the slice down on his plate and wipes his hands on the paper towel beside him.
Finally, he lifts his head and looks at you. Your hair is up now, tucked out of your way after an afternoon of manual labour upstairs. You’re wearing a stretched out old t-shirt. Bradley assumes you got it from a boyfriend.
Really, he doesn’t think you look that much like your old man. He would really have to search for the resemblance. But, briefly, when you offer him a polite smile across the table, he knows that you’re Mav’s kid.
“I’m sorry.” Bradley blurts out. You both look across at each other, equally surprised that he has spoken.
“…For what?” You ask quietly, lips tugging into a small frown.
“I’m sorry that I’m here and he’s not.” He’s just got to say it. He knows you probably wouldn’t bring it up on your own, but there’s a big elephant in this room. Bradley knows what it’s like to sit in your spot, and not know how to talk about it.
It’s his fault that Maverick didn’t make it home.
You stop chewing. That last bite sits in your mouth, doughy and dry all of a sudden. You stare across at him, awkwardly making yourself swallow down the last of your bite of pizza and picking up the paper towel to wipe at your mouth.
“We weren’t that close.” You tell him, like that’s supposed to make him feel better. It doesn’t. It’s like a blow to the chest. You’ll never get the opportunity to fix things, because of him.
But, he knows what it’s like to be told how to grieve. He just dips his head and nods awkwardly. “Right.” 
“I got a call from an admiral the other day,” You pick up the slice of pizza and pick at its toppings. There’s no one here now to tell you not to play with your food. Mav never really cared anyway. Bradley watches you, unhungry. “Invited me down to Miramar. He said he was a friend of Mav’s and that he could talk me through… this whole thing. How it works.” You explain with a shrug.
Bradley rubs a hand over the neatly trimmed hair above his lip. It feels like he has swallowed a golf ball, sitting here like it’s normal to be discussing the measures.
He knows how it works. It won’t be as simple as it was with his own father. At least Maverick had afforded him something to bury. For you, there’s nothing.
“I’ll have to be there around eleven.” 
“Sure,” Bradley nods, scratching at the back of his neck. His legs tingle with stiffness. Clearing his throat, he shifts in the little wooden chair and stretches, knocking his foot into yours under the table. “Oh. Sorry. I’m sorry.”
Your teeth press into the inside of your cheek. Maverick hadn’t ever described Bradley as this nervous.
“It’s fine.” You hum, pushing back in your chair and standing up from the table. “Well, I’ve been up since like… four, so I might just hit the hay.”
“Sure.” Bradley breathes out, hands braced on his thighs, eyes focussed on that tiny chip in the corner of the table. “Yeah. Goodnight.”
The downstairs bedroom seemed bigger when he was a kid. The twin-sized bunks on the carrier feel bigger than the wooden-framed bed that Maverick put in here. Bradley’s shoulder is practically hanging off the side, and the old frame creaks with each movement he makes.
It’s not like he would be sleeping much anyway. When he closes his eyes, the only thing he can see is the fireball Maverick’s plane had turned into as it fell.
Bradley’s hunched over the coffee pot by the time that you wake up. He hears you coming down the stairs and straightens up like he wasn’t three seconds from throwing the stupid thing at the wall, clearing his throat and turning around.
It occurs to him that he should have put a shirt on. This isn’t his place. It’s yours, now, he guesses — either way, he hadn’t considered making you uncomfortable. He folds his arms over his naked torso as you stroll into the kitchen, hair mussed and rubbing at your eyes.
You’re wearing big socks and the same big t-shirt you had worn to eat the pizza last night. He can’t tell if you’re wearing shorts or not.
“Morning,” He offers up, making you lift your gaze from busily tapping at your phone. Your gaze lands squarely on his navel — more so, how low his shorts sit on his hips and the way a soft trail of brown hair ventures from there to his bellybutton. 
Blinking, you find his face.
“Coffee machine’s broken, we can stop somewhere on the way to base if you like.” He leans down a little bit, like an awkward teenager shrinking away from a family picture. You lock your gaze on his, trying not to glance back down at his muscles. 
“Oh. That’s not broken — if you hit it hard enough, it’ll work.” You head right for him, fuzzy socks padding across the floor so softly that it really does startle him when you grab the copy of War and Peace that now sits on the kitchen counter, and slam the book right into the side of the coffee machine.
He whips around as the machine whirs to life. You set the book back down gently, and look up at him. He sets his jaw, brows knitted together, searching your face.
Maverick never taught Bradley anything like that. In fact — Bradley always, always was taught the opposite. You never take the easy way out; if something’s worth fixing, then you fix it right.
Then you, you on the other hand, beat the thing with the heaviest book you can find? He just doesn’t get it.
“Well. Thanks.” He guesses, turning his bemused expression back to the brewing coffee. 
He hadn’t been expecting you to do that. Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, given the way he’s still glaring at the machine. That coffee pot is older than you are, and Mav never taught him that trick?
“So this guy, the one who called me,” You skim your fingers along the cool granite countertop, just to have something to do, “He was the guy calling the shots up there?”
Bradley blinks. He doesn’t know how much you know about the way all of this works. He knew everything there is to know long before he ever enlisted, but that was because he wanted to know.
“Um,” Bradley grabs his mug and takes a step back for you to get yourself one.  “He was our mission command so, kind of. He gives orders — but, y’know, everything happens fast, it’s… it’s hard to call the shots from back on the boat.” 
“Did he like Mav much?” You ask, head tucked inside the fridge door as you scan for anything to make your coffee a little less black. Nothing. A couple of beers and a block of good German cheese. You swing it shut with a resigned sigh, wondering if you’ll be here long enough to need groceries.
The thought flashes across your mind — what’ll happen to this place when you leave it behind?
“Uh... No, not really.” After a routine training presentation at the very beginning of their attachment, Admiral Simpson had once become so agitated by Maverick that he snapped his own reading glasses in half. Mav got a good laugh out of it, at least.
“Great.” Agitation creeps into your tone as you curl your fingers around a plain white coffee mug. All of his kitchenware is plain white. 
“What?” Bradley tilts his head, trying to catch a glimpse at the look on your face, stuck between whether you’re sad or pissed off.
It’s an easy answer, rolling off of your tongue with a shrug of your shoulders and a deflated sigh. “People usually put us in the same boat — if they don’t like him, they don’t like me.”
That’s something that he thinks he can understand. There’s not an instant dislike, but there’s a pity that he finds in the eyes of people who once knew his father. 
He screws his mouth up, shaking his head and reaching for you without thought. His palm claps against your shoulder, platonic and soothing, but the first time he has touched you nonetheless. “I’ll be there. He won’t say a thing.”
Glancing upward, while his palm lingers on your shoulder, your eyes flit across his features. He doesn’t know quite what you’re searching for, or whether you find it. His fingers squeeze softly against your skin before the touch is gone all together.
You drink your coffees in parallel, both subtly miserable in your silence but comfortable in it anyway. It’s difficult to prepare for a meeting like this — you don’t have a clue of what to expect. 
Bradley wears black jeans and boots with a plain white t-shirt, which convinces you not to wear the more formal dress you had thought you’d have to wear. You slip into his passenger seat in a skirt and Mary Janes.
He drives a loud, blue vintage Bronco. It sparkles inside and out, and makes your dusty old car look even worse. 
Bradley settles behind the wheel to the sound of chilled seventies music, the radio turned low. He drives with three fingers curled around the bottom of the wheel and the other hand resting absently on the stick shift.
Even though he seems calm enough behind the wheel, you watch him chew at the inside of his cheek for the duration of the drive. Gears tick away inside his head. His knee only stops bouncing nervously when it’s time to press his foot against the pedal.
He’s not as good at pretending as he thinks he is; you silently appreciate that he tries, either way.
Bradley, truthfully, spends the entire drive thinking about the last time he was face to face with Admiral Simpson. ‘Son, I’m doing this for you.’ He had sworn, face sullen, uttering the exact same words Pete Mitchell once had when delivering the words that had torn Bradley from him the first time.
Only, Admiral Simpson wasn’t pulling Bradley’s papers — he was just putting him on a month long bereavement leave. His protests had fallen on deaf ears once again, as they had fifteen years ago. He’s now a week into that leave, but it feels like longer.
It turns out that when you cut sleep from the equation, everything feels a lot longer. In his own apartment, his routine has been getting up at 2am after hours of tossing and turning, going for a run all the way down to the docks, coming back and showering, then waiting for the sun to rise.
Last night, he’d been awake in that creaky old twin bed, struck by the realisation that if he spent all night tossing and turning — one, he might actually break the old bed frame, and two, the squeaking of it would definitely keep you up. 
All it had taken was the focus of trying to sit still for so long to finally knock him out. It was the best that he’d slept since the mission.
He kind of hopes that it’ll take him a while to figure out something to do with your car; at least that way he’ll be able to sleep at night. 
“You ready?” His voice startles you from your daydream, the engine cutting out with a jingle of the keys as he stretches forwards in his seat to shove them into his pocket. “We’re headed just over there.”
“Yeah, let’s get this over with.” You’re stepping down and swinging the heavy door shut before you’re taking your next breath, leaving him to catch up to you. 
His long strides have him at your side before long, reaching ahead of you to pull open the glass door to the post headquarters. 
This process has already been easier with him at your side. He’d coolly handed over his service ID and greeted the guard at the gate by name, and he stops you from turning sharply down the wrong hallway with a soft bump of his shoulder against yours.
He catches your forearm as you try to blow right past the front desk, his grip loose but firm. 
“Rooster.” The woman behind the desk stands up sharply, looking sharp in her service khakis, her entire face creased with a deep worry. She’s older, maybe around Mav’s age. “I heard, I’m so sorry.”
Rooster loosens his hold on your forearm, his lips flattening into a line. He stands up straight, his interaction with the woman nothing if not totally polite. His thumb trails across the bend of your wrist as he nods his head towards you.
“Thank you,” He says softly, seemingly unaware of the way you’ve stiffened in the presence of this woman. “We’re, uh… we’re just here to see Cyclone, Lynn.”
Her warm, brown eyes whip towards you, widening. Recognition floods her features as she pieces together who you must be. 
Her boots hit the ground, your lips parting slightly as you realise that she’s headed right for you. Bradley feels your arm tug in his grip and turns his head, taking note of the way you’re trying to shrink behind him.
Lynn is a hugger by nature, and she was a good friend of Mav’s for a long time. She means well, but Bradley isn’t going to let her touch you when he can see how unnerved it makes you.
“We’re a little late. I’ll catch you at the O-Bar this weekend?” His fingers uncurl from your forearm and his palm falls flat between your shoulder blades, giving you a gentle nudge and silent permission to avoid her hug.
The woman stops and there’s another polite, departing exchange between the two of them while you continue down the hall.
Bradley catches up to you as you rap your knuckles against the doorframe, fingers trembling when they come to settle back against your thighs.
“Miss Mitchell.” A chair scrapes along the tiled floor, Cyclone’s signature rumbling voice carrying out into the hallway. His boots tap across the ground, his face creased with sincerity and his hand outstretched when he notices Bradley standing behind you. “Bradley Bradshaw.”
You check back over your shoulder, glancing briefly at the man behind you, who has assumed his best bodyguard impression. 
Standing tall, his uniform crisp and his greying black hair combed neatly, Admiral Beau Simpson slips his palm into yours and shakes your hand curtly. The sunlight catches on his shining name badge, his face heavy with lines and sharp angles.
Letting your hand go, he then reaches to your right to shake Bradley’s. Bradley’s chest bumps your back as he leans into the handshake.
You step away from him, angling yourself closer to the doorframe. “He just gave me a ride here. Is it okay if he comes in?” You answer.
“Of course,” Cyclone is far more polite to you than he has ever been to Bradley. “Anything you need. Please, take a seat.”
It feels a little bit wrong standing before his boss in jeans, and sitting before him. Everything about this feels a little bit wrong. Bradley rests his chin against his fist.
You sit in the chair beside him, shoving your trembling hands under your thighs, straightening up and trying to look as brave as you can. 
It shouldn’t be this stranger sitting beside you in this meeting — your mother should have come with you.
“Miss Mitchell,” The admiral takes his seat on the other side of his desk once again. “I want to first express my deepest condolences. Your father was a good man, and a… extremely skilled pilot.”
Bradley almost scoffs. Even now, Cyclone can’t manage to compliment him.
“We are forever grateful for his service, and the sacrifices he made on behalf of our country. I understand that this is an extremely difficult time, and I’d just like to say that I’m going to personally make sure that this process is as easy as it can possibly be.”
You blink at him. Jet engines rumble on outside of the window. People bustle on outside of the closed office door.
Cyclone glances towards Bradley. 
“When a man is lost in action, our resolve is to initiate a search and rescue effort as soon as possible,” The admiral explains, leaving out the part where that search and rescue effort had been delayed by seventy-two hours after Mav disappeared. “We’ve been working tirelessly, and our efforts to locate your father are ongoing.”
Your brows knit together.
“But— he’s dead.” You frown, rendering Cyclone suddenly quiet. “He’s got to be. It’s been a week. No food, no water, sub-zero temperature. What’s the point in looking?”
Bradley grits his teeth. He looks across at you, the muscle in his jaw ticking. There’s nothing in your expression, no fear or sadness. Your father deserved more than that.
“The point is to bring him home.” He bites from your side, staring straight ahead at Cyclone.
You shoot him a look. When it’s clear that you aren’t going to say anything else, Cyclone clears his throat to continue. 
“Miss Mitchell, we do have to prepare ourselves for the other outcome. If recovery efforts are unsuccessful, in two weeks time, he will be listed as formally ‘Missing in Action’. If that’s the case, we will honor him with a memorial service and all of his service records and personal effects 
are delivered to you.”
You drag your teeth across your bottom lip, swallowing hard and giving a small nod of your head.
“Okay. Two weeks?”
“This is going to be a longer process,” Cyclone warns you. He’d heard that you had come down specially for this, and he doesn’t want to mislead you about the time frame. “The recovery mission, if unsuccessful, will be suspended in two weeks’ time. After that, we’d like you to be local for the investigation.”
“Investigation?”
“Of ourselves. To ensure that the Navy had performed its due diligence, that kind of thing… I’d expect us to be here for a good few months.” He explains.
After that, it’s like Bradley can see a switch flip for you. 
You’re biting at the inside of your cheek so hard that you must be tasting copper, picking at the seam of your jeans and breathing like you’re trying not to cry.
He’s still confused when he’s all but chasing you across the parking lot, listening to you try to control your breathing.
“Hey, hey, hey,” He tries, approaching you cautiously as you crowd yourself against the passenger side of his car. “It’s alright. We’ll get through it, it’s just a couple of months.”
“I— fuck. I don’t want to be here. I-I— I’m going to have to find a job, and I’ll have to call my mom, and— and my friends, and—“
“Hey,” Bradley mumbles, resisting the instinct to throw his arms around you. His brows draw together as he reaches out and squeezes your bicep, bending his knees so he can catch your eye. “It’s alright. I’ll take care of it.”
You know that he’s just trying to be nice, but really, you’re sick of nice. It’s all that Maverick ever was and it left you with no idea of who he really is. “Of what? There’s so much that I have to—“
He nods, closing his mouth, swallowing dryly. Thinking of what he can, feasibly, take off of your plate for you. The idea sparks in him.
“You need a job. I can get you a job. Um, your friends, we can call them and bring them down for a weekend?” He squeezes again at your bicep, nodding his way through his plans, trying to will the tears in your eyes not to spill over.
You sniff, turning your gaze towards the ground. The lump in your throat burns and bobs as you try to swallow it away. 
Mav really is never coming back.
“I don’t want to go back to his house.” It comes out as a whimper, and really just reminds Bradley that you’re in the same position that he was when he was just a little younger than you. It’s a scared kid type of feeling, being all alone in the world. Being in an empty house had made it even worse.
He licks his lips and glances towards the skies, watching the sun pass behind a cloud. 
“You could stay at my place, for a night or two.” 
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sepublic · 1 day ago
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I remember hearing that Dana was inspired by True Crime, amongst other things and people IRL, when writing Belos. And it seems that contrary to the notoriety of True Crime fans, she actually understood the assignment.
Because she opted to demystify the serial killer as this dark, unusual psychology that operates outside of societal borders and rules, disturbed by some secret reason, and instead literally pull off the mask to reveal he’s just some white manchild who hates women and minorities to a violent degree, because he feels threatened by them and their ability to say No in his entitlement. There’s nothing special or unique about his motives.
He’s no exception to the status quo, he is it unmasked of the veneer of civility, he’s the lynch mob and the cop (all of whom inherit the violence of white supremacy and colonialism) and fittingly a lot of serial killers were clocked by women and PoC as dangerous, but cops —largely white men— dismissed their claims because look at this dude, he seems like an upstanding citizen! And that’s really how he got away.
And because his victims were people the system was less likely to believe because they both operated on the same biases, you see why a lot of cops who commit brutality are drawn to an institution where they’re given violent power over brown and/or queer communities who are labeled as ‘suspicious’, because they enjoy easy targets they know the system doesn’t care about, and are enraged by body cams and accountability.
It doesn’t matter if they’re intentionally bigoted, their support of an inherently bigoted institution makes them the same; Internalized biases and “I don’t see race” and all that. You see how Philip wanted to be a witch hunter —the prototypical cop who is not exclusively violent towards women but still has a clear slant— or colonial savior so bad, because his violence could be legitimized by the authority of the state.
He leans into it hardcore when he feels threatened by the presence of an outside girl who challenges the Christian narrative of Gravesfield, to the point of violence; It’s a position that validates killing anyone who doesn’t agree with him in general, hence Caleb and the Grimwalkers, but of course his and society’s biases slant towards women and PoC. And while it ultimately doesn’t matter whether he’s intentionally racist/misogynistic, it’s worth addressing that he very much does have the intention due to his blatant Conservative backdrop.
And seeing how charming Philip is and the portrayal of him as a little kid playing games in his youth, a perception Caleb might’ve still had which led to his death, I can see the direct line to families who find out their sons are school shooters and are in disbelief because he was such a nice kid! While ignoring the obvious Red Flags because white men are allowed to express these without being immediately scrutinized by the community, by having it brushed off. On some level cops don’t suspect him because he’s the same type of guy as them.
Part of that denial comes from the fact that he’s not an “unfeeling sociopath” who’s wired differently. Philip can feel empathy and guilt like anyone else, but he’s still a hateful prick and these aren’t mutually exclusive; Not when people can be perfectly selective about who they extend these feelings towards, or even do things in spite of these feelings, because other ones —anger and pride and hatred— exist and they choose to prioritize those. There’s an assumption that empathy and guilt inherently make you a good person, but they don’t; That ultimately comes from what you do about it, not how you feel.
You could even say Dana and the other writers wrote him too well, because true to life, we have a similar issue but on a micro-scale via the abstraction of fiction regarding a very dedicated fan base who loves to romanticize him and his actions, attributing his issues to some secret trauma in childhood, a young man failed by society! While also scrubbing him of his racism and misogyny and reliance on the status quo, to make him ‘apolitical’ and you can see the same not just with fans but also in society.
Because society doesn’t want to acknowledge serial killers as just the truth behind their white sons and the system that absolved and encourages them, because that would require them to admit their guilt in how they’re structured. Rather, they’ll say these men reflect some dark truth inherent to humanity, and don’t exist within a certain sociopolitical framework.
And so he was a ‘loner’ whose problems can be pathologized via mental illness, his trauma can be traced back to a specific incident in his youth he just couldn’t get over. So you see how school shooters are made into victims, how serial killers are also made apolitical and even alien to distance them from the status quo.
And then you can lean into how unusual they are by writing characters like Dexter or Hannibal Lecter, you can not just defend the system but feed into it via the commodification of their violence as entertainment and consumption, and thus fuel the white supremacy train by letting their violence towards women and minorities be praised as something fascinating and interesting and conveniently clean of bigotry. This is the dichotomy of the hypothetical, romanticized Fantasy Serial Killer, and the banal IRL Serial Killer.
Thus we have the same cycle of white men’s violence being praised and validated by the system, and white men feeling entitled to this fame as a delusional fantasy. Because you’ve never heard of a black serial killer; Because black people are violent, that’s just the way they are, right? But if white men are violent, this is sensationalized as somehow unusual and fascinating and worth dedicating countless books and shows and movies towards. Obviously.
And even going back to witch hunters, sometimes I wonder about the constant consideration of, What if witches did exist? What if they were evil? Things like The VVitch or The Conjuring series, which have some framing of the Salem Witch Trials’ IRL violence towards women as legitimate in another universe, because of Satanism’s genuine predatory threat towards women, and how evil women sacrifice theirs or others’ God-given gift of a child, and now threaten another white Christian family.
And again there’s the the demystifying of the real life witch hunter too when we have a historical reenactment declare verbatim that IRL witch hunters were motivated by economics and other banal factors, not by any genuine belief in the dangers of demons; And even in a setting where the demons were real, they were not the predatory threat IRL witch hunters made them out to be, and so their very real biases and ulterior motives still apply in cumulative insincerity.
Hence, the Titan correcting Luz by explaining Belos as someone who only cares about being the hero in his own delusion; The fascist wet dream of a hidden invader here to corrupt even young white men, an outside monster to vanquish and whose destruction justifies the state, when in reality the monster IS the state, and before he was even presented as a witch (much less the human truth), his system’s destruction was called for.
Ultimately, a lot of True Crime and similar narratives are criticized for focusing more on this apparently inevitable mystique behind the perpetrators, who warrant far more attention than their victims. So when the villain is an example of True Crime, it’s worth noting how the show is so much more focused on the ‘weirdoes’ he targets, on women and/or PoC. The lives of Luz Noceda and her friends, them getting along and their psychologies, are just so much more important, and it really isn’t about that guy, who is informed as much as he needs to be.
But again, the True Crime fans dilemma; People genuinely salty at the show for not focusing on their favorite serial killer and his troubled backstory, his tragic motives and Puritan repression. The framing of his murders and motives isolated through the lens of his violence on undeserving white men, and not on the out-group he is specifically targeting and has committed much more violence on, esp if you look at the narrative’s actual framing of his impact on our protagonists, but also other victims who are witches or demons, and even his own self-professed motives; Hence, ‘Fratricide Georg’ as a joke depoliticized of his colonial violence, a violence that is not just adjacent to but fulfilling racism.
Because he hallucinated only those white men out of guilt, but that’s his biased perspective and priorities; And so you see how this is contrasted with a refusal to empathize with people like the Collector or Luz, who are put into the same situations as his white male victims via shared cinematography, yet are just as rejected. Luz is only put into this situation as convenient to Belos’ narrative, the closest replacement to a white male human he can get, but again if this girl of color says No, he tries to murder her and even does.
Yet again, people take genuine, personal insult at the creator for finding Belos to be her least favorite character to write, while ignoring that she still found him necessary to the story she was trying to tell; She just found the framing and focus should’ve been shifted to his actual victims’ deep and meaningful lives, how they matter. So people hate that S3 cares more about Luz Noceda’s relationship with her parents of color, as well as her female mentor and demonic brother, or her queer relationship with her girlfriend, etc.
And even when they get a bone of white boy Hunter, it’s still not enough; Fans inevitably gather themselves into an almost frenzied state of personal victimization, rallying into harassment of PoC who criticize their portrayal and discussion around their colonial serial killer fave, organizing dedicated trends and months to giving their white men the focus they ‘deserved’, because this is just White fandom in general.
Look at the entitlement campaigns regarding Ben Solo or Billy Hargroves deserving better, these young white men violent to women and minorities. It’s just the same thing but on a micro-scale, at least filtered via fictional characters. But Jesus you see how internalized biases bleed into everything. You’ve never heard of a black serial killer and fandom doesn’t fight for characters of color.
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uncanny-tranny · 1 year ago
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If I'm honest, the whole "love in every stitch" saying for fiber artists does not apply to me, like. I'm trying to get this fucking hook into stubborn yarn and I'll be stabbing it like it owed me money. Is that love because I hope not 😭💀
#art#crochet#honestly the closest thing i feel to love when crocheting is this feeling that this is bigger than me if that makes sense...#...i think it'sthe feeling of knowing how old the craft itself is and knowing that millions of people have done the same as you...#...millions of people have stabbed their crochet hook into the yarn because it's stubborn but so are you...#...millions of people in the past have sat and devoted their time and effort into all of this...#...millions of people have passed on this knowledge and kept this thing alive...#...and it's the feeling of knowing that humans across millenia aren't THAT different#to our core we are more or less similar - across the ages across the colours across everything. that really comforts and humbles me#have you looked up ancient textiles? because that also sparks these emotions in me#it makes me think about the tupes of people to make the textile but also about who wore it#and so many of them are still beautiful and colourful and it shows you SO MUCH about the people who made them#even the ones that are tattered and faded and stripped of colour still feel beautiful...#...because it has SURVIVED. it is evidence of a people who made it and a people who had technical skills#and THIS is why i HATE HATE HATE the idea that ancient people were just 'dumb' and 'uneducated'#that is so unfair to them and cruel and just. wrong. (and often it reeks of white supremacy)#i'm sorry i rant and rave about this so much but i canNOT be normal about this. i can't be normal about humanity#i am learning to love humanity and learn about us and learn everything and it'll never be enough - i will never know enough#i will never know everything about everybody and it will be the death of me#okay the only thing i liked about the greatest showman movie was Never Enough because that is me thinking about all this
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salty-software-engineer · 4 months ago
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Man I just finished Babel and I was excited to read discussions online because there's so much going on in it with so many little things and just....angry white people. Everywhere. Truly a dead dove moment.
#the “you can't trust white people” theme might be a little like...aggressive but gosh you are not wrong#rf kuang#it was such a good depiction imo#it felt so much like explaining to white (or sometimes black) people what the problem is#especially felt like explaining being queer to straight people#i feel like a lot of people have at least a vague intellectual understanding of racism even if they don't see the racism#babel an arcane history#babel or the necessity of violence#also she captured a fair bit of mixed race and chinese diaspora feelings#also also i can see the relationship to the secret history and the fact that this is a rebuttal of dark academia while being dark academia#also realizing i dislike dark academia tbh#just...the ye olde university feeling is not my style#hence i went to engineering school where it had a je ne sais quois that i think is widespread neurodivergence#the good old boys clubs just do not interest me and i cannot really care about their lifestyles#it's not bad mind you it's just not for me#babel however is the exception that made me realize i dislike dark academia#hated the cloisters#got a rec for the secret history and had negative interest in that#i really want more and better depictions of engineering school and like...any similar experiences to what i had#they just do things like the social network where it's still a rich kid good old boys club but now with “nerds” who are just business majors#like the big tech guys of the modern era are primarily business guys not like...building computers in their basement#give me aome barely functional people who lean heavily into being weird once they go to school and they have hijinks like#updating archlinux and giving the other people shots if you get xyz system working again#first to get x11 back? REST OF YOU SHOTS. first to get internet back? SHOTS. sound? SHOTS. window manager? SHOTS.#or like...drama over your roommate not knowing how to do basic adult things like boil water or do laundry
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indi-glo-archive · 5 months ago
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ppl who only conditionally care about child abuse based on whether the victim makes them uncomfy while they're being abused contribute to a real life child's abuse by sending hate asks regularly, attempting to gaslight them, calling them terrible names, accusing them of terrible things, telling them directly how much they hate the characters the child relates to and enjoys talking about, and being generally racist and ableist in a way that seriously might have scarred me for life, making a literal teenager hate their hobbies, favorite shows, and the people who enjoy those things, and ultimately cyberbullying a child out of multiple fandoms because they don't want to think critically or acknowledge their own faults, all while being 35 and really embarrassing themselves because someone half their age has a better grasp on the concept of nuance than them: more at 6
but noooo, y'all "love neurodivergent/disabled people," have "racists/ableists DNI" in your bios, and don't say slurs, which is all you have to do to not be racist/ableist, so *I'm* some psycho black bitch and you're a wittle angel like the fictional character you infantilize
(P.S. I swear to fucking god if people respond to this post with "but he sexually assaulted someone" and ignore literally every other personality trait/experience he had that could've been relatable to a child abuse survivor and the way people mistreated me, a real human being, which Charlie is not by the way, I will start doing the things you wanted to do to Ben)
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wild-at-mind · 2 years ago
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Tumblr moves so fast, and rewrites its history so fast, I just can’t keep up. What I mean is, the whole debate about the word queer used to have people who were really, really pro trans and often trans themselves on the side of ‘please don’t call me queer’ and ‘I have concerns that this umbrella term may be used to conceal differences in our marginilisation’. Or even just ‘if you like the term qu**r you must be a white bigot because it’s a slur!’ (With this one I have a specific person in mind, a trans woman who is a youtuber and twitter commentator, who I won’t name but if I say she made a very famous video essay about SU then you will probably know who it is. She used to often say things like this, to the point that the SU video essay even blocks out the word queer in an image of different identifiers that she uses to illustrate an unrelated point. I believe her neuroatypicality makes her fixate very strongly on issues in a black and white way, so that may explain her stance on a number of issues, and if she doesn’t think this way any more she certainly did a few years ago.)
I’ve been there for years of this endless debate happening on tumblr and don’t recognise the version a lot of people are talking about. I feel like my head is on backwards when people essentially use the argument ‘well TERFs hate the term queer so......you’d better start liking it’. I feel like some people who are queer agnostic will say ‘ok say no more!’ to this argument because they don’t want to be like TERFs, but it’s not actually a good pro-queer stance, it’s manipulation, in the same way as that one (pro-trans btw) communist blogger on here used to yell that anyone who liked the term queer must be middle class, educated, and have never faced any real hardship in their lives. Being faced with manipulative language like this, a lot of people will change their views, but it’s not particularly fair, especially when you weaponise the ways people really want to do the right thing by other marginilised groups against them.
It’s very easy to say ‘well don’t listen to their manipulation, listen to MY manipulation because I’m right!’ It would be harder but ultimately more honest to use real arguments. If someone doesn’t like something you do like, or vice versa, they are probably just someone with a different opinion formed by their different set of life experiences (used in a morally neutral way not a ‘maybe you/they are overly privileged!’ way). I don’t read people like the above two examples who use manipulation and social justice language like this any more, because I realised that I didn’t have to in order to be a good social justice person who listens to marginilised people. (FYI that idea also from tumblr, for a long time it was very un-nuanced and also gave the strong impression that the more uncomfortable a marginilised person’s writing makes you, the better, leading those who were more exrtreme in their views to get more airtime.)
Let’s not forget the history of emotive writing on tumblr used to manipulate. Let’s do better.
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transgenderism-horror · 6 months ago
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Thinking about alterous seanblack now ugh
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la2yn0va · 6 months ago
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Self-aware Honkai Star rail characters opinion on you being a streamer.
Characters: Acheron, Jingliu, Aventurine, Dr. Ratio
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Acheron
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“How… irritating” she said her annoyance overtaking her entire mood and body language. Being forced to be on stage for people SHE didn’t nor about NOR care about.
Why must you make her suffer like this? She loves you, with all her being. But why are you airing her out to the world.. those ‘viewers’ of yours.
And that’s another thing. How do they get to watch you? You shouldn’t make yourself a fool for such unworthy humans. Have they even offered you a thing?
“Ayyy~ thanks for the bits and 20”
���.you’d allow them your gaze for a mere 20 credits? (Money) either your benevolence shines brighter, or it’s blinding you.
“Chat what do we think of Acheron? I fuckin’ love this woman, she’s SOOO fuckin’ helpful for grinding and destroying the enemies… white bar health… yeah cause that’s what it’s called…please don’t clip that…”
Acheron could feel herself blushing, so she quickly performs her idle animation, leaning against her sword trying to hide the blush and smile slowly forming on her face.
Chatter—“She’s good, but she keeps taking your attention from us :,(”
Instantly her giddiness is sucked away and locked in a coffin as utter annoyance and disdain grips her with an iron fist “Storm's on the horizon, heading towards you”
“That was perfectly fucking timed… did that sound different to anyone else?” Despite acherons slip up, that hatefulness holds her tighter, refusing to let go.
In short, She loves you-she’s OBSESSED with you. But she WILL kill these ‘viewers’ if they stary your attention away from her one more time.
Jingliu
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“What makes THEM so deserving of your gaze?”
Jingliu is similar to Acheron, but tripled. Unlike Acheron, she doesn’t bother to hide her hatred for those viewers.
Chat: Yo (Streamer Name) you should-
Jingliu: Your Ready for death.
She says it like a statement and not a question. She hates these creatures who take your gaze off of her, she hates how a measly 5 credits is enough to get your attention.
Your benevolence is your best quality, but also the one that’s easily manipulated, which simply makes her despise the fact that you’re TOO kind.
Jingliu hates the fact that your a streamer more then her not being able to ‘cut the stars’ with her sword. Why must you test her loyalty like this?
Is this even a test or a punishment for her crimes? Either way, this is too cruel. Being forced in the sidelines for a bunch of people who don’t offer you anything of value.
Is her crit damage/rate not good enough for you? Are her stellar jades not of the highest quality? Perhaps her blade needs more… BLOODSHED.
Unlike Acheron, jingliu would VERY MUCH commit crimes to gain your attention. Like breaking the fourth wall, taking an enemies or allies turn to attack, KILLING her allies so that your attention would be on her completely.
In short, she’s a much more blunt and unrestrained Acheron.
Aventurine
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“Such Troublesome detractors…”
Out of everyone in the game, he’s definitely the most laid back about your occupation. Mostly due to his luck.
Course he’s annoyed that some no-named randoms are taking the attention from his god off of him for seconds, but it’s really nothing.
It’s extremely lucky that the characters haven’t killed him out of jealousy (see what I did there?) This fuckin’ Avgin gets the most attention thanks to his kit and luck.
Y/n: Thanks for the Dono-
Aventurine: Eyes on me~
Y/n: Ooo~ yes sir~
Aventurine has a UNIVERSAL shit-eating grin while others are glaring death incarcerated soul-sucking daggers into him.
Aventurine would probably join in on the thanks if a viewer sends you money/bits/cheers n’ shit.
Not much to really say here, he’s just laid back to the whole thing.
Dr. Veritas Ratio
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“Stop this nonsense. Immediately”
Dr. Raito fuckin growls anytime everytime you boot up the game, cause he knows 99.9% of the time your going to be joined by those brainless viewers.
He’s completely baffled as to why a being such as yourself would degraded yourself to such… idiocy.
There’s only two possible reasons as to why you’d commit such acts. 1. Your benevolence blinds your logical reasoning, 2. You… enjoy it.
Dr. Ratio’s opinion on the viewers is that their brainless insects, he doesn’t even care enough to be annoyed by them, they’re just THAT low level of importance to him.
Y/n: Hey “Streamer Name” who’s your favorite character?
Dr. Ratio: Do you have answers?
Y/n: I- that was perfectly timed.. DO infact have answers. It’s (anyone that isn’t him)
Dr. Ratio: Fail… Get Out!
(If it is him)
Dr. Ratio: Perfect… Twenty Points.
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What we thinking about this one chat?
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icanseethefuture333 · 2 months ago
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Asteroid Kitty (9563): your kitten like charm 🐈‍⬛
Asteroid kitty represents the duality of a person, it’s how people are seen as sexy and cute. Asteroid kitty can also show how mischievous or promiscuous a person can be towards their prey, especially when it comes to women using their feminine charm to get what they want.
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“I’m the type of girl you wanna chew all of my bubblegum
I’m the type of girl you wanna take to ya mama house”
Kitty in the signs/houses:
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Aries Kitty / in the 1st house
Aries Kitty / in the 1st house people are the embodiment of “cat pretty”, their eyes are often shaped like a feline’s, and they are I nown for being a leader. They don’t like to follow the rules and could be seen as rebellious by people. Kitty 1st housers may also hate having people in their personal space but could lack a sense of respect for others. When in a relationship, they see what belongs to their partner’s as theirs, and wouldn’t understand why they don’t want to share. They could also be drawn to cats and animals prints in general. These kittens like to play hard to get and enjoy playful pushing/smacking on the arm as a form of flirtation. If they were a cat, they would believe they are the master and their owner was their servant, similar to those wirehair cats. They are only affectionate with the people they care about and can look at you as if you’re crazy if you act like you know them. These kittens have an infectious laughter as well and their voice sounds like purring to the ears. They are also athletic and look damn good in their workout clothes. They can pick up dudes at the gym and they often find people trying to help them whenever they are lifting weights.
Taurus Kitty/in the 2nd house
Taurus Kitty / in the 2nd house people prioritize financial security and success over the approval of others. These kittens value comfort and stability, they could often take naps and be seen as “lazy”. They might also carry weight more than others or have a “fat cat” 👀. Taurus Kitty 2nd housers charm is their ability to make their home and their style fancy on a budget. If they were a cat, they’d be the fluffy white Persian ones with the diamond collar. These kittens love luxury and being pampered. These are the type of people who grew up spoiled by their family. In a relationship, they are the type to be given money for spa days and so they can get their claws sharpened. They are also stubborn when it comes to arguments but for others their temper can be seen as sexually enticing. Romantic suitors feel compelled to give them their money and assets. Touch is also a big turn on for them and being touched by them always feels so sensual. They are high maintenance and lack patience when it comes to other people’s ignorance.
Gemini Kitty / in the 3rd house
Ohhh what chatterboxes! These kittens are very vocal and outspoken, but their way of communicating is very endearing! The way Gemini Kitty / in the 3rd house people talk is so adorable, when they have a crush on someone they can be very cheeky, and like to play a game of “cat and mouse” with their romantic interest. If they were a cat, they’d be a Siamese cat 🗣️! They are also very observant and attentive to details, if you do something that they don’t like, then they get the ick immediately. They are also very hot and cold, they hate when people are constantly in their face and need to have their alone time. Gemini Kitty 3rd housers need mental stimulation and have to be intellectually engaged. They are bold when it comes to saying dirty things and can be very vocal in the bedroom.
Cancer Kitty / in the 4th house
Cancer Kitty / in the 4th house people are attuned to people’s emotions and are sensitive to their surroundings. They could be described as empathetic and homebodies. People see them as cute and loving, they could often be babied by people, even as they get older in age. These kittens are classy in the streets and a freak in the sheets, they could play a more submissive role in the bedroom. Cancer Kitty 4th housers are known for their glowing skin, sweet scent, and docile nature. They like to be nurturing towards their loved ones and may cry with them when upset. If they were a cat, they’d be a exotic shorthair 🧸. They are viewed as the girl/boy next door and some people dream of marrying them. People hate seeing them sad and would do anything to make them happy again, they could manipulate others’ emotions if they wanted and whenever they’re in trouble, they get away with it because of their innocent demeanor.
Leo Kitty in the 5th house
The definition of mischief! Leo Kitty 5th house people are playful and vivacious, they love to have fun! You can find them at a party dancing or playing video games on a Saturday night. These are the kittens that enjoy laser tag, they like anything bright and shiny. If they were a cat, they would be an orange cat 🐈 ! People could find their energetic personality uplifting and are appreciative of their positive attitude. They are optimistic when it comes to their goals and they believe in having a team spirit. Leo Kitty 5th housers could be loved by children and animals, they see them as a big kid as well. They might be the youngest of their family or was that child who was a “busy body”, always wanting to go outside. When in a relationship, they love physical touch and quality time, they just won’t get off their partners lol. They could also have a high sex drive and are always excited to try something new, they might even want to try something silly like spanking their partner’s butt when they are caught off guard.
Kitty in Virgo/6th house
Virgo / Kitty in the 6th house people require more care than others. They could often be prone to sickness and when they are feeling under the weather, people wish to tend to their every need. Self care is an important part of their daily routine, so you can catch them doing their yoga routine or doing skincare. They could also be allergic to pets as well even though they might want one to keep them company. Virgo / Kitty 6th housers can be quite critical to cheap materials and are picky to certain foods, they have a refined palette. If they were a cat, they’d be a Russian blue. Hygiene is important to them and they are often praised for their well kept appearance (“pussy tight pussy clean pussy fresh”). When in a relationship, they are more shy and prefer to show their love through acts of services. In order to feel comfortable sexually, they could need lots of foreplay and require a partner that has patience, it takes a while for these people to get in the mood. Lying on the green grass underneath the warm sun could be healing for these kittens. Being in nature allows them to unwind and release stress.
Libra Kitty / in the 7th house
Popular and pretty! Libra Kitty / In the 7th house people are admired by their peers and often attract attention without even trying. They have many romantic suitors and they like getting what they want. People could often be jealous of them because of how well liked they are. They could have a reputation of being a “home wrecker” but they don’t see it that way. They feel if the home was never secure in the first place, then it wasn’t their fault someone chased after them lol. Libra Kitty 7th housers can be superficial and most of their attraction is based on physical appearance. These kittens also value balance and have a steady workload. If they were a cat, they’d be a ragdoll. In the bedroom, they are likely to be a switch and enjoy giving and receiving. These people like to see their partner’s face so missionary or cowgirl would be their favorite position, as well as 69 for fairness.
Scorpio Kitty / in the 8th house
What mysterious little creatures. Scorpio Kitty / In the 8th house could prefer to be alone and dislike being forced to socialize. These kittens are often misunderstood by others and might have been outcasted in their youth. They go wherever they please and look good doing it. Scorpio Kitty 8th housers may be drawn to the dark and prefer taking walks out at night, they also wear a lot of black. If they were a cat, they’d be a Bombay cat 🐈‍⬛. When they are attracted to someone, they ooze sensuality and are very alluring without even trying, their mannerisms as well are attractive to people. These people could have supernatural experiences and might be highly intuitive as well. In their family dynamics, they could be protective of others and can sense danger before it happens. In the bedroom, they are flexible and able to place themselves in all types of positions. They enjoy the darker aspects of foreplay such as roughhousing, shibari, whips, and bdsm. Their goal during sex is to claim their partner as theirs, expect love bites and scratch marks from these felines.
Sagittarius Kitty / In the 9th house
These are the alley cats who have seen and experienced a lot of things. Sagittarius Kitty / in the 9th house people are wise and knowledge of various topics. To other people they could consider them a “know it all” and mature beyond their years, they might feel inferior to them when engaging in a conversation. These people enjoy adventure and freedom, they would be a stray cat that is known and loved by all in their neighborhood. These kittens would most likely have multiple homes and don’t like being tied down to one place. They enjoy a good sense of humor and are attracted to someone who is intelligent, when a person matches their energy that turns them on even more. In the bedroom, they like to are open to new experiences and wish to try different things, so they are likely to mess around with sex toys. Sagittarius Kitty 9th housers could value their education as well and may be a “teacher’s pet”. If they were a cat, they’d be a Bengal cat. Within their family, these people would be the carefree older sibling who has crazy stories of parties and drinking, they are mostly likely to remain single and would not want to get married. They spend their time traveling and enjoying different cuisines.
Capricorn Kitty / In the 10th house
Capricorn Kitty / in the 10th house are focused , responsible, and determined. They have a sharp wit and don’t tolerate nonsense. These kittens are often annoyed with people’s incompetence and it puts them in a bad mood when things are not handled properly. They admire individuals with a good work ethic and have a good head on their shoulder. It’s a major turn on for them when a partner is able to take the role of a provider and make them feel secure in a relationship. These kittens are the type to receive push presents and don’t accept anything less than they are worth. They prefer stability and assets over romantic infatuation. Capricorn Kitty / 10th housers are likely to be “trophy wives” and “wags” (wives and girlfriends of athletes). In the bedroom, they assert their dominance only as a form of punishment or a way to relieve stress. In general, they can be a brat and desire a partner that can tame them. They are very opinionated and will let you know if the sex was bad or not. Their style consists of expensive jewelry and casual business attire. If they were a cat, they’d be an Egyptian Mau.
Aquarius Kitty / In the 11th house
Aquarius Kitty / In the 11th house people catch on quickly to things and have a keen intellect. They are smart when it comes to technology and could have a solid social media following. Their pets would also be popular on social media or they could make money from them (E.G: placing them in pageants or competitions). They do well in modeling campaigns and could have been seen in commercials and catalogs. Their sense of fashion is unique and they could be referred to as a “trendsetter”. Aquarius Kitty / 11th housers are able to find sexual and romantic partners quite easily thanks to dating apps or having good luck when it comes to sliding in people’s DMs. They also enjoy cybersex, either on FaceTime or sending sexy texts to their crush. Their online presence is considered tempting and alluring. They could post pictures of themselves in risqué positions or thirst traps are often their go to on their story. I wouldn’t be surprised if they make money from having an OnlyFans as well. When it comes to relationships, they are most likely to prefer being single and value their freedom. The downside is people try to trap these kittens and try to turn them into a housewife (or spouse) when they know they are very independent and rebellious.
Pisces Kitty / In the 12th house
What gentle beings. Pisces Kitty / In The 12th house people have a healing presence and are in tuned with their senses. They could have a spiritual connection to cats and often receive signs from them. They are highly intuitive and have cat like reflexes, they can predict things before it even comes true. If they were a cat, they’d be a blue abyssian. They enjoy reading books, meditation, and anything that allows them a peace of mind. Pisces Kitty / 12th housers are likely to smoke weed or use some type of psychedelics. These are girls at Coachella that dress whimsical and colorful and just there to vibe and have a good time. These kittens believe in manifestation and are the type to leave crystals in their crush’s car/home. They believe they can seduce people with their mind and aura (which is honestly true). In the bedroom, they prefer to use as sex as an act of healing and creating a spiritual bond. They could also be in non traditional relationships and may be open to polyamorous relationships. They might have even had sex with more than one person at a time.
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rosesnbooks · 7 months ago
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Aries placements
Since we are currently in aries season, i wanted to make a post about some of their placements! Hope you enjoy this post, and I'm looking forward to your feedback♈
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❤️sun in aries people are vastly different from one another. not all of them relate to the confident image of someone who has the qualities of a leader. they can be shy and dislike lots of attention and responsibility. but i do think most of them are passionate about the things they love and they like to share these with the ones closest to them. also, they are very curious. there is something innocent about them
🌹moon in aries types show the classic traits of aries people that are known to others. the people i know with this placement have an unmatched temper and intensity. they have strong emotions regarding everything, so they either love or hate certain things. i feel like their mothers went through many difficulties in life, and tried to display their strong character. also, people with this placement have a desire to be more masculine, and less sensitive. they have outbursts of strong emotions, especially anger that gets out of their system as soon as it arises. they will be there for you in good and bad times, and you'll appreciate that. but if you cross them, they won't see you in the same light ever again. i've noticed that they love music or anything in the arts. it gives them immense joy and passion that they cannot always show and explore in their everyday life.
💋rising sign in aries have a strong presence wherever they go and people are quick to form opinions about them. they seem passionate, direct and a bit aggressive. women with this ascendant are seen as femme fatale. men seem a bit restless, opinionated, very masculine, and intimidating to some. their appearances vary, but they have some noticeable facial features that demand your attention (eyes esp., and the nose) they look amazing in black, red, and any loud colors. they have so many facial expressions, and it's quite charming and funny. they are a bit loud sometimes
🎬mercury in aries is an interesting placement. a lot is going on in their heads but it depends on the individual whether they'll show this aspect of their personality to the world or not. they have strong opinions and they are not fans of a gray mindset. i'm not saying they view things in black and white only, but they definitely prefer to be 100% sure in things. they are humorous, but at the same time they take things too seriously lol. they prefer direct people and explaining things clearly and concisely, without beating around the bush. they also like to provoke a bit the people they love, with good intentions ofc. lastly, they have to be careful when talking about sensitive topics, and discussing things with people who are sensitive. they must not be too harsh and "objective" since it can be easy to hurt others this way.
💄venus in aries love fiercely and dislike cold people who aren't ready to pursue them bravely and honestly. if you lack interest and manners, they will cross you off their list pretty quickly. they are lots of fun and want someone similar to them in this aspect. i think they can be really loyal as partners once they find someone who fits their criteria. continuous display of commitment and passion is the way to go with them. they are really sensitive actually, so they want someone that makes them feel safe, and someone who would be patient with their emotions.
❤️‍🔥mars in aries are energetic, full of life, passionate (i cannot help myself, this word describes them in a nutshell), like to take the lead, have various ambitions they need to fulfill. their temper is a bit scary at times, so they need to work on that. i feel as if this placement is not that common. they succeed in whatever they have planned in life because of their ambitious and strong mindset.
🎫jupiter in aries will have lots of luck by working on their confidence, saying how they think and feel instead of bottling up their emotions and ideas. pursuing various hobbies, especially those that involve physical activity. they need to relieve their stress as well. also, being spontaneous and brave could provide happines and new opportunities. focusing some of their big energy toward the people they love is also rewarding. the people around them love their enthusiasm and optimism btw.
💌saturn in aries need to watch out for their impulsive nature that dives head first without giving anything much thought. not only could they hurt themselves in this process, but others around them as well. there are consequences to all of our actions. moreover, there is no need to be shy about taking risks and taking the lead, but it's important to do it the right way. like i've said, confidence is key. by working on themselves, they could become unstoppable.
🌹📖🌹📖🌹📖🌹📖🌹📖🌹📖🌹📖🌹📖🌹📖
paid astrology readings
(photos were found on Pinterest)
~Don't take anything too seriously since I am not a professional
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unforth · 6 days ago
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I keep seeing posts comparing this to 2004 or other past election losses and how this feels the same or similar to those past times.
As another Old who voted in 2004 (and I missed voting in 2000 by a month and was furious about it) I really can't even put into words how vehemently I disagree.
In 2008, I remember very earnestly sitting down with some friends and saying that if somehow McCain beat Obama, I'd have to join the fucking revolution, because I couldn't believe that this country would elect a Republican AGAIN after the previous 8 years of bullshit. I look back now and think how incredibly naive I was, but I also look back now and think, damn, why aren't I 25 NOW? I can't join the revolution now, I'm 41 and I own a house and have two young children and one old parent depending on me.
Because honestly, truly, as someone who has been studying American history since I was 7, as a Civil War buff with expertise on the years before the Civil War, as someone who has at least some memories of every election since 1988... guys, this isn't the same as 2004. I was furious then. Swift Boat bullshit I swear to fucking dog. And I was and still am fairly convinced that the 2000 election was deliberately stolen. But also I still had every reason then to believe in the rule of law.
In 2004, I still believed term limits would be respected.
In 2004, I still believed a person who wasn't elected would demure gracefully to the winner.
In 2004, I still trusted the courts.
In 2004, I still believed that we'd made progress on bigotry.
I could go on, and to be clear, my point isn't "I thought these institutions were ~good~" in literally any objective sense. Y'all are cynical but my generation was raised by, surrounded by, Vietnam vets and trust me, there was no way to be a kid, seeing what the 70s did to this country, and not come out as cynical and furious as the best of um. (My grandfather was a World War 2 vet, as were his close friends. My father and both his brothers are Vietnam vets, tho my dad didn't go overseas.) But I did believe that even corrupt institutions, even broken racist systems, even fucking Republicans, would follow basic norms of democracy. They said they believed in the constitution and I believed them. I believed that, like Nixon, truly getting caught doing something insane would at least force a mea culpa and turn public opinion. I believed...
Well, I guess it doesn't matter.
Because I no longer believe any of that.
I have watched the guard rails disappear over my lifetime. I have watched the party who once spent 2 years pursuing a guy over a BJ in the oval office elect a convicted rapist. I have watched and at times I've participated and I've voted and I've organized and I've protested and I've read the news more days than not and I've lived and I've grown and I've learned.
I have been an adult, legally, for almost 24 years now.
Guys... there are no norms remaining on the far right. The guard rails are gone. The Fascists control the White House, the senate, the Supreme Court, and things aren't looking promising for the House.
The bus has no brakes anymore. They think they have a mandate - and I can't blame them, as horrifying as this mandate is, because if things had gone the other way and Harris had gotten these results I'd also think it was a mandate.
Please sit with what this means: Trump and the Republican party said, "hand us the reins and we'll make everyone you hate hurt," and more than half the people who bothered to vote said "sure buddy, here goes." We don't have a usurper this time. This is the country that the majority of Americans said they wanted. Whether they come to regret that or not, they saw open Fascism and went "oh yes, count me in." And it wasn't because of the electoral college this time. It was because this country is so bigoted and misogynistic that they'd rather have this than a woman of color in the office.
I'm sick of "well she didn't run a good campaign." (Lie.) I'm sick of, "well we didn't get a primary." (Who cares?) I'm *extremely* sick of "well, Palestine." (Yes! Democrats actions have made the suffering there so much worse! It fucking sucks! You know what's about to suck so much worse?)
15 million people who showed up for Joe Biden couldn't be fussed to place a vote for Kamala Harris. Whatever their reason for not voting, we all knew the outcome if she lost. And seeing open fascism didn't fire them up enough to make the effort, and that's fucking pathetic. The consequences of the worst happening mattered so little to them that they couldn't be fucking bothered to make the minimum effort to stop it, and now millions of people will suffer as a result.
Because here we are: the huge swathe of the country who wanted a strongman now have one.
Look, I don't know what happens next. But I do know, and remember keenly: after 2016, Trump did, or at least tried to do, most of the things he said he'd do. When he was stopped, it was often because of career government employees: judges, bureaucrats, etc. And this time, he's said he's going to purge those people. I don't know if he'll succeed, but I certainly believe he'll try.
This is not 2004 again.
This is 2024. The Republicans have ripped the mask to shreds, shredded apart the book of political norms, and empowered hate, and they've been handed a governmental mandate for stamped "have at with our blessing!" in exchange.
And now they'll use that mandate to make everyone they hate suffer: people of color, queer people, trans people, immigrants, non-Christians.
Don't assume the worst can't happen. I am a Jew, and I have a photo album full of black and white photos of dead people that constantly reminds me: the worst has happened and it can happen again.
Do not despair. Despair is enervating. Be furious. As we should be. These douche bags are repulsive. Be prepared to fight. Be prepared to flee. Be prepared to defend. Don't assume you simply can't do something. There's always something to do, and even the smallest act of defiance can help. There's never any knowing until after which acts of resistance will end up galvanizing the good and just out of their apathy. But that apathy is the enemy.
Because none of this is normal. None of this is "just like when..." Please stop saying it is.
And before anyone screams "privilege" at me, yes, I am in many ways. I'm white. I have access to some generational money even tho my own family lives paycheck to paycheck - we won't be rich but have enough of a support network to be comfortable. I live in a blue area of a blue state. But I'm also a woman (legally speaking, at least) married to another woman - since before Oberkfell, and yes I remember exactly what steps we had planned any time we wanted to leave our state. My wife has physical disabilities. We have two children. Both are biracial (half black). One is trans. We are caring for an elderly parent. I am Jewish and as my kids' birth parent, so are they. I own a publishing company that publishes the exact kinds of queer and kinky lit these people intend to ban. We tick so many boxes of what these people hate.
I know ya'll are scared. Trust me, I'm terrified. But fear is paralyzing. And that won't help. Whatever happens, don't lie down and take this shit.
When Gore lost I was one month shy of my 18th birthday and already in college. I have been fighting my entire adult life, and I'm exhausted. I'm much less able to fight now, much more tied down with responsibilities. But the fight isn't over. I'm checking our passports. I'm packing a go bag. I've convinced one vulnerable friend to move here and I have another who wants to and we're figuring out how to make that happen. I'm protecting who I can, starting with putting on my mask first. I don't know what will happen but if in the end all I can do is uproot my entire life to protect my children then I am preparing to do so. I can at least save them if no one else.
None of this is normal.
And I'm not sure, after Trump's in office, that anything will ever be normal again in the US. At least not the old normal. And there are ways that's a good thing, so many ways that the old normal sucked for so many people, and I'm optimistic that there's a bright future ahead, but man it looks far away right now. I don't want to go back to the old normal, and I want to be part of establishing a kinder, more just, more equal new normal, but we're a long way from there.
Whatever happens, we must endure. We must survive. We must support each other. We must find our allies and be prepared to compromise with them. Don't try to save everyone. You'll fail. Help even one person and you can change the world. Everyone things they can't do everything and so do nothing. That's insane. Do a single thing and it will be better than nothing. One phone call. One letter. One act of defiance. Very few people get the opportunity to grand gestures that matter, and the rest of us will die waiting for that moment. But the secret is that what makes those moments - the time when one person is in the right place at the right time for their action to matter - is built on millions of small moments by millions of people doing what little they can to make things slightly better. Think of every iconic photograph of a Sole Resistor you know of and think about every single tiny thing that had to happen for that moment to occur. Most of us will never me that one person, but that one person is a myth anyway. Countless tiny unseen moments create those myths. Doing literally anything is better than doing nothing.
And tooth and nail, quietly and loudly, in our homes and our towns and cities, during protests or when they come for our neighbors, we must fight.
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demonslayerunhinged · 3 months ago
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Unhinged analysis - Sanemi
Why's Sanemi so aggro? (Part 1)
Sanemi is one of the most controversial characters in Demon Slayer and the most misunderstood, along with Obanai. People in the fandom just take him at face value, and it is a disservice to his character. You don't have to love him, but at least try to understand him, his background and how it all contributes to his behavior. So this is a character analysis on, in my opinion, the coolest motherfucker in Demon Slayer. Lesssgoooo!
His introduction
Sanemi's Hashira intro remains one of my favorite in the series. This is because we're fed so much information about him in such a short time.
The first thing we see are the W7s, the uniform belts around his shins, instead of the standard kyahan that other characters wear.
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Then we see his back, his white haori which tells us nothing about his breathing style. At least with the others we can make an estimated guess at theirs. The only decoration is the kanji 殺(kill). Which is interesting because it's in the same position as the 滅(destroy) that we see on the backs of other slayer's uniforms.
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Then we hear his voice for the first time. His speech is similar to that of a Yakuza member. I'll explain more later.
We then get the first glimpse of our man.
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We notice a bunch of things. One is the fact that he's holding Nezuko's box with one hand, which tells us yea, this dude is strong as fuck. Then we see that his uniform is open at the chest, indicating a lack of care for his safety. We see the scars which lets us know that this guy has been through some shit, and he still keeps his chest open??? Nah.
Then we finally see his face and woah! The scary jagged scars, wild hair and bloodshot eyes combined with his rude way of speaking. We come to the conclusion: Oh my God! This guy's a crackhead!
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Only kidding! But we can tell that this guy is not to be messed with and from the Jaws music that plays in the background and his signature Hashira theme, we also know that he's going to be trouble for our protagonist.
So let's break it down further with the first aspect of his introduction.
His haori, the kanjis, and their significance
Destruction has a certain impersonal feeling to it, like you destroy bad things not because you want to, but because you have to. Within the context of Demon Slayer, it's no different, the slayers have to destroy the demons because they are a blight on the world and there are no personal feelings about it. We can see it from the way Giyuu almost killed Nezuko, the way he killed Rui, the way Shinobu and Kanao almost killed Nezuko, and the way Zenitsu and Inosuke also killed demons.
Even in this episode where the Hashiras are introduced, their plans to execute Tanjiro and Nezuko show no personal feelings towards the situation, no maliciousness, and no hate. Nezuko is a demon she has to be killed. Tanjiro was harboring a demon so he has to be killed too and something tells me this isn't the first time they had to deal with a situation like this.
Kill, on the other hand, is very much personal and malicious in its intent. It doesn't matter if the target is bad for the world or not. What matters is that the killer thinks they're bad, and that alone is a justification to eliminate them. It's not about duty, it's a want spurred on by hatred, and Sanemi is full of hatred. We can see it from the sadistic way he stabs Nezuko, and the way he laughs at Tanjiro’s pain. Even when he wanted to test Nezuko with his blood, he gives her more unnecessary stabs instead of just simply opening the box.
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Honestly, just by the kanji alone, I would’ve been surprised if he didn’t stab Nezuko. A demon can save baby orphans and kittens and sweet little old ladies from a burning building, and Sanemi will still gut the motherfucker.
Then there’s the color of his haori. The haoris, or absence of haoris, of the other characters (excluding Muichiro and Mitsuri) reveal information about their heritage, past, beliefs, and other aspects of their identity that extend beyond their role as Demon Slayers.
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Sanemi has no heritage like Rengoku. We’re not given anything that tells us about his past like Giyuu. The kanji for Kill on his haori is in the same position as the Destroy on the standard uniform because, for Sanemi, being a Demon Slayer or more specifically a killer of demons IS his identity. It’s all he cares about, his entire life and the core of his existence. He has a one-track mind, and Kill Demons is the only song playing on a loop.
He doesn’t have time for anything he deems ‘frivolous’, has no special variation to his uniform aside from the fact that he keeps the chest open, and the uniform belts he wears around his legs are probably faster to put on than the standard kyahan.
So from his haori and kyahan alone we can tell that this guy is very strong, very wild and very dangerous.
Extra note: While doing research for this post, I also noticed that Sanemi’s haori is similar to the shirt he wore as a child, which could indicate how much his childhood affected him and how it led to his hatred of demons. Instead of the sleeve stripes, there is now the Kill kanji on the back.
Now let's move onto the other aspect of his introduction
His way of speaking
This part is based on my little understanding of the Japanese language and the research I did. So please don't attack me!
Sanemi kinda speaks like a thug or a Yakuza member. It isn't really noticeable in the English subtitles, but he uses particles and sentence endings that are typically used by men and can come across as rude, unrefined, and uneducated.
He doesn't use honorifics (unless speaking to the Master) when talking to people, even his fellow Hashiras.
He uses sentence endings such as ぜ (ze), ぞ (-zo), な (-na), か (-ka), かよ (-kayo) and だな (-da na) that make his questions and statements sound commanding, rough and forceful.
Not only that, but he often uses words such as:
"Urusee!" - a rough and rude way of saying "Urusai"
"Temee" - a rude way of saying you.
"Ore" - a very informal pronoun for "I"
Sanemi's way of speaking bears a teeny tiny resemblance to the Kansai dialect, which is like the Southern accent in the US. Kansai people are stereotyped as being uneducated, stupid, loud and aggressive.
That's why Tanjiro(bestest boy ❤) was shocked when Sanemi switched up real quick as he was speaking to the Master.
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His default manner of speaking, even when it's to those who he likes or is okay with, is rough, forceful, aggressive and sometimes confrontational. It tells us about his personality and most importantly his upbringing or lack thereof.
I'll be going into his background in the Part 2 of this post, I'll also talk about how all these aspects makes our boy act the way he does.
In Conclusion, to be continued?
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sukifoof · 1 year ago
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hii i was talking about this on twitter so i think i will just copy paste it here cuz i’ll probably delete it there at some point <3 twitter frightens me but i love my mutuals here we are all insane about flowey in the same way
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 i think saying “you’re the type of friend i wish i always had” is a really important thing for asriel to admit... this whole time asriel has dealt with so much grief and guilt about chara that it separated the actual person chara from the idealized version of them in his head who he has never stopped grieving. its a huge part of his character that hes unable to view them as they were because that’s just how his ptsd and guilt affects him. as someone who went through a similar thing that kind of grief can mess with your head and how you view yourself and the person who’s gone really badly. the pacifist route, for flowey’s character specifically, is a really good example of how grief and ptsd can make you feel disconnected from yourself, everyone around you, and like if only the person you lost was back everything would be perfectly fine again. the fact that he can admit they weren’t perfect and that he made the right decision is a huge character development that we don’t get to see in the no mercy route because he’s still convinced that this idealized version of them birthed from bereavement will make everything okay. similarly to how he believed toriel might have been able to fix him, he wants to believe there’s someone out there that could somehow return him to who he was before being traumatized, but the reality of it is this is just who he is.
his grief and trauma is a huge part of who he is like it is with real people, but it doesn’t have to be all of him. i think the emphasis the fandom puts on whether chara was Good Or Bad completely misses the point that it doesn’t really. matter i guess?? they were a kid people loved and now they’re gone. we're seeing people deal with the grief this brought and we know so little of who they are because there’s also a degree of separation about who they are to the people they loved as well. idk i hope this makes sense i think a lot about how chara is a kid who hated humanity and calls themself a demon. to me that just shows an EXTREMELY traumatized child with self hatred. i don’t know why there was ever this huge moral argument about chara when they’re literally just a kid with issues. they weren’t taught how to deal with how they felt and likely held themself in lower regard compared to the dreemurrs. its the same thing with asriel, he feels responsible for them being gone and his own trauma. he just wants a friend who can teach him to understand his grief or someone who can at least let him view the situation for how it really is
i just think. flowey is so well written but not understood very well by the fandom because the type of thing he’s gone through is kind of hard to grasp. it’s a weird situation that doesn’t have a completely black or white Is He Or Chara At Fault kind of answer. they were children. people are complicated and want someone to blame when something goes wrong and flowey directed that at himself. hes such a fascinating and well written character i love him dearly i hope u guys understand how insane he makes me <3
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rockscanfly · 2 months ago
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Random Charles Smith Headcanon's
Has probably contemplated suicide at more than one point (see “I’m here just to hurt and suffer myself. In this land I feel stuck.”)
Maybe a little vain. He cares for his clothing well, embellishes himself. 
Has auditory sensitivity. He gets very irritable with loud people.
Has never felt like he belonged, always feels cut off
Is comfortable with violence only against folk he sees as on his own level/like himself. Has little empathy for himself so has little empathy for them (hence smoking while Arthur beats a man for information, the efficient and quick kills of the bounty hunter, the poachers)
Has a STRONG sense of justice--that includes responsibility and culpability. People make choices and Charles holds them accountable for them. Sadie is a killer, so he treats her like any other ally. That German family didn’t make that choice, neither did the Wapiti. But he doesn’t have any pity for the gang.
Animals don't choose violence, hence the protectiveness over them and their dignity. 
Comes off as cold because he isn’t loud/not good at chat. He’s really just been alone most of his life. 
Okay with drinking, does NOT like drunkenness. Back to culpability. This can make him unforgiving and harsh at times.
Both he and Arthur are so used to people passing in and out of their lives that they’re afraid to hold on too tight. Then Arthur gets captured by Colm. Hosea talks to him, about Bessie and about Arthur’s dead family. 
“I’m not her,” Charles says. “Not either of them. I’m not asking you to leave your world behind, and I’m not going to wait for you in some house. We’re partners first. I’d lose the rest of it before I let you put me to the side.” 
He likes that Arthur is big enough to push him around, to hold him down and anchor him when he can feel himself getting lost. To toss him over a broad shoulder when they’re swimming around on a hunting trip and settle him down on soft pelts, to pin him and bite the lonely from his skin. 
Charles can kick Arthur’s ass and will do so on request
He’s kind and thoughtful. He’d be the one to make Arthur little presents and leave them around for him. Practical things, made special with the careful workmanship of beading/embroidery/etching. 
Can be impatient—autonomy is his norm so waiting on others both physically, mentally, and emotionally doesn’t come natural to him
Will cut slingload on people he feels don’t value him back—would not pine for Arthur or stick around if Arthur tries to protect himself by lashing out at Charles, even if he still has feelings. His father taught him that he has to protect himself because no one else will do it. Arthur. Well. Arthur’s the only person he’s trusted to have his back. Because Arthur proved it, several times over. There’s no one Charles would have used “do it for me” on other than Arthur Morgan. 
He fell into fighting again because he had begun opening his heart for the first time since he was a child, and then fate took Arthur too. Like Charles said—he was put on the earth to cause pain and to suffer himself. 
He tries to help folks, but he’s not good at talking and he can’t use his privilege to help like Arthur did. He’s everything the US government hates, even more than the Waipiti. They reach a point where his violence is no longer useful. And for a drowning, grieving, heart sick stretch of years violence is all Charles has left to him (hence going to Saint Denis, a city he hates, and fighting people for white folks' entertainment in a transparent suicide-by-cop bid for someone to end his suffering) And then Sadie gives him the option of closure and working beside John reminds him that he is a man, not a weapon, and Beecher’s Hope makes him believe he too can change. 
Charles has never tried to be anything but who he is. He and Arthur are similar in that way. What he realizes, what Arthur realized too late, is that he can change if he wants it. And that maybe he’s allowed his past pain and scars to run his life along a course he doesn’t actually have to follow. 
Brought to you by my on-going replay of RDR2 and my undying love and devotion to princess of my heart Charles Smith.
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arlana-likes-to-write · 2 months ago
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Black Widow Curse
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Summary: The last thing Yelena expected was to see someone at her sister's grave and got them caught in her web.
Warning: MINIORS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+, mention of Natasha's death, fighting, mention of past abuse, injuries, dubious consent (Yelena is drunk), sex (not in a lot of detail), angst, unhappy ending, toxic relationship, everyone is hurt and no one is okay
Word Count: 3.5k
When Yelena stepped out of her truck, she wasn’t expecting to see someone at her sister’s headstone. She was positive that no one knew where it was. With her hand on her gun, she approached the mysterious figure. Maybe they weren’t a threat, but after the past few failed assignments, she wasn’t sure who was a friend or an enemy. Suddenly, a blur of white and brown fur ran to the stranger. Her dog traitor began to lick your face, and your laughter began filling the quiet area. “You know,” you said. “I believe dogs can sense someone with good intentions,” you turned around to face her, but your hand still ran through Fanny’s fur. “So I’d appreciate it if you took your hand off your gun.”
Yelena kept it there and took in your features. You were younger than her, but not by much. Your clothes were baggy, slipping off your frame. Yelena could see tattoos that covered your arms. They seemed random, black swirls that decorated your skin. “Who are you?”
“I think I should be asking you that,” you dropped your hand. Fanny whined but walked back to her owner. “Wait,” your eyes narrowed at her, and you stood up from Natasha’s grave. “Your Yelena, Nat’s sister.” Knowing her name did not help your case, in the Blonde’s opinion. She took a step back.
“Who are you? I won’t ask again.” It took you a moment to respond, stunned by her sudden appearance.
“I was an Avenger with your sister,” you said. “We were friends.” Yelena hated that word. Avenger. It held much power and acted as a shield to hide behind and not face the past. Once again, she was face to face with someone who had more time with her sister. “Look, I heard about what happened with Clint,” you took another step forward. This time, Yelena removed her gun and pointed it at you. “Are you going to shoot me?” Yelena shrugged. “Why?”
Yelena wasn’t sure if she could give you a good answer, but did she need one? She was trained to kill and accept orders without a second thought. “Feels right,” she undid the safety. “I have nothing better to do.” You dared to laugh. That pissed her off. It seemed every day, the only emotion she felt was anger.
“You can’t kill me,” you simply said.
“Is that a challenge?” You smiled.
“Merely stating a fact,” you turned to face Natasha’s grave, kissed your fingers, and placed it on the stone. “It was nice to meet you, Yelena. I hope we meet again as friends.”
It happened rather suddenly. Intense cold washed over her, and her vision darkened. It felt similar to when she was blipped. As quickly as it happened, her warmth returned, and her vision came back.
She was standing alone. Fanny ran over to the spot you were standing in. The Akita circled something on the ground before lying down next to it. Yelena put her gun away and walked over to it. On the ground was a ripped photo strip with a girl with blue hair and another one with Blonde hair.
*
You hated parties. Even when you were with the Avengers, you loathed everyone that Tony threw. Full of fake politicians who did not care about the people they represented. You hated the stuffy outfits. Now, you stood in a rented suit at another party, not as a guest. The guest of honor, Hunter Sykes, hired you as private security. It was easy money, and you had rent and groceries to pay for.
So when Mr. Sykes led a beautiful woman back to his hotel room, you followed through the shadows. It was how you saw Yelena first, dressed in a red cocktail dress. She watched what floor the elevator stopped at and took the stairs to the 5th floor. Before she could exit the staircase, you pushed her up against the wall and emerged from the shadows. “Well, we meet again,” Relaxation washed over the Blonde. Before you could ask what her plan was, she pushed you on the chest, and you stumbled backward. It startled you, blinked a few times, and chased after her. A deja vu moment washed over you. Instead of chasing Yelena down a hallway, you were running after Natasha in a warehouse. The elder Black Widow got the best of you. Yelena wasn’t, but you wanted to play fairly. You kept your powers at bay even when they danced on your fingers. With a burst of speed, you caught up with her and grabbed her wrist. You ducked at the punch, but she was able to kick at you. You jumped back. The space allowed her to grab a knife on her thigh.
You wished Natasha could see this, and you wondered who she thought would win. The two sisters shared similarities, which made sense given their similar training. However, there was a slight difference. Natasha found fluidity in how she fought, as if there wasn’t a weight on top of her. Yelena was stiff. She was fighting to win, and you felt it in the punch to the side of your head.
“You are good,” you said, shaking the stars out of your vision. The Blonde rolled her eyes. “What? Am I not getting a compliment?”
“You are annoying,” she deadpanned. You would take it. Even though she was Natasha’s sister, you had a job to do, and she wasn’t going near Mr. Sykes. The fighting continued. You managed to get the knife out of her hand and threw it in the wall. You landed a powerful kick to her chest, she stumbled backward and then hit the window behind her. The glass creaked. Yelena shook her head to regain her footing, but you refused to give her time to recover. You sprinted towards her and pushed on her chest. The impact sent you both out the weakened window. You grabbed the ledge and ignored Yelena’s shout as she fell.
The sudden commotion caused Mr. Sykes to exit his hotel room. You pulled yourself up, removed the glass from your hair, and approached him. You hoped Yelena was okay.
*
“Fucking hell,” you mumbled and pulled out a frozen bag of peas. You slumped down on the couch with your ice pack against your head. After you pushed Yelena out of the window, you got Mr. Sykes out of the hotel with his regular security detail. If Yelena tried to kill him again, it was out of your hands. He paid you. The job was done; now it was time to rest and recover. You were pretty sure Yelena could punch harder than Natasha. The memory of your friend still hurts even though it was coming on two years after her death.
Taking off the peas, you grabbed the only photo in your apartment. It was of you and Natasha a few months after she and Steve broke you out of the RAFT. You and the Black Widow were curled up on the couch in a random safe house in Europe while a James Bond movie was playing on the TV. That night, she told you all about Yelena and the mission in Ohio. Steve sent you the picture of your new burner phone when you left them.
You weren’t angry at Natasha. When half of the population was blipped away, you were part of it. You could have stopped her if you were there, but Clint was right. Natasha was stubborn. Once her mind was made up, no one would stop her. Still, it was unfair. The birds were still singing, and the leaves would change. You weren’t angry at her. She was the greatest thing you’ve lost.
“For an Avenger, it was very easy to break in here,” you laughed as Yelena climbed through your fire escape window and sat beside you. At least she had the decency to close the window behind her.
“Are you here to kill me?” She shook your head and took the frozen vegetable.
“I would have killed you before I entered the apartment,” Fair enough. She placed the peas on the back of her neck. “That fight was so long. Do you have food?” You chuckled and stood up, wincing at the slight pain in your joints.
“I was about to order Chinese. Do you want some?” Yelena nodded. You walked to your fridge and took the menu off the side. Before you walked back to her, you saw the Blonde pick up the photo frame. She looked it over and put it back down. “Figure out what you want,” you handed her the menu. “I’m going to shower.” She looked at you and blinked a few times.
“You are going to leave me alone in your home.” Home was a strong word to describe this place. It was a place to keep food, shower, and sleep. You shrugged.
“As you said, if you wanted to kill me, you would have,” Maybe it was a little stupid to put your blind trust in someone you just threw out a window. But she was Natasha’s little sister. She had to be hurting as much as you were.
*
When you returned to your living room, Yelena was still in the same spot, except for the pea bag you assumed was back in the freezer. “What do you want?” Your question went unanswered. You weren’t sure if she heard you. Picking up the menu, you gently tapped her with it. That snapped her out of whatever fog her mind had created. “What do you want?” You asked again as if nothing happened.
“Fried rice and orange chicken,” you nodded and walked to the kitchen to order the food. You knew better to ask a Black Widow if they were okay. They ended up lying. Once the food was ordered, you rejoined Yelena on the couch with a few beers.
“Food should be here in 15 minutes,” you noticed the Blonde looking at you this time. Your shorts and simple T-shirt did not hide your tattoos. But she took a bear and slumped back.
“Your taste of beet is shit,” you opened your bottle and took a sip. It was shit.
“It was cheap. As you can see, I’m not rolling in the cash,” you gestured toward your apartment.
“Is Mr. Sykes not paying you well?” She asked.
“I don’t work for him. He hired me for that event because I was in the area,” you watched her nod out of the corner of her eye. “Did you kill him?”
“I wasn’t there to kill him,” your eyebrows shut up to your hairline in surprise. The Blonde chuckled. “I was hired to get the DNA from the woman he wanted to fuck. Job completed minus being thrown out the widow. That was good form.”
“I was trained by the best,” her face darkened slightly, but she recovered.
“By my sister?” She questioned. You knew this conversation was coming up. Sighing, you crossed your legs.
“Natasha was good, but I was trained before we met,” you smiled softly. This part of the story wasn’t bad. “I tried to kill her. I got a few hits in, but she threw me on my ass,” you managed to catch Yelena’s smile and let out a chuckle. You counted that as a small victory.
“Who trained you?” She asked. The doorbell rang, interrupting your story. You stood up, paid the delivery boy, and grabbed extra plates before you returned to the couch. You took your food and handed the bag to Yelena.
“I called him the Doctor,” you took a bite of your food. “Not sure what the endgame was before the Avengers killed him.”
“Where you born with-?” She gestured to the tattoos on your arms.
“Yup,” you popped the ‘p’. “It started with one on my shoulder, then grew and grew. I hated them at first, but they made me very popular with the ladies,” you wiggled your eyebrows at her. Again, she chuckled and smiled. It was a little louder than before—another victory. “Yelena,” you looked at her. “Why are you here?” She sighed.
“I had nowhere else to go.”
*
You weren’t sure how to describe this newly founded partnership between you and Yelena. She would end up at your apartment when she had nowhere else to go. Even if you weren’t there to greet her, you could come back to new food in your fridge and a freshly stocked first aid kit. When you managed to catch the Black Widow sneaking through your window, you would order takeout and watch whatever movie was on. She would never tell you that caused the gunshot wounds or bruises that you helped clean. The same was true for you. Yelena would grab the first aid kit and sit you down to clean your wounds.
There was an intimacy about it. An unspoken trust between you and her. Her hands were soft and warm against your skin as she patched a cut on your rib. Sometimes, you felt her fingers wander and trace the nearby tattoos. Similarly, you found yourself tracing faded scars. Goosebumps would form on her skin, and you would hear the slight hitch of her breath. You both would never call each other out. That was it. Slight touches, longing looks, two people lonely and desperate for something good. Nothing was acted on it. You could feel the tension every time she was in the room, but you were too afraid to scare her away.
*
It was strange to see the Blonde by your apartment door. Sometimes, you wondered if she knew you had a front door. “Did you forget how to climb through my window?” you teased, but your small jab was met with silence. That should have been your first clue that something was wrong. Sometimes, Yelena was quiet, but she always joked around with you.
You opened the door and held it open for her. She was quick to walk in, and when you closed the door, she leaned against the wood. Maybe if you weren’t exhausted and your mind wasn’t desperately calling for sleep, maybe if you recognized the month, it would have explained her behavior, but you missed all of it.
This was the first time you saw Yelena in about a month. You were busy with contracted work. You even answered the call when Sam asked for help. Then Carol. Then Strange. October blended into November, and now it was December. Again, it should have been a clue when she suddenly grabbed you by your shirt, pushed you against the door, and kissed you. The sound of your bag hitting the ground did not pull you apart. But the logical part of your brain needed to know what was going on. You placed your hands on her hips and flipped positions. “What,” you cleared your throat. “What are you doing?”
“Kissing you,” she said. “Do you not want me to?” God, you wanted her to keep going. For many nights, that thought of her lips on yours kept you up at night with an ache between your legs, but you needed her to say it.
“Do you want me to kiss you?” You asked. She nodded and moved her hands behind your neck.
“Please,” she pleaded. “I need you to make me feel good.” All of your life, you were strong. You survived this power that was given to you and lived through the abuse at the hands of your parents. Won over the Doctor and climbed through his ranks. Then joined the Avengers. But when it came to Black Widows, you were weak to them. You folded. You crumpled. You dropped to your knees and submitted to them. So you kissed her, ignoring the taste of alcohol on her lips and the bloodshot look in her green eyes. You ignored all of it to satisfy a loneliness deep inside you.
You moved your hands under her thighs and lifted her. Her ankles locked behind your back. Your lips stayed together as you moved to your bedroom and gently laid her down.
You made good on your promise. Each moan, gasp, and whine that left her lips filled a hunger deep inside you. You were on wire with your hand between her legs and lips on her skin, whispering praise after praise.
“So fucking beautiful,” you mumbled. Her nails dug into your skin, leaving half-moon indents that you would look at later to remind yourself that this happened. You were the one that brought her over to the edge over and over again. She was crying out your name. Your tongue was tasting how sweet she was. You were addicted to her body, memorizing every spot that made her tick.
You only stopped when Yelena pushed you away. Her green eyes were hidden behind her eyelids. A thin layer of sweat covered her body, and she was warm when she cuddled against you. You basked in the warmth because when you woke up in the morning, she was gone. The bed was cold.
A week passed when she appeared at your apartment again. Yelena pushed you down on the couch and got between your legs. She made you cum with your hand twisted in her blonde hair. This time, the Black Widow disappeared for five days. She climbed through your window, and you pushed her against the wall so hard you thought you had left an indent there. She stayed for two days, and you cursed every surface of your apartment.
As she lay on your chest, basking in the afterglow, you wanted more. You wanted more than sex. Sometimes, you thought about dates you would take her on. What would she wear to a dinner and a movie? Or maybe you could splurge on a Broadway show. Whenever you asked, she wouldn’t answer. Instead, she would kiss you deeply, climb onto your lap, and make you forget what you requested.
She wrapped you around her finger, pushing you away and then bringing you close. It was an emotional roller coaster. Inspired by Yelena, you disappeared. You bounced between jobs and couches for two months to put distance between you and the Blonde.
But you found yourself at Natasha’s grave. While you cleaned up the weeds and straightened up the gifts that people left, it felt unfair how this place was where you found peace. You found solace in the presence of another Black Widow while you escaped the other. “I miss you, Nat,” you sighed. “I wish you were here.”
You weren’t surprised that she found you. You heard Fanny run up behind you and wiggle her way onto your lap. Smiling, you ran your fingers through her fun. “You have not been home,” Yelena said. You smiled sadly at her as she sat down next to you.
“Hasn’t felt like home for a while,” you answered. It felt suffocating. Everything in your apartment reminded you of Yelena and her absence. It drove you mad.
“Because of me?” Your silence was enough of an answer for her. “I am sorry.”
That was the thing about Black Widows. For every aspect of their life, they were forced to be used, forced to kill, and forced to seduce. Black Widows were used to being used, so it made sense it was all they knew.
Natasha was the same way. From the moment you joined the team, she poured herself into you, every deep-seated trauma to the blood in her ledger. Every time she wanted to give up, you were there. You were the life persever when the waves forced her down and threatened to to drown her. But she was never there when you needed saving or someone to hold your head above the water. She closed the door on you. Then she would come back around, apologize, and swear it would never happen again. That if you needed her, she would be there. She never was. It was a cycle that you couldn’t escape from. Now, another Black Widow had you trapped.
“I am sorry,” she said again and grabbed her hand. “I will do better. Be better,” she promised. “Please. I miss you.”
Yelena was different from her sister. You never crossed that line with Natasha, giving her access to your mind, body, and soul. But you were weak, and you missed her too. You loved someone unable to return your feelings. “I missed you too,” you admitted. I’ll come home.” She smiled, and you fell in love with her more.
You wondered what you did in your past life to be trapped in the web of two different Black Widows. Yelena kissed your cheek, then softly kissed your lips. You missed the taste of her—her natural taste mixed with her strawberry lip balm. That was the alluring characteristic of Black Widows. They weaved their webs and waited until an unlucky intruder got trapped. Widows injected their victims with poison until they were unable to move. They feasted on the weak, and you were weak to them.
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liesmyth · 1 year ago
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I want to start running...any tips?
I WAS BORN TO ANSWER THIS QUESTION. Thank you so much for asking! Unfortunately, I am a nerd about my hobbies so this got quite long.
Keep it simple ✨
Running is easy to get into; our bodies are built for it. Don’t stress over technicalities and just do what feels natural to you. My local races are full of 70-something white-haired pensioners who are kicking ass at it. Don’t let anyone tell you that running is meant to feel like dying, that’ll harm your knees, or that you absolutely need to have that specific smartwatch model to get into it. All you need is a solid pair of shoes, everything else is optional.
Medium effort is the way to go
The ideal aerobic running pace is a speed at which you’re able to hold a conversation, even if a bit winded. NO faster. If you’re able to sing along to your playlist or chat with a friend, that’s your ideal running pace. If you’re gasping or wheezing, slow down! You’ll get a bit faster as your lung capacity gets better, but that shouldn’t be a priority unless you want to train for a race. You get most of the health benefits of running just by keeping up a steady, sustainable, conversational pace.
Walking breaks are fine, actually
That’s the reason why I don’t love C25K as a beginner program — the way it’s structured sort of implies that walking breaks are something you should grow out of to become a more experienced runner. If you need to walk for a bit, go ahead.
If possible, jogging is preferable, just because the mechanics of even a glacial-pace jog are more similar to running than those of a faster power walk, so you might try switching to a jog after a bit of a walking interval. But walking is not a failure; there are serious marathon training plans out there that use walk/run intervals as a viable strategy.
(Related: picking up speed helps you keep going! If you feel like you are completely drained, try speeding up for a very short interval, then slowing back down. It’ll often give you an energy boost to keep going)
Run for time, not distance ⌚
Especially for beginners, I find that getting fixated on numbers can be counter productive, and the most important thing is to listen to your body. If you’re aiming to hit a certain mileage, you might get the urge to speed up at the end to get done faster. Instead, set yourself time-based goals and end every run with a cool down jog or walk.
SHOES!! 👟
Good running shoes are essential, and pretty much the only fitness-related purchase on which I’ll always support dropping money. If you get to the point where you’re consistently running 10 km (6 miles) each week, you’ll want to go to a running store — the kind of place where you’ll get fitted, and they’ll have you try on models and jog on a treadmill to evaluate your gait and let you know which characteristics your ideal shoe needs. I can’t stress enough how useful running store staff can be. They’re all running club nerds who LOVE getting new people into running, and they really want to help you find your ideal fit. Also get good running socks while you’re at it.
Be prepared to drop at least 100€ (or equivalent currency) but they usually have a great return policy if the model isn’t a good fit for you. Take care of your running shoes — maintenance, wearing them only for running, gentle cleansing etc — and the cushioning will last for quite a while (600km / 370miles at least). If you decide that you hate running, they’re still great for walking around. Once you find your ideal shoe model, it gets a lot easier to shop for it during end-of-season sales, or looking for online bargains etc. I love stocking on end-of-series shoes and rotating them so they’ll last even longer, and I buy online quite often! Just make sure your FIRST pair is fitted, for ideal injury prevention and joint health.
Injury prevention 💪
I’d love to still be running 10k races when I’m 70, but it takes some care to get there. When you run, you’re slamming your body weight up and down with every stride, and that might be hard on your joints if you’re not used to it. If you’re completely new to running, cap your runs at 15/20 minutes every other day. Do that even if you feel like you could keep going! If you have a good aerobic base already, you need to give your joints time to catch up with you lung capacity, and give your body time to recover. Do bodyweight exercises like lunges and planks and glute bridges to strengthen your core, legs, and hips. Dynamic stretches are great for warmups, and static stretches are better for cooling down. If you have the option, running on softer surface like grass or dirt is better than asphalt, which is better than concrete and pavements.
(If nothing of what I’ve said here makes sense to you, shoot me another ask, or look at some of the resources I’ve linked down below!)
Don't get bored! 🎶
I love running in groups. Running clubs are great. You can learn so much in a hands-on way from seriously experienced people, you can chat about gossip over a running job, and you can make some interesting friends. If you don’t have access to a running community, then personally I love just chilling on a run by myself listening to an audiobook or podcast or exploring a certain area.
Running form❓
Don’t stress about it. Just go out and move your body. Attempting to modify your ‘running form’ too quickly can do more harm than good. There ARE a few things you could pay attention to — I recommend trying to focus on one of these at a time for a minute or so, and alternate between them. After a while, it’ll start to feel natural to keep track of all of them:
1. Don’t slouch! But a slight lean forward is great.
2. Keep your shoulders pulled down and your upper back tense.
3. Swinging your arms in a way that helps with your stride is good, but I shouldn’t feel forced.
4. Even breaths, inhaling through your mouth and expiring through your nose.
5. Take turns to check with every part of your body, and relax them in turn: are your jaw and neck too tense? Are your fists tight?
6. Don’t overstride! shorter strides with quicker leg turnover are better than huge strides that feel awkward to you.
7. Use your glutes to drive up the motion of your legs, not just your quads. This can take a while to get used to, but it’s a game-changer.
8. ENGAGE YOUR CORE. This is a great skill to develop whether you work out or are just existing in the world — basically, let your inner abdominal muscles help you carry your weight forward. This is VERY intuitive once you know how to do it, but it’s hard to get a grasp of it if you don’t know what it means, so here are some resources about it.
an extremely fucking comprehensive article that improved my life and eased my big-boobs back pain
similar content but in video form
a running-specific form video
Personally, learning to do this made me feel like I unlocked a superpower. Go forth and brace.
Accessories and tips 🤓
Like I said above, the only thing I really suggest spending money on for real is running shoes. Everything else is details! However, I’m nothing if not wordy I have Thoughts about those details, too.
Run tracking: I suggest downloading Runkeeper if you want to keep track of your runs — it’s free, intuitive, and solid! If you decide to get into wearables, a low-level Garmin >>>>> anything else.
Self-care: use sunscreen and/or thick face cream as needed. Stop to sip at a public fountain if needed. Get a small fanny pack to hold your phone, keys, or lip balm if needed. If chafing is an issue, anti-glide gel is relatively affordable.
Outfits etc: I get all my running gear and clothes from Decathlon — they are in most countries and ship worldwide. I especially love this thermal shirt for colder weather
Safety: if you’re running on the road, make sure to run in the opposite direction from traffic and to wear something bright. If you run with headphones near traffic, keep the volume down, or get over-the-ear conductor headsets. I love shokz, they're fantastic.
Post-run snack: eating something small and carb-heavy within 30 mins of a workout is great for kickstarting recovery. I love dried fruit personally.
Various resources 📝
Routine basics: check out the r/running order of operations, which is a great “how to” guide to building a basic running routine. I also recommend that subreddit's wiki! Running programming gets exponentially more involved the more advanced you get, etc — if you ever have any questions, hit me up!
Dynamic stretching warmup: a quick leg swing workout to get your legs ready to go. If you’re feeling overachieving, here’s a lunge warmup routine and a how-to bodyweight squat video.
Cooldown routine! Check out Strength and Mobility, a great post-run quick cooldown routine that includes some bodyweight exercises to strengthen your hips and core. Video included.
that's all, folks! 🏃‍♀️
Sorry I got carried away! I love running. I love getting people into running. My mental health, cardiovascular system and my popping quads also love running. But FYI, some people hate running and that's also fine! If you decide it’s not for you, find something you like more. There are a lot of misconceptions out there and a lot of guilt-tripping and body shame-y rhetoric around exercising, especially aimed at women, and I want to make clear it’s all bullshit. Just have fun <3
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